Half-Term Hatred
So it’s half term. I have the pleasure of having my darling little sprogs at home for the whole week. Sadly we aren’t joining those lucky souls off on holiday to either the cold slopes of some snazzy ski resort or to the warm welcoming shores of the idyllic Caribbean... no - we are stuck at home - the boys and me, for the whole week.
Now half term is a time for all those boring but necessary appointments - the dentist, the optician, asthma clinic and barbers, to name but a few. All of these are pretty draining, but the appointment I dread more than anything else is the visit to the school shoe shop. Without fail, and for no apparent reason, my boys become, what I can only describe as “completely feral” in here. It doesn’t matter how many times I lecture them beforehand to behave and be sensible - within moments of stepping into the shop, they literally lose the plot. Now Clarks in half term is normally heaving with children..... so with a ticket in hand, you proceed to sit there, waiting your turn, for what seems to be an eternity. Maybe it’s the boredom that sets in, but, within moments of sitting down - my boys start lamping each other. Ben has told Teddy to “Shut it, fat kid!” and Teddy, who is sensitive about his weight, launches himself at Ben, using full rugby-tackle force. Ben goes flying and manages to kick my Costa coffee out of my hand. Of course, the cup is virtually full, so what seems like gallons of cappuccino, ends up in a sticky mess all over the kiddies measuring foot thingy... “FFS!” I shout inside to myself.
Well, you’d think that the little shits would stop fighting at that point, bearing in mind the amount of carnage they have just created, but no, the fuckers continue to thump each other.
As I’m frantically trying to mop up the coffee, the sodding buzzer rings and number “38” is called. Oh fucking marvellous. That’s us.
As I reluctantly hand over to the lady the dripping foot measurer, whilst apologising profusely for my children’s unacceptable behaviour - Ben lets out a piercing scream. Teddy’s only gone and bitten him on the arm. Everyone stops dead in their tracks - children’s eyes are like saucers. Mothers look over in my direction with a weird mixture on their faces of total disgust and total relief that it isn’t their kids who are out of control.
I want the earth to swallow me up at this point, but, of course, it doesn’t. Ben is wailing uncontrollably and Teddy is only now looking slightly sheepish.
“You total fucking arsehole c*n*heads!!!” I want to yell out loud. But of course, even though I am SEETHING, I have to control my anger. Quickly and quietly, I gather my belongings and drag the boys out of the shop. As I do so, I can only imagine the tutting, head-shaking and general slagging off that is going on behind me. I must confess at that point I also want to turn round and tell everyone inside to “Fuck off” as I am damn sure all of their so-called darlings misbehave once in a while, but I think we have already made enough of a scene.
With Ben still crying uncontrollably whilst clutching his arm, I venomously hiss at my boys that they are banned from electronics until they are 18. Slight overreaction - but I’m not thinking straight.
Well, this, of course, makes Teddy burst into tears and again we are the centre of unwanted attention. I literally want to cry at this point, but I can envisage the headlines of the local rag stating “ Mad family reduced to tears on shopping expedition”, so I just about hold it together...
As I reach the car and literally hurl the children into it, it suddenly dawns on me - another branch of Clarks which we can no longer visit. We are now down to the last branch within a 10-mile radius. Fucking Marvellous!
Now half term is a time for all those boring but necessary appointments - the dentist, the optician, asthma clinic and barbers, to name but a few. All of these are pretty draining, but the appointment I dread more than anything else is the visit to the school shoe shop. Without fail, and for no apparent reason, my boys become, what I can only describe as “completely feral” in here. It doesn’t matter how many times I lecture them beforehand to behave and be sensible - within moments of stepping into the shop, they literally lose the plot. Now Clarks in half term is normally heaving with children..... so with a ticket in hand, you proceed to sit there, waiting your turn, for what seems to be an eternity. Maybe it’s the boredom that sets in, but, within moments of sitting down - my boys start lamping each other. Ben has told Teddy to “Shut it, fat kid!” and Teddy, who is sensitive about his weight, launches himself at Ben, using full rugby-tackle force. Ben goes flying and manages to kick my Costa coffee out of my hand. Of course, the cup is virtually full, so what seems like gallons of cappuccino, ends up in a sticky mess all over the kiddies measuring foot thingy... “FFS!” I shout inside to myself.
Well, you’d think that the little shits would stop fighting at that point, bearing in mind the amount of carnage they have just created, but no, the fuckers continue to thump each other.
As I’m frantically trying to mop up the coffee, the sodding buzzer rings and number “38” is called. Oh fucking marvellous. That’s us.
As I reluctantly hand over to the lady the dripping foot measurer, whilst apologising profusely for my children’s unacceptable behaviour - Ben lets out a piercing scream. Teddy’s only gone and bitten him on the arm. Everyone stops dead in their tracks - children’s eyes are like saucers. Mothers look over in my direction with a weird mixture on their faces of total disgust and total relief that it isn’t their kids who are out of control.
I want the earth to swallow me up at this point, but, of course, it doesn’t. Ben is wailing uncontrollably and Teddy is only now looking slightly sheepish.
“You total fucking arsehole c*n*heads!!!” I want to yell out loud. But of course, even though I am SEETHING, I have to control my anger. Quickly and quietly, I gather my belongings and drag the boys out of the shop. As I do so, I can only imagine the tutting, head-shaking and general slagging off that is going on behind me. I must confess at that point I also want to turn round and tell everyone inside to “Fuck off” as I am damn sure all of their so-called darlings misbehave once in a while, but I think we have already made enough of a scene.
With Ben still crying uncontrollably whilst clutching his arm, I venomously hiss at my boys that they are banned from electronics until they are 18. Slight overreaction - but I’m not thinking straight.
Well, this, of course, makes Teddy burst into tears and again we are the centre of unwanted attention. I literally want to cry at this point, but I can envisage the headlines of the local rag stating “ Mad family reduced to tears on shopping expedition”, so I just about hold it together...
As I reach the car and literally hurl the children into it, it suddenly dawns on me - another branch of Clarks which we can no longer visit. We are now down to the last branch within a 10-mile radius. Fucking Marvellous!
Love it!!!! Years ago the queue was so long that one of my sons wee’d all over the floor - quickly followed by two other boys - because they refused to let any of the 30 bladder filled children in the queue use the staff loo!!!! Never been back since!
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