The title of this post is like those movies when the name of the talent comes in before the film title itself.
As we all know I have a soft spot for MoVo.. That @motherventing. Knowing her has made me think and enjoy life, in a good way, laugh till my guts hurt, and she’s a good ‘un. Nuff said.
The thing with guest posts by someone as formidable as Fran, is this. FML, she’s good, and this will probably the best thing on my blog. Erm. Ever.
Just like my funniest tweet was the one I didn’t tweet, ‘cos I went for a wee, and she tweeted it.
Stand back, get a drink, then stand back again maybe. ‘Cos here comes the mother venting.
“Now I’m not one to judge. Oh wait – I am a bit – just a bit, and only when I’m really farked off about summat. And farked off I am. You can betcha ordinary arse on it. Today was going swimmingly till I got proper farked. And not in a good way. Innit.
Essentially, I went to a soft play café. Yes. I know. One of THEM places. With faintly soiled bean bags and the ever-lingering stench of toddler faeces. Where swarms of hellish spawn roil around your ankles till you want to climb the walls and cling weeping to the fetid ceiling tiles. Where piles of pallid parents stare blearily at their smartphones in the desperate hope that their rabid offspring work off some of that energy before the inevitable slide into the squalid bedtime routine. Well. OK. It’s not that bad. But I was kind of desperate for something to do with Moo that didn’t involve plasticine , and I needed a triple chocolate muffin.
So in we stroll and ‘Bah,’ says I, immediately, for it is obvious that ANOTHER tribe of parents (other than the frantic souls) occupy the humid space. By the by, why are soft play establishments always unbearably moist? Are thickets of sweaty children not dampening enough? For the love of all things dry, OPEN A FARKING WINDOW. Anyway – I digress. PARENTS! Ack. And in this case, smug mothers. Smug Mums. Smums. No, wait, I hate doing that to words. Apparently it’s called a portmanteau. Which I thought was a posh suitcase, but hey ho. I don’t generally portmanteau about the place, so we’ll stick to Smug Mums. I very much dislike Smug Mums. And Smug Dads (Smads? I’ll shut up) but there weren’t any present today so they escape my wrath for now.
Parents that are smug can kiss my extraordinary arse. Smug is the worst. If you’re smug, you think you’re better than me, and you’re so PLEASED about it you’re going to stand there and moue while my child screeches like a harpy cos I’m battering her with a massive squishy rhomboid and she LOVES it. Just because your kid has never experienced a 3pm sugar rush, doesn’t make you a better parent than me, yeah? I’m QUITE HAPPY to accept that we all parent in different ways. I really am. There are times when I’m convinced everyone else has got it sussed and I’m the only one who forgot to the homework and is going to FAIL THE PARENTING EXAM any day now, but y’know, technically, I think I’m doing OK.It takes a certain amount of broad-mindedness to realise that each and every mum and dad is rooting their way through the darkness of child-rearing with NO DISCERNIBLE CLUE that they know what it is they’re supposed to be doing, and I am broad-minded. Being smug, however, is narrow-minded. Being smug is removing your progeny from the soft play café because you can’t understand why anyone would want to ceremoniously shove some cake in their child’s mouth and let them loose upon someone else’s belongings for an hour or so. And OPENLY DISCUSSING that fact, with distaste, as you leave, within my earshot.If it weren’t for the juveniles in the audience, I’d have shoved your Cath Kidston changing bags SO far up your backsides you’d be vomming pretty flowered oilcloth for a week. You smug bastards.
Smug Mums of the world: leave the rest of us alone, yeah? You may be party to some big mothering secret which means you Know It All, but, erm, fark off. We don’t need y’all making life harder for us plebs. And STOP HANGING AROUND our turf if you don’t like other people’s children! Makes sense,eh? Go find a farmer’s market.
*venting over klaxon*