The tormented life of cats and parenting the shit out of life!

“Have a PJ day!” they said, “it will be nice and relaxing and it will do you the world of good”.

Well all i can assume is that they meant for me to lock my lovely little darlings in the shed or, alternatively, swap them for the nice kind of children you see on Marks and Spencer adverts.  You know the ones, clean, calm you imagine they smell of Johnson’s and love to sit and daydream about fairies and unicorns. 

The reality is that a PJ day in this house in an unintentional “I can’t control my children, I can’t face the world and fuck it we are staying in to avoid all hell breaking loose in Mesnes park” kind of situation. 

It has been one of those days where you have to stop every few hours to calculate how much extra money you are going to have to spend on therapy for the kids, because you know there must be something wrong with a little love who finds it funny inflicting this much mental torture on his parents. 

The type where you stop looking up from your phone whenever someone screams because it is the only thing keeping you sane, (bad parenting maybe, so is murdering your kids which was undoubtedly the alternative!). 

The type of day that leads to a complete abolishment of your previous love for animals and causes you to eat bacon butties for lunch, whilst imagining it was peppa pig in there, with her moany whiney voice, annoying as feck bad attitude and complete lack of respect for anything or anyone. 

I know she’s so realistic right! 

Who invented Peppa Pig seriously and what subliminal messages are they putting in their to make children love this shit so much!  I think I might file a law suit for compensation for all the shoes ruined because my children think jumping in any muddy puddle is ok, i will do this when i finally get admitted to an institution… I’m kind of looking forward to a kid free PJ day. 

It wasn’t all bad today, I managed to get about three minutes to myself in the bathroom when Henry was having a nap, I brushed my hair AND my teeth and I had clean underwear.  I’m practically fucking supernanny!

Then, just when I thought i was winning at life, there was a brief moment of silence, I couldn’t hear anything, like a deafening silence, you know the type that means either the kids have finally succeeded and killed each other or they are doing something they find really entertaining, something that will still inevitably lead to the death of themselves or the other one.  

Well turns out they were indeed alive, sticking bits of play dough in the cats arse fur, why you ask? Well they were merely “sealing up his butt hole, he keeps farting and it stinks”.


Seriously poor Hodor! His only pleasures in life are farting and sleeping (I can totally relate, that is why he is my soul-furmate) and now, not satisfied with taking away my sleep they are trying to take away Hodor’s ability to fart!

 I wouldn’t mind but the wild little animals are gassier than Jim Royal themselves!

The play dough disaster required me to utilise my (far from professional) animal grooming skills, the kitchen scissors (which are now a right off, turns out Hodor doesn’t use toilet roll) and my eyebrow comb (this wasn’t needed anyway because my eyebrows are now that bushy I just use my hairbrush).

 I hacked away like a (non) professional and Hodor now looks like a complete tit.  Seriously he will be mocked by all the other street cats until the day he dies.  Thomas found it hilarious, Henry tried to eat the play dough mixed with cat fur and i sat on the kitchen floor and cried. 


I cried for about five minutes while Peppa pig babysat my children in the front room (thank fuck I didn’t really eat her) Then i got up, made a brew, puffed on my electric fag and waded through the sea of toys back to my very feral kids.  Not quite the supernanny I once thought I was. 

Just when i felt a bit like the loneliest, shitiest parent in the world i got a message inviting me and my littlest beast to a birthday party on Saturday, funny how these things seem to come at just the right time isn’t it? I felt better knowing that someone wanted us to be part of their day, you know?

My sister-in-law (or at least she would be if my brother got his finger out) and my nephew came to visit today, they’re also part of the keeping Lauren sane today effort, he’s two months new, and still in that squishy, new baby smell stage. 

The stage where your one nipple, or teat away from peace, oh how I long for those days again!

 But he did remind me that these boys of mine where that little what feels like five minutes ago, everything they do is to learn, they are wild, crazy and loud but I wouldn’t really want them any other way.   

If Marks and Spencer did make children, I would still keep mine.

Anyway I am now back in that state of parental ignorance (or at least i was until i started writing it all down and remembered) you know when your children are tucked up in bed, actually smelling of Johnson’s, the floor in your living room is (mostly) visible and you remember how funny the kids were today.

 You see our brains have this really good way of tricking us, tricking us into thinking our day hasn’t been that bad, that we should feel guilty that we didn’t get more done, that we lost our shit and shouted at the kids (500 times) and that we ate Peppa pig (or at least fantasized about it). 

Luckily for me I have Hodor’s now bald arse hole to remind me, I was completely right, my kids where just Dicks today.

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