It really started last night, when I went to bed well before Grumpy’s estimated home time and had a spark of some sort of inspiration … or some other thing I can’t quite get a grasp on right now … and thought I’d surprise him with a message of love of some sort.
Being somewhat strapped for cash, it being cold, rainy and dark, with three children that I’d just managed to wrangle into bed, and a self-esteem that couldn’t handle a tirade of “you’re the worst mum in the world” should I have popped down the street to grab something nice for him, even though no one else would have known. I would just have known what they’d be thinking. If they knew. Which they wouldn’t. Or something.
Anyhoo, being resourceful and having had wine and being in my jarmies, I grabbed a white board marker, cleaned the ensuite mirror and write “I love you xoxox” on it.
Because, I can be that kind of chick, when it’s cold and rainy, the kids are in bed, I’ve had some wine and I’m bored.
He arrived home not long after, entered the bathroom, leaving the door wide open so I could see him not seeing my From The Heart message. I went back to reading. Watching him be unaware, although hilariously entertaining initially, got somewhat boring after about 10 minutes.
Eventually, he exits the bathroom, and says “thank you, I love you, too,” albeing slighltly sheepishly. We sit in silence for a while.
“Um?” he enquires. “When did you write that? On the mirror?”
Am a little unsure where this is going, so raise an eyebrow to project this. Or, I would have raised an eyebrow, but, apparently, I’m incapable of performing this particular feat, so just raised both.
“Well, I just want to know if you wrote it now, or if you wrote it this morning and I just didn’t see it?”
I assured him it was fine, and that it had been there since last Tuesday.
Then, today, it was Let’s Ensure Mummy Knows She Is Fat Day. Because, the fact my belly sits on my lap and I can’t wear the jeans I like and a list of other things that piss me off about a few things relating to my levels of adipose tissues, apparently I am unaware of such things and need reminding.
It usually starts with a pointed comment, and one I’m quick to a) laugh along with or b) agree with, along lines of “Yeah, well, at least I’m not in denial about my fatness. This morning, however, everyone jumped on board. We went for a walk up the street and Grumpy, puffing away as he pushed Chippie up the hill, made comment on my heavy breathing. I did try to convince him I was just trying to turn him on, but I think he was more interested in diverting attention away from himself, so resorted to “That’s because I’m fat and unfit, what’s your excuse?”
Godzilla, ever the lovely person, assures me “But you’re beautiful, mummy,” and rips half a flowering bush out of someone’s front garden as he walks past, presenting me with “some flowers”.
“Daddy just said I was fat,” I tell him.
“Daddy’s a little bit cheeky,” Godzilla informs me.
Then they all joined in the taunting, pointing out all my bits that were particularly flabby. Like I needed them pointed out. On and on it went, until the kids walked, in front of Grumpy pushing the now toddler-free pram, over a small patch of dirt.
“Anyone else wanna walk in front of me?” he asks. So I do. Which, in hindsight was stupid, as I weigh quite a bit more than the kids and wasn’t quite prepared for how soft the dirt was, nor how far I would sink into it.
Nor, although really, I should have known this bit, how much amunition it would give Grumpy and how much he would laugh and laugh and laugh.
And, I also note, not step in patch of dirt himself. As then the reverse would have happened.
I blame them. They pushed me. I was forced to say it.
“Right, you ungrateful, horrible little shits. I want to go and live with a new family. As I am stuck with you, and you are all arseheads and calling me fat, I will no longer be purchasing ice cream and chips and stuff you like! So, ner!”
Which, inevitably, led to “No, Mummy, you are not fat. You are thin as a broomstick,” from the filthy, lying, have-ulterior-motives kids, and “What, no ice cream?!” from Grumpy, and “bim bum,” which is “big bum,” from Chippie, courtesy of his father.
Still, I will use this to my advantage and no longer feel bad about buggering off whenever I feel like it to “go for a walk”. In fact, I may use it duing horrible hours, and then just not be around to deal with and can, without Guilt or any of that, put it all back onto them “You said I was FAT! So I’m doing something about it! And this is the only time I can go. So, ner!”