Life Through a Lens…

Had a friend pop in the other week. I don’t see her often as she is in the army and is based about 300 miles away. But she called in with a bottle of wine, a bunch of flowers and an hours notice.

This is my friend whom I live vicariously through. She is child free, intermittently single, career driven and travels the world. She has abs (like actual toned core muscles), freshly washed hair and will appear with a moments notice because it doesn’t take weeks for her to plan leaving the house. She often sends me photos of her latest beau, and will text me slightly drunk from the toilets on a date requesting my advice – which without fail, she will ignore. This is probably the right thing to do, bearing in mind I met Phil when I was 19 and dating consisted of ‘anatomy revision’ sessions and a trip to McDonald’s, so I don’t have much to offer in this area. 

Anyway she arrives just after tea and plays with the kids for a bit before I embark on putting them to bed. My friend observed this with interest. The kids of course, because they know I have better things to do, demonstrate their finest delay tactics. The Girl requests that I read 4000 books and freaks out about being unable to find “The Egg One” and not one of the 200 that are available (including 3 other egg themed books) to hand will do. I am required to supervise 3 toilet trips, and I mean really supervise, like even though she can do it all herself she literally wants me to hold her hand. Add to the bedtime jamboree The Boy who decides he won’t be put down in a cot and The Girl having a full scale melt down over an unidentifiable disaster, and my friend finds herself witnessing the most effective contraceptive yet. 

Bedraggled and beaten, at some point I make it downstairs only for the boy to announce with a blood curdling scream, that he is cutting a new tooth. I head upstairs, he has developed superhuman strength with which to make himself totally rigid to facilitate the loudest screaming imaginable. The Girl of course responds to this in a somewhat competitive manner.   

My friend meanwhile decides to cut her loses and make an escape. But not before telling me that she has taken a photo of my kitchen post-dinner and sent it to her boyfriend, who is also in the army, with the accompanying caption:

“We could do this, having kids would be fine, it’s just like being in a war zone” 

Can’t argue with that. 

Author: motherinthehouse

I am Helen, although more commonly known as “Mum" or "Doc". I have a couple of other roles along side of this. - I’m a a wife, to another junior doctor (yawn) - who specialises in willies and wee. - A daughter to a Yorkshire man and a Scottish lady, an undeniably great combo resulting an ability to be super frugal drunk. - A sister to two older brothers therefore the victim of years of 'character building' experiences. - A northerner who travelled down to the midlands for uni and never quite made it back. Yet. - A friend, to some, for over 25 years, and still can’t shake them off; at this stage they know too much. - An aunty to two boisterous nephews residing stateside, and a local niece. - A daughter- and sister-in-law; having lacked sisters growing up I'm now lucky enough to have acquired 4. - A neighbour to The Deputy, The General and their wives, amongst other retirees. - A slimmer and a swimmer, albeit neither particularly successfully just now. - A gardener, chef, cleaner, washing machine operator, carrier bag collector, and now after much persuasion (borderline bullying) and a 30 quid investment, a keen blogger! View all posts by motherinthehouse