Life as a parent is such a subjective thing. It means something different to all of us. It all depends on how many children we have, our life situations, our own childhoods… A plethora of variation!

I have compiled a little list of some of the things that define my adventures in parenting. Have a look and see, maybe some of them will resonate for you. And maybe you’ll have some of your own to add. If you do, add them in the comments!

What is parenting?

Parenting is thirteen dandelions slowly decomposing in a murky glass of water in your kitchen.

Parenting is explaining how babies get into a woman’s stomach on the way home from school.

Parenting is saying, “Stop picking your nose!” All day.

Parenting is googling ‘how to remove lava in Minecraft,’ in order to fix your seven year old’s whole freaking life.

Parenting is knowing just how your children smell. Oh, and recoiling instinctively when they smell ‘wrong.’

Parenting is defining the word ‘pulverise.’ And then ‘pulp.’ And then ‘mush.’ And then concluding that you make a crappy dictionary.

Parenting is cautiously identifying the picture your child has drawn. Get it wrong at your peril! (P.S. It’s a squiggle.)

Parenting is sympathising over invisible, yet agonising injuries.

Parenting is yawning three seconds after your child.

Parenting is dancing the tango with a giggling child in your arms. You don’t know how to dance the tango.

Parenting is sorting through your child’s entire Lego collection for her favourite pieces (which are, of course, the smallest ones.)

Parenting is then going through the whole bloody lot again because the one child destruction system you call ‘Squeak’ dumped them back in. On purpose.

Parenting is knowing all the words to ‘Let It Go.’

Parenting is seventeen conversations about the vulva, in context, before you’ve left for school.

Parenting is spending twice the time you actually need on the toilet, just so you can have some peace.

Parenting is comforting a child who says that, when she is running, it feels like she has a penis. How do you comfort somebody about that? I don’t know!

Parenting is researching the formation of glaciers just so you can answer your child’s burning question with something approaching accuracy.

Parenting is explaining that no, you were not born in 1919. Or 1899. Or 1912. Goddammit, I’m not looking good right now.

Parenting is the heavy sound of a sleeping house in the evening.

Parenting is regretting buying different sized children matching socks.

Parenting is mistaking a yowling cat in heat for your screaming baby and running for the stairs.

Parenting is mistaking a seagull for your screaming baby and running for the stairs.

Parenting is idly pondering whether your child’s cough is croup.

Parenting is knowing that if your kid has croup, there ain’t no pondering about it!

Parenting is sleeping with a child’s arm across your face.

Parenting is knowing how to get vomit out of the carpet.

Parenting is the delicate touch of a child’s loving lips against your cheek.

Parenting is finding laughter, even in sadness.

Parenting is being awoken to a copy of Animalia being waved in your face and a demand to “find the boy!”

Parenting is knowing the difference between the sound of one child going upstairs to the toilet, and one child going upstairs with an unruly toddler sneaking up behind them.

Parenting is loving three small people so deeply, despite their insatiable urge to fuck. your. shit. up.

What do you think, guys? Did I nail it? Don’t forget to share your experiences!

It is my guess that most people can tell, on entering a house, whether it contains children or not. A childful house has a certain air about it, don’t you think?

Or, at least, a certain scent.

For me, there are definite signs and symptoms that my house is inhabited by small, messy bandits. I have listed a few below, but maybe you have some others to add?

1. There is always something underfoot

Now, I must begin by affirming that I in no way fit the definition of a ‘neat freak.’ Which is no bad thing, because the kids would certainly not be in support of it. I rather like a fairly tidy house. I enjoy sitting down in the evening with the toys cleared away and the room free of clutter.

Ah, the dream!

The children, I assume, prefer a greatly different household landscape. They like socks, used as missiles and then discarded where they land. They like to dig deep in the fancy dress bin for their most desired costume, leaving a cascade of brightly coloured fabrics strewn across the room.

I can say with some confidence that it is extremely difficult to keep your footing when you step on two layers of synthetic fabric. To clarify: Whooooosh!

And so, walking through my living room has become an obstacle course of small objects (and some larger, although I’ll get to that in a moment.) The punishment for diverting incorrectly through said obstacle course being, of course intense foot pain or a generous helping of guilt.

It’s amazing, really, how many things can become part of this. Sometimes it’s boring and predictable. I’ve stepped on Lego more times than I can remember. But everyone’s done that, right? That’s just a rite of passage into parenthood. Then there are the brittle, cheap toys that crumple and snap into vicious plastic shards the moment you rest a toe on them. Naturally you just destroyed your child’s most precious thing at that point, despite them having played with it once or twice in a year.

Of course, there are always the weirdly sharp crumbs of food, and those things that can only be described as ‘unrecognisable, but definitely squelchy.’

As for the larger object… Well, try and tell me you haven’t either trodden on or fallen over an angry toddler at least once in your parenting lifetimes. They have an immense skill for placing themselves in the most inconvenient of spots, with their favourite tactic being to collapse directly in front of you, just as you are about to take your next step.

I’m sure the intense grimace I am wearing when this happens, as I weave and flail for a footing that doesn’t involve my crushing my little one, wouldn’t be out of place in a sitcom (with appropriate canned laughter, of course.)

However, Squeak doesn’t think it particularly amusing.

2. There are at least four lights on at any one time

What is it with children and their inability to retain a simple instruction for more than ten seconds? I swear I need to record myself saying my most used phrases, just to save my breath for better things. This recording would include:

“Please pick that up.”

“Get off your sister!”

“Please don’t put that in your mouth.”

“Turn the light off!”

I know I was just as bad as a kid. I am still confused, though, as to why children are so incapable of remembering to flick a switch when they leave a room. I can let Little Girl and Squeak off for now, as they are too small to reach the switches (without climbing assistance, anyway. And I prefer not to encourage that, for obvious reasons!)

Accident waiting to happen!

Big Girl, though. Every night she nips to the toilet before bed, while I wait in her bedroom to say goodnight. And every night, without fail, my question of, “Did you turn the light off?” leaves her scurrying back to the bathroom with a sigh. You’d think after months of the same old routine it would have become a habit by now.

Apparently not.

And if she’s run up to her bedroom after school to grab something, I can guarantee that the light will be shining brightly when I next go up. Which makes no sense to me, because it’s not even dark then!

I’m hoping it’ll sink in one day. Although I am doubtful.

3. Your washing basket is full of single socks

Aside from the aforementioned missile usage I described above, I’d say the role of the sock is a fairly basic one. You put them on, wear them all day, take them off and put them in the wash. There’s not really much wiggle room going on there.

If that is the case though, how come I am constantly faced with a washing pile overflowing with unmatched socks? It baffles me. I have at least twenty lonely single socks, living out their miserable existence far away from their intended companions. I hunt through the house, certain I will locate them. Because really, how far can socks go?

Well, you can guess how successful I am in this task. The fact that I include this section at all shows that I have had no sock related victories.

With this in mind, I can conclude only one thing.

The children must be eating them.

4. The fruit bowl looks like a feral monkey got in through the window

If there’s one thing I have become fearful of since having children, it’s the sound of silence. Many a time I have been absorbed in some sort of menial task, only to jump up with a start when I realise I haven’t heard a peep from Squeak in half a minute or so.

That’s a lifetime in Squeak hours. That kid can destroy shit faster than a monkey can defecate and launch it in your face.

Sometimes she’s busy spreading the contents of my handbag across the floor. Others she’s engaged in a focused book shredding activity (always one of my favourites <sigh>) or massaging herself with a generous dollop of my moisturiser.

Last week I experienced another one of these silence-related panics. Squeak had quietly slid away to the kitchen, and was doing God knows what in there. I sped in to discover this:

Next to it stood a triumphant little girl, stuffing her face with another banana. I mean, it’s just rude to peel three bananas and only eat one!

I got off lightly compared to normal, though. Usually there’d also be at least four apples with one bite taken out of each. Because apparently it takes that many tries to recall that you actually don’t like the texture of apple skin.

5. You have to clear 63 half-finished masterpieces off the table before you can serve dinner

Creative children are wonderful. I love the detailed stories they relate to me, and the songs. Yes, really. Despite the fact that during each song I can hear at least seventeen of my brain cells slowly dying, I appreciate the effort they have put into them. It’s not the musical talent I take issue with, but more the fact that every line is preceded by a long “ummmmmmmm,” because they have no idea what they are going to sing about.

Plan it, children!

Anyway, by far the most prolific creative pursuit in our house is drawing. Detailed sketches, comic strips and ominous circular scribbles can be found everywhere, and I spend half of my life reuniting pen with lid.

The only problem is, the children so rarely finish any of their pictures. Like little butterflies they flit from task to task, abandoning the one that came before. And they have come up with a devious method to prevent me from questioning their numerous discards.

I mean, when faced with a winning smile and a cute voice saying, “This is for you!” could you really respond with, “Thank you, but did you know your girl is missing an arm? And a face?”

Therefore I am constantly faced with a table festooned with reams of partially scribbled-on paper. And God forbid I would actually dispose of any of it.

Because you know they’d suddenly express great desire for it as soon as it hit the bin.

6. At least once a week you wake to your eyelid being prised open and a chorus of “Do you wanna build a snowmeeeeeeean?”

For me, this is new. Although the obsession with Frozen definitely isn’t! Squeak and Mila spend whole hours debating who will be Elsa and Anna, and acting out all of the songs from the film.

It’s quite cute, I have to admit.

But when I was dragged from sleep the other morning by a hooked forefinger sliding across my cornea and a shrill voice proclaiming the above phrase, I had to say it was a step too far.

Not that it’s put Squeak off or anything. If anything, a suggestion of pain on my part should be a great encouragement for her.

It’s in keeping with her current personality traits, anyway!

You know when you wake up in the morning and you just know today is not going to be your day?

Well, that was me yesterday.

It all started when I shot awake about an hour before my alarm was due to go off. I say ‘shot’ because it was the kind of waking up that happens all of a sudden, with wide eyes and a small burst of adrenaline.

If I had a theme tune (and honestly, I can’t think of a better idea), then at that point we would have heard a loud *PING!* That’s how awake I was.

Now, people who know me will be aware that I am a dedicated night owl. I’m simply not able to fall asleep early, unless I’m ill. Lying awake in bed hallucinating the sound of burglars breaking in is not exactly my idea of fun, shockingly enough! And so I prefer to spend my evenings knitting, Netflix binge watching and eating, and end up going to bed quite late.

This would be a nightmare in itself for some people, but it works fine for me. I just don’t need that much sleep! But the success of my night owliness is only possible because I have never had a problem with waking too early. I have always been able to sleep soundly until my alarm goes off (unless dealing with a small crying child, anyway. And even then I avoid putting my glasses on so I can pretend I’m really still in bed.)

Sleeeeeeep…

But recently, it seems, this ability has become a thing of the past. More and more often I am ‘pinging’ awake at, for me, a truly unacceptable hour. I am hoping it is just an incredibly irksome brain blip, which will pass in time. Because losing sleep at both ends of the night is really not working for me!

So, I began the day exhausted, and more than a little pissed off. But there were still some positives to be had. Instead of having to rush around all morning, I actually had time to prepare and organise everything. I even threw in a quick shower for good measure! I always feel that if I begin the day up and dressed before I wake the girls, there is no possible other ending point than complete success.

It appears, in this case, that I was a little optimistic. Which is not a natural tendency for me, and I will be wary in indulging in it again for quite some time.

First, Little Girl awoke, after an almighty coughing fit that lasted for a ridiculous amount of time. Little Girl has always been a wheezy, hacking winter child, and yesterday was no exception. But it wasn’t so bad. She got up in a fairly good mood for someone who has attempted to evacuate her lungs through her mouth, and was happy to settle down with her Lego while I got ready.

That, and stickers.

Little Girl is always happy to settle down with her Lego. I guess it’s her ‘thing.’

Anyway, time passed until it was time to wake the other girls up. And that, my friends, is where it all began to fall apart.

Squeak woke up in a mental state that spoke of a night spent fighting monsters and defeating evil wizards in vivid nightmares. She was in full on rage mode as soon as her eyelids lifted. She refused to brush her teeth, to come downstairs, to eat, to get dressed, to put on her coat…

In short, it went on all bloody morning. She even surpassed her usual contrariness, to level up into a tiny, angry dragon. I find it hard enough to cope with these explosions normally, but yesterday I was so tired that it was even harder!

Still, eventually I got her suitably dressed and tucked up in the pram, ready to take the others up to school.

It was at that point that I realised one of the pram wheels had a puncture.

Gah!

So the entire contents of the pram was unloaded, and I strapped Squeak to my aching body with a sling. We trudged our ever so enthusiastic selves up to school, and somehow managed to get there on time.

Surely now I would see some improvement? Now Squeak had my unwavering attention without her talkative, daydreaming sisters to interrupt her. What more could she need?

It turns out, a lot more! And she would specify approximately zero of the things that would make her feel better.

Although, I expect the furious tantrum she threw in the doorway of Aldi as she collapsed like a rock on the floor may have been an attempt to cheer herself up.

It didn’t work.

Her rage increased still further throughout the afternoon. She threw her lunch on the floor and utterly refused to help pick it up. She vehemently denied the presence of a dirty nappy, and spent an hour roaring and yelling as I attempted to persuade her to let me change it.

That may sounds hideously permissive of me, but let me ask you: Have you ever tried to change the shitty nappy that is attached to an angry, wriggling toddler who appeared to have magically sprouted a couple of extra legs? Legs which are, at that moment, booting you mercilessly in the crotch?

Yeah, I’m not doing that again.

Although there was an amusing moment within all of that. Every so often, she would pause from her dramatic howling to glare her deepest glare at me, and growl, “I am very cross with you, Mummy.”

Well, ditto.

I got there in the end, although knitting, writing and all attempts at completing a touch of housework had to be discarded. I slung her back onto my back, and we meandered back up to school uneventfully.

It appears the blight on today wasn’t restricted to the home-bound family members, though. Poor Little Girl came out, all pale, pink eyed and peaky looking, to say dolefully, “Nobody wanted to play with me today.”

<cries> Poor Little Girl. I comforted and distracted her, and soon she ran off to play. Of course, we had the exact same conversation at least eight times that evening, but that’s just how she rolls.

Squeak proceeded to spend the evening determinedly trashing everything she could find while I tried to make dinner. Afterwards, the living room looked as if a crowd of pissed off Gremlins had steamrollered their way through it. But hey, at least she didn’t attack Little Girl this time. You’ve gotta take the successes where you can get them!

There was one small shining light in my ghastly pig of a day. We had just bought a new board game, and I’d promised the girls we could play it before bed.

I’ll admit, I would have liked nothing more than to sack it off. I was really not in the mood to plaster on a fake smile and pretend to enjoy repeating instructions a thousand times and preventing Squeak from knocking all the pieces off the board. But how could I say no to this little face?

And I’m glad I didn’t. Because we had a ton of fun! Everybody managed to set their angsts aside and have a lovely time. I did need to give Squeak a little guidance on the correct dice rolling etiquette: “We roll the dice underarm, not overarm. This is not cricket!” But once she figured that out, we all really enjoyed ourselves.

Once we were done, I tucked everyone up in bed and collapsed on the couch for some mindless TV watching. And, naturally, cleaned the kitchen, got the clothes ready for the next day and generally tidied round. Ain’t no one else here to pick up that slack!

Never have I been so glad to see my bed as I was last night. My bones were weary and aching, my eyes were sore, and I am glad that I didn’t need to string more than two words together, because I wouldn’t have managed it. I had a quick read, and speedily succumbed to sleep.

Only to be woken up about half an hour later, by an exceedingly warm Squeak. She had had a virus for the couple of days before, and obviously it was sneaking in to kick her ass yet again.

Grrrrrr!

She was wide awake and fairly chatty for someone whose forehead could have evaporated water. I quickly medicated her and stripped her off. After a joyous night of hallucinations and a febrile convulsion on Saturday night, I was taking no risks.

But while the meds were still taking their time to kick in, the hallucinations began anyway. Squeak glanced over to the other side of my bed and said matter-of-factly, “There are snakes in your bed.” Now, this was less of a cause for alarm than the other night, when she stared, terrified, over my shoulder because she was convinced there was a crocodile behind me. And it definitely wasn’t as bad as her refusing to breastfeed because my boob was full of bees.

However, when she said, “There’s a spider on your top…” Well, that was a step too far!

She began to cool down, but was still a fair while away from sleepiness. I lay next to her and comforted her as best I could, at least enjoying a bit of horizontalisation.

Then, BUMP!

I ran to the girls’ bedroom, to find a rather upset Little Girl lying on the floor, wrapped up in her duvet like a sausage roll. Of all the nights to fall out of bed! Luckily she was quickly settled, and I returned to find Squeak almost ready to drift off.

So I lay down, and finally, two and half hours after I had first got into bed, I drifted off to sleep.

Only to begin the same rigmarole again this morning! Squeak’s response to my loving, gentle waking of her this morning was to turn over and kick me in the face.

I think that says it all.

Tra la la!

*****

Now please, share your day to day disasters with me! At the very least, I’ll know that I’m not alone.