As a parent of pre school children life can be hard, but never more so than during half term, when the people who are actually qualified to look after your children go on holiday leaving you in full time charge of your own kidlets.
How is this allowed to happen?
I am not trained for such occasions, when the government introduces the long awaited Ofsted ratings for parents next year I expect to be put straight into special measures and given notice to improve in all areas.
This half term has been made even more challenging by the actions of one man. A man who has upset my beautiful three year old boy so much he has been inconsolable for most of the week.
I shall call this man Jim. Jim is an evil bastard.
He is also a pirate and made of plastic.
Jim sails under the Jolly Roger on the good ship Playmobil where he refuses to let the tiny plastic parrot sit on his big fat injection moulded shoulders.
Why Jim? Why?
Why do you have to be so difficult? Just let the bloody parrot sit on your shoulders it’s all my little boy wants in life and you refuse point blank to even entertain the idea.
I hate you Jim, and your evil little piratey face with it’s ridiculous designer stubble and that stupid, bloody poncy waistcoat you insist on wearing.
What has my son ever done to you? Apart from dropping you down the toilet that one time, which frankly must be an occupational hazard for any pirate toy.
Why can’t you be more like Dora the Explorer?
Dora elicits nothing but smiles from my son. Dora’s Ofsted rating would be off the fucking chart, everyone knows that.
Well I have bad news for you Jim. Until you can behave in a proper fashion and stop causing such pain and distress I have no choice but to put you in the drawer of certain death.
Not the drawer! Anything but that!
Every home has a drawer of certain death, usually in the kitchen. It is a place where confiscated goods and broken toys are put for safekeeping.
No one survives the drawer – think about it Jim, you’ve been here long enough you know the drill.
Toys go in the drawer to be ‘fixed by Daddy’ or to wait for ‘Mummy to buy batteries’ they are never seen again.
They sit in the drawer silently weeping until they are forgotten about then Mummy chucks them in the bin when no one is looking.
And I will do that to you, you plastic piece of shit if you don’t shape up and sort out your differences with the parrot.
I didn’t want it to come to this but no one upsets my baby and gets away with it.
How is everyone else’s half term going?