The Teaching Mum

A light-hearted look at parenting through the eyes of a very busy English Teacher.


Leave a comment

It’s No Big Deal!

I was the first person to hold you when you came screaming into our world.

Birth is not a big deal, I thought, as I passed you to Daddy so he could meet his girl.

The midwife made a big deal when I said I didn’t know how to fasten a nappy,

It made me feel stupid and alone, when really I should have just felt happy.

I found feeding you so difficult at first, but I tried and tried and tried.

Health visitors thought I was being dramatic when the pain came and I cried.

But, I persevered; I fed you myself and in the end it wasn’t a big deal,

The long nights soon started and then the sh*t got real.

Sleep deprivation became a well known form of torture,

Never did you sleep in the lovely cot we bought you.

No big deal.

175

About an hour old!

Tomorrow you start school and that’s no big deal,

You’re more than ready and this I know, but what’s this emptiness I feel?

Your uniform is hanging neatly in your darkened room,

And you’re sleeping right now so sweetly with your dreams dancing in full bloom.

“It’s your first day tomorrow! What will you do if Mummy cries?”

“It’s not a big deal, stop saying that!” Then you roll your eyes.

I can tell you’re ready, it’s plain to see because

When I talk about school, you literally beam with glee.

I hope it lives up to your expectations and is everything you want it to be,

I hope you make friends quickly and are not too shy like me.

But, if you find your first day tough, don’t worry, it’s not a big deal,

There’s always another day where you can start a fresh and put up a brand new shield.

Dream big, my girl!


There will be times when I can’t help, there will be issues you’ll have to deal.

And what you feel will one day be felt, because as time passes, you will heal.

Friends may come and friends may go, but please remain kind and true,

Popularity doesn’t matter as just long as you are you.

Mummy is looking forward to listening to your story books,

I won’t make a big deal when you learn new words; I will avoid your embarrassed looks.

It’ll be no big deal when you’re all dressed up, armed and ready to go.

I won’t fuss with your hair, take lots of photos and insist on the girly red bow.

 

As a teacher, I know you are in the best place you can be,

You need to learn from others and not just listen to nagging from me.

Your teachers will know you inside out and will know what it is you like to learn,

It’s not a big deal if you struggle at something; it’s okay to crash and burn.

But, it’s important that you stand back up again and tackle the challenge you face.

Your teachers won’t think it’s a big deal, in fact, they will think you’re ace.

As you go into your new school, I will go into mine too,

And I will greet new pupils who have butterflies in their tummies just like you.

I’ll smile, introduce myself and play down the importance of the day.

“Right!  Who know’s what a homophone is?  Let’s crack on.” is what I’ll say.

It’s alright to feel overwhelmed when you experience something new,

Just smile to yourself because it’s no big deal as friends will always find you.

Go get ’em kidda! (Mummy know it’s a huge deal really!) 

img_1949

You rocked Lower Foundation!

 

 

 

 

 

 


1 Comment

The Twitching Hour

There comes a time that all men fear,

A time that makes mums cower,

Brace yourselves and grab a beer,

My friends, welcome to The Twitching Hour.

And by ‘hour’,

I actually mean ‘night’,

I’m not going to mince my words here,

It’s often just plain sh*te,

Now, you know me and I’m not one for swearing,

But, at 3am after being smacked in the eye, I’m now way beyond even caring,

So let’s rewind, let me take you back and I’ll show you how my sleep stealing kids attack.

Beware of the Face Crawler!

Bathtime is when they grow in power,

Watching the tub, fill with glee,

Thus signalling the start of The Twitching Hour,

As The Dude stands proud and has a wee.

“I’m not washing my hair in that!” She cries,

“You’ll have to put me in the shower.”

“It will make you hair nice and soft,” The Other Half lies,

Yes, God bless The Twitching Hour.

“My toe is touching his willy!” My girl laughs,

“You can’t do that!” In horror, I shout.

I know that I am just being silly,

But I Google ‘suitable bath ages’ and pull them both out.

 

“Don’t know what she’s smiling about but I’ve just done a wee.”

 
Next comes the drying and the putting on of the pyjamas,

Followed by the crying enough to drive you bananas.

Seven attempts to get a sleep suit on,

Surely that can’t be normal?

By this time, my patience is gone,

And my language is no longer formal.

“These effin’ press studs, why don’t they work?”

“Just be patient,” is his advice,

Every night they drive me beserk,

I wouldn’t mind, but I think he has fastened one erm, like twice.

 

And where do you think you’re off to?

 
 
Downstairs I go to make the night drinks,

And, no, I don’t mean alcohol…yet,

From the landing, my heart suddenly sinks,

Because The Dude screams again and begins to fret.

Then we’re in bed and the iPad is on,

Thankfully playing Sky Go,

The Girl happily watching Cartoon Network,

And the Dude, on my phone, watching Elmo.

It starts out innocently with a bottle of milk,

Yanking at my hair as they drink.

The bedding is wet where they have spilt,

And attached to my fresh bedding there is a sour stink.

Sometimes it doesn’t end there,

Sometimes they drink way too fast,

Sometimes he throws up chunks in my hair,

And the clean bedding is now wet and then trashed.

Into the washing basket it goes,

Clean sheets from the cupboard are pulled out.

Dirty washing is every where as the basket over flows,

“Stop crying over spilt milk!” The Other Half shouts.

“But it’s wet and cold and I smell minging!”

All this chaos is beginning to take its toll,

And on my leg, The Dude is crying and clinging,

Oblivious to both the sick and us, The Girl continues to watch Gumball.

I can see you saying: “They’re still awake?

How long is this bloody poem?”

Bare with me, don’t leave, don’t make that mistake,

I’ll move quickly just let me keep going.

And now there’s the calm after the great storm,

But soon we will start with a twitch,

We’re finally downstairs; almost back to the norm,

When a cry from the monitor hits like a bitch.

So upstairs I go and feed my boy back to sleep,

My evening, I realise is at an end,

My discarded chocolate and wine – my evening treat,

“You may as well bin it.” I text from upstairs and reluctantly press send.

And now it is night time and I am officially alone,

Apart from my Little Dude’s snoring,

Of course there is always the light from my phone,

But drowsiness ensues and Facebook memes finally get boring,

 

“Mum! You awake?”

 
Suddenly, I’m rudely awoken,

By a cute, but strong little foot,

Hitting me direct in the sternum,

I’m aware my nose is way too near his butt,

Sighing heavily, I reach and rub at my chest,

Unfortunately, I don’t move quickly enough,

As he has now flipped over squished my left breast,

Tears sting at my face and it becomes difficult to stay still and stay tough.

I silently scream into my pillow,

Because he has just clawed me mid-snooze,

I begrudge The Other Half downstairs below,

Secretly finishing off all my chocolate and booze.

In the dead of night sometimes I shout:

“Come on just sleep for God’s sake!”

I become aware that in two hours I’ll be up, dressed and out,

So I prey that The Other Half is awake,

He isn’t because I can hear his deep snore,

I feed and sleep like a record just repeating,

I don’t think I can’t take this much more,

Of this cycle of feeding and reluctant co-sleeping.

But, then when I think all is lost,

The sun begins its new rise,

So I have lost a little sleep, but at what cost?

Because lovely cuddles from my boy have been my nightly prize,

Glancing at my smiling son, my mood is no longer sour,

You’ll be pleased this poem is finally at its end.

As a new day draws to a close The Twitching Hour. 

“Fresh air doesn’t tire me out, Mum. Nothing does.”