I am shattered. Its not that I have done very much, I just feel like I have!
To start at the beginning, my ex 'paid' (I use that term loosely as you will see) for my sons and a friend to go to see the England Mexico match at Wembley last night. Because it was an evening kick off it was decided that the boys would stay over in a hotel down there to save a late night journey home. This of course meant two rooms and the sudden need of a responsible adult to look after my younger son while the two older boys had a drink or two after the match. All eyes turn to mum, or is that muggins? Well naturally I can think of nothing better than to give up two days of my life to drive down to Hemel Hempstead to spend the night in a hotel room while they toddled off to Wembley!
But that's the daft kind of thing us mums do!
So the four of us crammed into Ben's Renault Clio because he insisted on driving. I didn't really mind as the trip was about 197 miles, but the arguments started when Tom did not want to sit in the back because there was not enough legroom, and so to keep the peace my seat was shoved right forward giving me precious little legroom. Now those who know me well know that my legs do not travel well as my circulation is not too hot and I've had one DVT already, but there I sat crammed into the little car for our pilgrimage to the revered stadium.
Being a kind mother I offered to pay for the petrol on the way down there. Little did I know he was about to put super unleaded in. £54 poorer we set off! Actually Ben is not such a bad driver after all, and on the way down he did managed to stay under 80mph for the majority of the journey, with our only conflict coming as I struggled to help the sat nav find its voice. Well is it my fault that his is inbuilt and comes with a remote that needs a first class degree in electronics to understand!
Long story cut short the boys caught a taxi from the hotel to Watford Junction as Ben decided he did not want to try and manoeuvre his car through the rush hour traffic. Of course muggins once again delved into her purse to hand over cash to facilitate this (probably sensible) move. But then it all went wrong, as Ben discovered his cash card was not working so he had to borrow money from Tom, who didn't get any food because he went at half time and the (non English speaking) servers took so long he was turned away as the match kicked off again, but not before he missed Johnson's stunning goal.
After the game Ben frogmarched Tom back to the station passing countless food kiosks without stopping and refused to stop so Tom could buy a scarf to celebrate the match. This meant that at 11pm when Tom came through the bedroom door he had had no food since lunch and of course the Premier Lodge had long since finished serving food. So dear old mum copped for the lot, the anger the frustration, the tirade of abuse meant for his brother, the regret for coming to the match in the first place, All the 'never again' s. The refusal to obtain nibbles from a vending machine in the foyer. It was all my fault!
I hate that feeling of not being good enough. Both my boys make me feel that way. It does not matter what time I give up for them, what I do, what I pay. Nothing is ever good enough. Nothing ever gets that 'thanks mum' Thanks for giving up your time. Thanks for sitting in the car for 3 1/2 hours while your ankles swell like footballs til you can barely walk. Thanks for waiting in the hotel for six hours on your own, and enduring the ribald abuse when you walked through the hotel bar and into the restaurant.....and the looks on the way back. Not paranoia believe me! Thanks mum for sitting waiting for us to come back and sorry for not answering the phone when you called, or answering your text to check all was ok even after we had phoned to say you might have to meet us to pay for the taxi on the way back...
Now you might think that was enough for one trip, but no! You see I snore! Apparently I snore very loudly. I snore so loudly that Tom wanted to kill himself to get away from me. So I lay awake for ages hardly daring to breath for risk of offending my son who now I think of it, reminds me of his father in the way he undervalues and belittles me.
And so this morning I woke after very little sleep to take my boys and friend down to breakfast which of course I paid for. Tom proceeded to be sick and returned to the room swiftly. Ben then wished to return and tutted when I asked for him to wait while I finished my coffee as I did not have a key to operate the lift. He suggested I use the stairs. Cheers.
Journey back was uneventful. Of course I paid for an early lunch for the three boys. They then sat in burger king while I had my coffee elsewhere. I had thought we could sit outside and enjoy the lovely day out by the ornamental pond with the ducks wandering round. But no, they thought I should have brought my tray to them to the dingy cafe burger bit. Mmmmm lovely! So I sat and drank my coffee alone before finding them near the toilets.
And here we are, home again. My ankles are hugely swollen, I'm totally shattered and wondering just why I gave up my time for two ungrateful children. Oh make that three, the friend did not even thank me.