We love our Mothers, we do. And to prove it, our writers have earnestly agreed to let them share horrible stories about them. Naw.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the Mums out there. Givers of life, Steppers of nerves, Bringers of lunch. We love our mums here at TBS, so we’ve decided to let them put the boot into us, by sharing stories we’d rather forget.
“My choice as a mother was to demand feed Robbie and he rejected any attempts at replacing me with a dummy or a bottle.
He wanted ‘the real thing’.
As Robbie became more mobile and independent he would lift my top, (even in the most public places) demanding a feed and a ten-second comfort stop. This was to be expected. After all, I chose to
Now I am from the bra burning generation and like me, many of my friends did not wear bras. At around twelve months a neighbour dropped in for a visit. She had a white t-shirt on, no bra. She was sitting down in an armchair and it was like a light bulb suddenly went off in Robbie’s head. “Titties!!” he joyfully yelled, and like bolted lightning, he was on her lap, pulled her top up and…I will leave it up to your imagination what ensued.
I love you!!! Mum xoxo”
“One time, when he was about 12, Sam was so desperate to keep reading a book before getting out of bed one morning, he took his bedside lamp under the blanket and kept reading it.
Unfortunately, the heat caused the plastic lamp cover to melt and set the blanket on fire, trapping Sam between a wall and his flaming blanket, and it was all because he was so desperate to keep reading!”
“The fact that you wanted to be a Brownie Girl Guide was very embarrassing. You even had a sash full of awards, including the coveted ‘Cup of Tea Award’, which you received for making a cup of tea. Besides this, you were always a wilful child. At the age of two when I was toilet training you, you would look me in the eye and pee on the carpet. You knew exactly what you were doing.
You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“I was asked a question today. When did I know Jessica was going to keep me on my toes? Was it the emotional night two and a bit years ago after her best friend’s wedding where she was a bridesmaid? Maybe. We drove her home that night listening to alcohol fuelled rhetoric in between technicolour yawns, which culminated in her being hosed down (fully dressed) in the shower as she informed her father and I she was comfy in the bath and was sleeping there.
Or, was it the time in First grade when her brothers decided to pilfer a couple of notes out of my wallet, swearing her to secrecy with the promise of $5 for her silence, only for Jessica to crumble the minute she was confronted with a disappointed look? Hmm.
I believe the moment I should have realised I was in for it was when she was about 2 and a half years old. We have greyhounds, and back in the day you could wear what you like to handle them, I had laid out a few sets of clothes on the bed trying to work out what I wanted to wear, when Jessica toddled in, climbed up on the bed, looked at everything, before turning to me with a serious look on her face and stated ’You’re not wearing that, you’ll look like a dag!’ After bursting out laughing (out of her eyesight), I put everything away and started again. Jessica has always had strong opinions, and god help anyone who disagrees with her. I love the fact that Jess is so passionate about what she wants to do and what she believes in. I have watched her struggle, sat back when what I really wanted to do was either steer her or kick her in the rear and silently or noisily cheered when she has achieved what she aimed for. Jess is the type of person that needs to discover things on her own. You can quietly think to yourself, she really needs to do this, or I wish she hadn’t done that. However unless Jess comes to the same conclusion, you just shut up and wait.
Sorry Kiddo, but that’s the truth, Love Mum/Preshy”
“The annual holidays at the beach hadn’t started well. The initial excitement to find a table tennis installed in the beach shack waned when my 10 year old found playing more difficult than he had first imagined.
In his deflated mood we descended on the beach and off he raced into the cold waters of the NSW South Coast.
Braving the icy waters my little highly agitated boy stood suddenly in front of me, shivering, goosebumps all over and with blue lips whispered for me to have a look.
So I loosened the cord of his swimmers and showed me with great concern his little penis which had completely retracted. Assuring him that his pride and joy would reappear, I wrapped him in a big towel and hugged him back to normothermia.”
“When Katie was born and I looked down at her beautiful face, I thought about how much I was looking forward to dressing her up in pretty dresses, putting ribbons in her hair, and having tea parties. But when she turned 6 and her stubbornness grew, she had other ideas. Like the way she’d only wear her brother’s clothes in defiance against dresses, or how she spat as she walked, and ripped the heads off her friends Barbie dolls, leaving me profusely apologising to all their mothers. She was such a delight.
I’m glad she grew out of that.”
“Mathew was my first, and most difficult. For someone who sees himself as mellow and well-adjusted, for most of his life he was the opposite. Noise was the most important thing in young Mathew’s life, and when that did not sate him, more noise certainly would.
While he likes being ‘in’ on the joke, as in when my father would come around purely to raid the medicine cabinet, it was his idea to use morphine; he excels at being the punchline.
Case in point would be a trip to the park one standard weekend. We were around the corner from the house we were living in at the time. Mathew, ever the innovator, decided to ride in the kids swing but would pop his legs through the holes.
Which worked fine until he was done swinging. The realisation that he was stuck drew the most ridiculous conclusions from him. A pair of scissors was requested, as was the fries. Any attempt of lifting him out would draw the whine and a further request for the jaws of life.
Eventually, through incremental progress (and a loosely drafted will), he was free. With thick lines drawn around his thighs by the rubber, he marvelled at his escape and blubbered treachery from me. ‘Why didn’t I help him?’
He turned 18 the following weekend.“