Why Mummy Doesn’t Give a ****!
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Krátky popis
Family begins with a capital eff. I'm wondering how many more
f*cking 'phases' I have to endure before my children become
civilised and functioning members of society? It seems like people
have been telling me 'it's just a phase!' for the last fifteen
bloody years. Not sleeping through the night is 'just a phase.'
Potty training and the associated accidents 'is just a phase'. The
tantrums of the terrible twos are 'just a phase'. The picky eating,
the back chat, the obsessions. The toddler refusals to nap, the
teenage inability to leave their beds before 1pm without a rocket
being put up their arse. The endless singing of Frozen songs, the
dabbing, the weeks where apparently making them wear pants was akin
to child torture. All 'just phases!' When do the 'phases' end
though? WHEN? Mummy dreams of a quirky rural cottage with roses
around the door and chatty chickens in the garden. Life, as ever,
is not going quite as she planned. Paxo, Oxo and Bisto turn out to
be highly rambunctious, rather than merely chatty, and the roses
have jaggy thorns. Her precious moppets are now giant teenagers,
and instead of wittering at her about who would win in a fight - a
dragon badger or a ninja horse - they are Snapchatting the night
away, stropping around the tiny cottage and communicating mainly in
grunts - except when they are demanding Ellen provides taxi
services in the small hours. And there is never, but never, any
milk in the house. At least the one thing they can all agree on is
that rescued Barry the Wolfdog may indeed be The Ugliest Dog in the
World, but he is also the loveliest.
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Gill Sims
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Gill Sims
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HarperCollins
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HarperCollins
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