Are your children too honest
Posted Tuesday 13th May 2014 By Ericka Waller
So yesterday I let Thing-One pick my outfit for a child’s disco party. “Mummy, you look so beautiful like that” she cooed at me. I felt a bit ‘done up’ in my too-tight and too-short mini-skirt teamed with a huge mohair jumper, but she assured me I looked like a princess.
It was very hot in the hall. I didn’t want to dance to One Direction singing about going crazy, but Thing-two did. “Mummy you are really good at this” she said, as I held her hand and did the classic mum dance, shifting my weight from one leg to another, with an occasional knee bend or hand-clap to snazz it up.
Over her head I watched my friend’s daughter doing the entire dance routine to Katy Perry’s ‘Roar’ and thanked the stars my kid was so easily pleased with my mediocre moves. What a cougar I’d have looked in my mini-skirt, twerking and prowling round the dimly lit hall.
And then Thing-three made me feel great when I managed to undo a very tricky cellophane wrapper on a large lolly. “I lush you mamma”, she said, giving me a quick kiss. I regretted opening it later when she was too high on sugar to sleep, but at the time I felt like a million bucks. I looked like a princess, danced like a pro and was extremely dexterous.
They are not always as kind of course. When my roots grow out too long Thing-One tells me I look like Cruella De Ville, and then there was the time Thing-two dragged me across a shop to show me this jewellery display stand (see left) then shouted loudly, “Look mummy, she looks just like you!”
Thing-three loves to do impressions of how everyone in the family goes to the loo. Her impression of me always involves her squatting down very low to the ground and making loud raspberry noises. She does the same one for the dog.
Being with my kids is like eating a packet of Revels. You might get a chewy toffee compliment, like how you look like a princess and not the honey monster when wearing a giant mohair jumper, but then you might get the bitter coffee criticism like, “Mummy, why do you have a beard? I thought only daddies had them?”
Maybe my kids are too honest, or maybe there is something about my face which suggests I like any kind of feedback, good or bad.
In the playground the other day, a dad of Thing-One’s friend turned and said, (entirely unprompted I might add) “You should see my stay-at-home trousers”
Confused, I looked down at my on trend Urban Outfitter Harem pants
“These are not my stay-at-home-trousers” I said, “they don’t have a crotch in them”.
I realised as I said it that it sounded a bit racy. Thank god he was not there yesterday to see me dressed up like the village tart.