Are you a fun mum?

Posted Thursday 26th June 2014   By Ericka Waller

I call my mum ‘the ministry of fun’. I mean it ironically. She is renowned for stopping people having a perfectly nice time, for no reason whatsoever. Last month when I went to visit her in France, she noticed me and dad having the best time ever doing the locomotion round the swimming pool (my top tip on how to mend a broken heart) and so turned off the CD player. No explanation, nothing. Then she marched back indoors to try and work out how to use her ‘tablet’ (MUM, please just call it a frigging notebook!)

I was talking about it to my brother, who said she did the same thing to him and dad when they had a late night darts session. She came storming outside, nightdress billowing in the light of the moon, and told them to “PACK IT IN!”.

Don’t get me wrong, she can be fun sometimes. She says ‘sneezy-pops-a-woozle’ for example, which tickles me no end, but mostly she takes her job as the fun police very seriously.

I didn’t think I took after her in the slightest, except for our mutual love of paper sniffing. Seems I was wrong.

Thing-one asked me to sit down, and told me solemnly: “My friend said you are not very fun, at all, and you are always shouting.” I was furious at my mother, and Thing-one’s friend.

“What tosh, I’m fun!” I declared. “I drink my morning tea out of a Christmas mug and eat Crunchie bars even when it’s not Friday.” She just looked at me sadly.

So the next week, on Thing-two’s fourth birthday I decided to prove them all wrong. I blew up 13 balloons, downloaded an 80′s kids playlist and started dancing, with great enthusiasm to ‘Superman’.

You know the one: “Ring the bell, ok, kiss, comb your hair, wave your hands, come on wave your hands, SUPERMAN!

Well honestly. You’d have thought I was stood there stabbing kittens, the look everyone gave me. “Sneeze, go for a walk, lets see you swim, and ski!!” I ordered a little girl near me as I did the breaststroke.

“Why is no one dancing?” I hissed at Thing-One as I shimmied past the fridge.
“Because you look a bit, scary” she replied.
“No I don’t” I squawked  “I look like a fun mum!”
“Oh dear, is your mum shouting again?” her friend said “lets run away.”

I tried not to let it knock my confidence, but you can’t help but feel a wally when you conga alone. The mums and dads smiled at me in cringing encouragement, then turned and no doubt muttered “Poor cow. She’s lost the bloody plot since her husband left her” to one another.