01 Feb Honest Mama’s Diary (21 days of crushing honesty)
If we're going to be honest - I don’t keep a diary. I barely have time to put pants on in the morning let alone remember sparkling details from my blur of a day and put them into actual words. They do say journaling helps with problem solving, achieving goals and personal development, which all sound fab but I suspect the people who say that don’t have toddler twins and yesterday’s dinner on their top. And on the floor. But hey, in the interest of self improvement, I’ve embraced their advice and jotted down some journal entries that could be an honest picture of my life, to a large extent.
Started the day with great intentions. Ended up wasting most of my time reading inspirational quotes on Pinterest and watching videos of cats. Did feel quite inspired though.
Didn’t shout at boy child the first hundred times he tried to stick a fire engine down his brother’s nappy. Shouted at him the hundred and first time. Felt like a failure to be honest. Cried a bit. Ate some chocolate.
Finished the ‘just slightly’ chewed piece of mandarin that boy child rejected after begging for it for aaaaaages. Felt good about uptake in my vitamin consumption.
Didn’t take a shower.
Does a ‘good wash’ count as a shower?
Does ‘got caught in the rain’ count as a shower?
Spent me-time on Pinterest pinning recipes for ‘Fast and Nutritious Dishes Your Toddler Will LOVE’. Did not cook any of those dishes. Felt productive all the same. Honest, it works.
Did ten minutes of Pilates in my knickers. Thought I saw a *real difference.* Promised myself I’d make time to do it every day, because mama is important too.
Did not do any further pilates. Looked at tummy in the mirror from all the angles. Sighed a bit. Got back to herding the children.
Tried on my pre-pregnancy jeans. I don’t want to talk about it.
Brought children to the library. Ran around library doubled over, whispering ‘ssssshhhhh’ really loudly. Put lots of books back on shelves. Removed loose pages from children's’ mouths and hid them in my pockets. (Soggy pages. Not children)
Agonized about giving my children a balanced nutritious diet. Remembered most of their dinner ends up on the floor. Served pasta again. Cleaned pasta off the floor.
Finally decided to decorate the house for Christmas. Opened Christmas decorations box. Became overwhelmed with the magnitude of my own stupidity. Closed the box. Showed the boys a picture of a snowman. Nailing Christmas.
Overcame the husband’s lack of conversation skills by holding imaginary conversations with him…
Me: a really interesting thing happened today...
Me: oh really? How exciting dear. Do tell me all about it
Me: (explains mildly interesting thing)
Me: oh wow, that IS interesting. I’m glad you told me all about it, honest.
Me: I know, right!
Me: I’m glad we had this chat
Me: it’s nice to check in with each other
Me: I love you too
The Husband: …. … Eh, what?
Felt proud of my problem solving skills.
Sang incey wincey spider with my kids. Forgot the tune. Made it up. Now I have to explain to my foreign husband why the YouTube version is wrong.
Brought children to the supermarket. Said “don’t touch that” a millionty-one times. Bought all the things except the one thing I actually popped in for. (Wine). Later drank tea and wished it was wine. Felt bad for the tea.
Sellotaped pop-up books back together. Returned them to the library and ran before they saw my handy work. Will never show my face at library again.
Went for a walk with children. Saw a bus. A pigeon. A dog. A dog. A plastic bag. A car. The sky. Another dog. A puddle. A piece of rubbish. A house. Another pigeon.
At least the children were entertained.
Tried to have an actual conversation with The Husband. Interrupted him a billionty-two times to say “yes darling” to the children in an enthusiastic yet mildly distracted voice. Used the same voice with The Husband. Got a better response than with children. Took note for future reference.
Tried to take a family portrait. Ended up with 72 blurry photos, a finger up my nose, a snotty shoulder and two crying children. A big improvement on last time.
So there you have it - an honest account of twenty three days of this mama’s life. More or less.
And that’s why (apart from the lack of time, energy, desire or pens) I don’t keep a journal.
As you were.