Know Your Place, Mother!

I was wondering what I would waffle about today, but I know you all get an endless source of amusement from the farce that is my life, so I thought I'd talk about Mrs Pickleicious... that's her in the pink coat and the pink car seat.  Yes... she is pink and fluffy and I wouldn't have her any other way.  I did think for one brief moment that she was going to be a tomboy.  All she was interested in was her brother's cars and bricks and then she saw it... PINK... and she was gone.

Anyhoo, that's not really what this post is about.  It's about knowing your rightful place in the grand scheme of the tableau that is your children's lives---and making sure you bloody well stay there!

Picture the scene... chaos in an attempt to ready ourselves for seven five and six year olds to descend upon my living room for Gracie's 6th Birthday party.  Relatively simple... there's seven of them... not too much mess... beads and friendship bracelets to be made, nails to be painted and manicures to be given, faces to be painted by my lovely friend, Vicky... a few jam sandwiches (jelly to my American pals)... biscuits, crisps and cakes... everything was set.

Hooray, I hear you cry, what could possibly put you in your place in a situation like that?  It was the pink person above.  Apparently, I was allowed to do nails and be in charge of the musical statues and musical bumps.  I was not allowed...I'll make a list...

1)  To sing.
2)  To dance.
3)  To make silly jokes.
4)  To make any bracelets because I'll be too busy doing the nails.
5)  Ask any of her friends if they'd been on holiday (which I do to her every time I paint her nails)... 'cos it's     not funny.
6)  Apparently none of her friends have a job, so I wasn't allowed to ask that. (She explained very seriously that they're all kids and aren't old enough to work).
7)  I wasn't allowed to let the balloons down and talk in a squeaky voice.
8)  I couldn't have my face painted because I'm too old.
9)  And I definitely couldn't blow the candles out on her cake for a joke (it was once...once!  And it only happened because I coughed from the smoke of the candles!)
10)  And last but not least, I wasn't allowed to kiss her or shout out I love you every ten minutes.

I sat there, gobsmacked, as I was firmly put in my place and realised where I stood in the grand scheme of the pink and fluffy life my daughter has built for herself.

So... do you know what I did? *grins wickedly*
I did what all excellent mothers have done through the generations when they were given the same rules...

I BROKE 'EM!  Every single bloody one!