The Nazgul has swapped pushing my buttons for violently headbutting them since she woke up this morning. She has varied her activities from throwing sequins and pipe cleaners in the toilet, to subjecting me to long screaming fits of "No Mum, Daddy. Daddy come, Daddy come", attempting to leave home and go to daycare, refusing to wear clothes and a long list of other things my brain has simply repressed. So, for some reason that may one day be discovered by a dedicated team of psychiatrists, I decided I would wear her on my back to collect RainMan from school.
I don't drive, and public transport is rarely kind to us, I am quite often bullied by elderly passengers or denied entry by drivers, and yet nothing could prepare me for what was to follow. I got on the bus and after the driver aggressively pulled away from the bus stop knocking me off balance I realised the only vacant seat was next to what can only be described as a "fat mental", now I am notoriously weak stomached and am particularly nauseated by the unwashed so I was already descending through the layers of hell as I was squished there. The Nazgul decided, at this point, she objected to this gentleman and all he stood for and began attacking him with a frisbee (which she bizarrely insisted on bringing) shouting "NO TOES", repeatedly.
After this I developed the belief that the return trip would be incident free, again this is something that warrants robust psychiatric investigations. The Nazgul had abandoned the frisbee to free up both hands to remove the maximum amount of hair from my head, while shrieking her mantra of "NO TOES". She quickly graduated from this to attempting to forcibly remove my earrings, the resulting shriek from me managed to alert the entire bus to my plight, unfortunately my fellow passengers were not as sympathetic as one might expect. The fact that I proceeded to take my earrings out so enraged the Nazgul that it rammed its finger into my ear and pulled back with all its strength swapping her battle cry to "TWO EARS", I was oblivious to the fact the bus had stopped until passengers started cramming on and one (who mercifully did not look in my direction) was an ex-boyfriend. Now, I have been with My First Husband for over a decade but I still like to imagine any previous pastimes (aka exes) as sitting in a darkened room Miss Havisham style, perhaps rocking and lamenting the day they lost me. To see them walking about apparently unscathed by the events of the late 1990's is bad enough, but to be faced with the prospect of them seeing you, when you are not wearing flattering and stylish evening wear with perfect hair and make up so perfectly applied you look younger than you did then, is too much to bear. Thanks to a morning of repeated assaults by someone slightly taller than a garden gnome, I had actually abandoned my "stain threshold" and was wearing jeans smeared with some substances best not to think to much on, was completely sans make-up which highlighted the wonderful crop of pimples I am cultivating on my chin and my hair, of course, had been styled by the Nazgul only moments earlier. Apparently my blood shot eyes and dull stare complete the grief chic look I have been sporting of late. I remedied this by looking in the other direction (who says I know nothing of strategy). RainMan who was standing in front of me decided saying in his most petulant voice, at volume "Why do you keep looking at me? Stoooooppp iiiiit" while the Nazgul kept just screeching and then chewing on the seat rests. Somehow I doubt he was regretting blowing his chances with me.
When we did finally get off the endless, can only look in one direction, bus journey, RainMan started obsessively fiddling with his watch getting visibly frustrated as The Nazgul just shouted repeatedly "My Daddy, NO MUM. My Daddy". After repeated warnings over the next ten mins (with the Mum is shit/I want my Dad soundtrack provided by The Nazgul the entire time), I ended up confiscating the offending watch and restrained myself from grabbing him by the shoulders and screaming "QANTAS NEVER CRASHED" into his face. He spent the entire trip home crying and giving me death stares and I removed the Nazgul from my back because I just couldn't cope with further hair loss. As I was sending increasingly desperate pleas for help to My First Husband, The Nazgul realised she had forgotten to step in any dog shit so remedied this by running back to a large piece she had spied on the foot path, stomping on it and then laughing, pointing at her bum and saying "pooh".
Now, I recently read a journalist commenting on the proliferation of motherhood blogs about and labelled them as either "living on one wage tips" or "bad mummy confessionals", I think over the progression of this blog it is pretty clear this is not a bad mummy confessional, the problem is clearly THEM rather than me. I am a great mummy, they are just too fucked up to notice.
