A week of parenting fails in pictures
Well it’s been another turbulent week here. Seeing as I have almost 14 years of being a parent under my belt, you’d have thought I would have my shit together by now. Alas, I will never learn but you, dear reader, can learn a thing or two from the times I have messed up.
I live in West London. There are some nice areas and some not so nice areas which all happen to be a stones throw apart. I favour the not so nice part of my town as it has a Wilkinson’s and four, yes four, pound shops. Oh, and an Iceland.
Anyhow, I know they say that sleeping outside in the fresh air is good for young children; but did they mean on West Ealing Broadway? No matter though, she was awoken pretty quickly when two police cars tuned up to the dodgy dry cleaners (which I am sure is a front for something else), sirens roaring a few moments later.
I also inadvertently parked the pushchair on a tramps cardboard box and was told off quite sternly when he returned and when I apologised, he threatened to throw a bottle of piss at me unless I gave him a pound.
Tuesday night/early hours of Wednesday :
This was taken at 3am. She had been awake for two hours by this point. I gave up and let her play the Family Guy game on my iPad, turned over and went to sleep. I am assuming she fell asleep when the battery ran out.
My thirteen year old told me that his friends have much higher quality packed lunches than he does. I know they do, we live in West London. I have an acquaintance who rises at 5.30am to make her little darlings fresh sushi in those daft bento boxes for their school lunches.
I had little sleep the night before and was not in the mood to be compared to the local Stepford Wives, so I made him this:
Backfired though, didn’t it? He thought a crisp sandwich was the best lunch ever. Arsehole.
My toddler loves Mr Bloom and wanted to do ‘garden things’. I could’ve gone out and excitedly bought seeds and little garden tools, but no. These are the only plants in my garden, and they are plastic ones from IKEA. She’s two; she’ll cope.
Easter can fuck off. All it taught my toddler was that all eggs are made of chocolate. I served her egg and soldiers, and her eyes lit up. “Choccy! Choccy!” were her exact words when she saw it. Ever tried to reason with a toddler? It didn’t end well, and nor did biting into the shell.
I am awaiting the weekend with baited breath.