I'm always one to make plans with a picture perfect image of how the day will pan out just how I want it to. Which will then, of course, be documented by the obligatory snaps on Facebook and Instagram show casing what a perfect family we are.
Well, most of that went to pot.
Instead, I executed some of my parenting skills to the highest level of crapness and fell out with my 9 year old.
Yes, me, 39 years of age, old enough to be a little bit more grown up about things managed to argue, shout and sulk - just as well as any 9 year old girl.
You see, she was 'too tired' to help me as I struggled, lodged in the loft door with a Christmas tree wedging me at the top of the loft ladder. So, I shouted at how ungrateful she is and 'thank you very much for helping' - in an obviously sarcastic matter highlighting that, yes, I am clearly the grown up in this stand off. Slamming of doors followed whilst I managed to slide the tree, and myself, back down the ladder to safety.
Loft dust washed off I announced we were all going out.
But no, going to the Abbey is now far too 'boring' for a 9 year old girl.
Which obviously I accepted calmly and didn't* in any manner shout back that '9 year olds are not in charge in this house and I bloody well am'.
Then she took shelter, from the 'worst Mum ever who always shouts', under her desk.
I sat downstairs and sulked.
The husband stepped in, with his 'good cop' badge shining brightly to calm the situation, and went to speak to her. My attempts to calm the situation resulted in being told 'I'm so mean' with the offer of a hug refused - that was like a dagger to the heart so I went downstairs biting my lip so I didn't cry.
Meanwhile the boy put up the tree, then some footsteps were heard coming down the stairs.
The girl tentatively came in, giving me the evils on her way, and joined in with hanging some baubles.
Her mood gradually shifted.
I grabbed her for a hug.
And all was well.
x x x
* I did
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