Smile_2

The jigsaw situation is getting as out of hand as is the "It wasn’t me who wrote on the wall Mummy. I’m just not interested in writing on the wall, I  promise" situation. If  I’m not  tripping over one of seven jigsaws on the go and ruining my son’s life (I’m ruined Mum, you’ve ruined me!), I am discovering another "work of art" destroying another piece of furniture.  Scribbles on walls discovered by a Mummy with a few pieces of Postman Pat jigsaw glueing themselves to her nether regions, does not a happy Alison make…

So this morning in between crying over 4 litres of spilt milk and trying out the old dry white bread technique on a variety of ruined surfaces (trust me it doesn’t work: not when your little Picasso has seen fit to engrave your paintwork with his delightful doodles…), I took it upon myself to do three loads of washing, disinfect the bin and oh yes, transform myself into the kind of understated glamourpuss who goes and meets a man for coffee when she has her little boy safely ensconced in nursery…

I had a date. In the day. It made me feel muddled. Like somehow I was stepping out of one role into another. Like someone might find out and shout at me. Like it wasn’t ok to meet a man, to smudge on a bit of lipstick and step outside my life for a bit. So confused was I, that in fear of him not turning up I dithered over which book to take, (So I looked nonchalant when he arrived, or busy, should I find myself stranded with a hot drink and a painted on "No I certainly haven’t been stood up!" smile!)  What would reading  "Are Men Necessary?" say about me? Would he think I was a crazy child obsessed Mommy loon tune if I took "Perfect Madness" or a sex crazed single white female if I took "Single Mom Seeking"??? Do I care?

Oh for goodness sake! Why do I have to think so hard about these things? Why can’t I just lean across the counter and grab the complimentary Daily Mirror like a normal person?? (God forbid.)

He is nice.  A silly, cheeky kinda chappie, who stood in the queue buying himself a drink (I was unfashionably early and equipped with a large hot chocolate), took one look at my book and mouthed "Thats us: me perfect, you completely mad…"

So things got off to a good start. I laughed so hard bubbles went up my nose. Chocolate flake crumbles ruined my top, we talked nonsense at each other, shared recent histories, and then I forced him to walk to Tesco with me to buy more milk  and we kissed goodbye. It was nice, but short lived, because before too long I was running back to school, swiping lipstick off my face and stepping back into my Mommy role, so thoroughly guilty about the whole matter I spent the rest of the afternoon running around the living room wearing a pirate hat and shouting "land ahoy!" because that is what good mommies ought to do…

Perfect Madness. I know.