So I disappeared for 24 hours. To Limerick, of all places. And yes, it rained. Why did I go? To drink copious amounts of bubbly and laugh to the point of pelvic-floor disaster with my mummy pals. Fabulous.
Of course, this meant that Daddy was in charge at home. So, as I sped off towards freedom, laughing like a maniac because I hadn’t pre-prepared any meals (oooooo, evil), he span around in the shower, emerged in his Super Dad lycra pants and ‘took charge’.
I arrived home on Sunday afternoon, hangover having reduced me to a hunch backed hag, to calmness and serenity. Nothing had been broken. The boys were still alive and the house hadn’t burnt down. And there, watching the golf while the boys played quietly on the floor, sat Super Dad. Just delighted with himself at the ‘Pirate’s Picnic’ they’d had for lunch, the HUGE walk they had done that morning and the fact that no-one woke up before 8.00am. Lovely. Bloody marvellous. Grrrrrrrrrr.
Maybe I am a complete cow and should just be happy that I got to go away at all. But I find it SOOOOOO annoying that my daily struggle to get the better of my house and kids is made to look so unnecessary. He didn’t actually say the words “I honestly don’t know what you find so difficult dear”, but under his eye mask and lycra cap, I absolutely know that’s what he was thinking.
Super Dad may think he has this child rearing thing sussed on a 24 hr basis. Next time I’ll leave him for a week. That should wipe the smug smile off his masked face.