Sh!ts & Sharpies – A Mother’s Day Tale

It all started off on Mothering Sunday Eve, with a toddler in the bed and a pissy sleeve.
But first we need to recount the day all fathers dread, I’ll tell you later the significance of the pee in the bed.

As I awoke with a heavy weight on my head, the consequence of two children, a man and a dog in my bed.
6:45 on the clock I seem to recall, “Yippee” I rejoiced, I’ve had no lie in at all.

As my glazed eyes refocused on my cheerful kin, excited to give presents (praying) “please let there be gin”.
A bag appeared, a magical one at that, what treats lay in store – what Mother’s Day tat.

But imagine my wonder as I pulled open that Tesco bag, for there was no pretty wrapped presents not even a tag.
Arrggh, there had to have been a mistake, for no-one surely would give a Tesco fruit cake!
A bottle of squash and some bags of tea, there’s no way this bag could be intended for me.

Not for the Mum who keeps everyone fed, organises the itinerary and reads stories in bed.
Wipes bums and noses and drives the car… to fun-filled locations, some near and some far.

But as I looked into the eyes of the man in my bed, 10 years I’ve put up with that giant head.
I realised in fact this was the best he could do, and I should be more grateful for my magical Tesco bag of food.
“Wow, I love it”, I remark to my children so sweet, through my lying maniacal eyes and gritted teeth.😬

Undeterred I head downstairs to get breakfast done, catch up on my Insta’ and wrap presents for Mum.
In a moment of madness I left Wilba alone, as I put away the scissors in the kitchen on my own.
The boy had been screaming for the last 10 flat, as I’d turned Minecraft off for messing with the cat.
I ignored his shouts and calls for Mum, “he’s crying wolf” I thought, “not falling for this again son”.
But heeded his warning I definitely should, as I stood in that doorway my faced drained of blood.

Screaming “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE”, Wilba jumped up in fright, covered in sharpie but still clinging tight.
The large wooden table was covered in pen, all I wanted to do was start Mother’s Day again.
After wrestling the pen from out of her grasp I ran to the kitchen.. well walked quite fast.
With Jif in hand I started to scrub, the boys eyes were red as he continued to blub.
“Why didn’t you stop her, you know that it’s wrong” – “but I did, I tried, I kept calling for you Mum.
I rolled my eyes back, the Boy was right, the sharpie left on the table was my oversight.

As I wrote this one off to just another day I looked over to Wilba as she continued to play.
“I’m off” shouted Andy – I’ll be back in a bit, two minutes later how was I to know I’d be up to my neck in sh!t.
A large lump had appeared in Wilba’s baby-grow. The mound at the bottom of the leg that every mum knows.
As I cursed Andy’s name for not putting it on tight, I assumed it was a wet one – which would be alright.

The nappy had fallen off under the weight of the wee, and poo had managed to squelch right down to her knee.
Trapped half in the vest and all over her bum, up her back, under her foot and round her Tum.
Arrgghh I groaned my face turning red, forgetting to warm the boy where to tread.
“Stop” I screamed, the situation escalated fast – now both were in tears as I headed for the bath.
Both covered in poo and the Boy in pursuit I went over to the bath “holy mother of… oh poop-fiddly-poop!
The boy stared at me and I grimaced back, Mummy’s forgot to takes the toys out of the bath – gosh she’s a Tw……. very silly lady.
There was only one answer, one thing I could do – another sink would be used to clean up the poo.
As Andy returned form the dog walk in the sun, Wilba naked in arms he said “looks like you’ve had fun”.
If it wasn’t for the kids and my patience and tact, I would have told him exactly where he could have shoved that sack.
I was determined that this Mother’s Day would be filled with fun, so I planned a great day and a tea with my mum.
After the usual quarrels we managed to get out of the house, 1 hour behind schedule and nearly without my spouse.
The day got much better from then at BeWILDerwood, then surprising my mum and eating lots of pud.

I’d nearly forgotten the morning as we returned home, put the kids to bed and at last – we were alone.
Jarmies on all showered and clean, trying to find a film that we both hadn’t seen.
“What’s that smell” I said, nose scrunched up. “I can’t smell anything”, “hang on, I think it’s the top”.

Remember back at the start when I said, it all started off with a piss in the bed.
Wilba had come into our bed in the night and the nappy fell off ’cause guess who can’t put it on right.
We changed the bed and put Wilba back in her cot – but I forgot to wash my bloody PJ top.
So back to Mother’s Day evening we return, topless in the kitchen, will I never learn.
Mother’s Day is a day just like all the rest – filled with shits and sharpies and pee pee stained vests.

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