The Bad Mummy Day.

A divine friend of mine has introduced me to the concept of the Bad Mummy Day.  This phrase is used in conversations with her that go something like this.

“How are you Mrs Woog?”

“Yeah… Just ok I suppose.”

“Bad Mummy Day?”


It is a simple way for me to convey to her that all is not well in the land of Motherhood.  In fact it has been quite shit.  We will follow this conversation with a brief outline of why it is shit,  followed by a “chin up” speech and then fond farewells. It is comforting to know that someone out there gets where I am coming from.

Bad Mummy Days get fewer and far between for me as the Woogettes get older but I am coming off the back of a Bad Mummy Week,  with escalated yesterday into all out disaster.

My beautiful son Harry has been having a very hard time settling into school this year, which has been an exhausting process.  Yesterday Mr Woog had taken the car for the day so my lovely neighbour Adrian was going to take the kids to school for me.  I sent the kids off only to have Harry return a few minutes later at the door.

I popped on my slippers and dressing gown (so very fetching) and walked him down to Adrian’s car where he stood,  like concrete, refusing to get in.  Jack,  who can sniff a drama out like it is nobodies business,  wanted in on the action and then too, refused to go to school.

“You are kidding me?” I said loudly before bursting into tears.

On the road.

With Adrian there and other neighbours looking out to see what the commotion was all about.

Jack went to school.  I went home with Harry and continued my crying.  I got myself out of my nightie,  called Mr Woog and left a choice message on his phone,  pulled myself together and had a chat with Harry.  Turns out he had French first thing in the morning and apparently the French Teacher was some sort of monster.

Lovely Adrian then gave Harry and I a lift up to school.  Harry and I walked into the classroom to meet Madame Le Francais who turned out to be a smiling, blonde angel who warmly greeted Harry with a “Bonjour mes enfant!” and Harry breathed out.  The teacher was not a monster so I bid him Au revoir and started walking home.

Via le Victoire where I picked up a battard for dejeuner.

As I walked home I started to feel my stress levels diminishing. I thought about why the kids were driving me so freaking batty at the moment.

Later that day,  I collected the kids from the bus stop and came home. I helped Jack into his ballet clothes,  made them a snack and asked Jack to get ready for class.  He looked at me and announced he was not going.

I will not go into the next half an hour,  but it was not pretty.

It made me think a lot about how much I love my kids,  but how much I really did not like them at that present time.  Do you understand what I mean?  I suppose a lot of people would be horrified that someone could think like that….

So it was time to dish out some repercussions.  TV is now banned,  there are no after school playing with the kids in the street and last night, at 6.30 when I could not stand the sight of them for a moment longer, I tucked them up into bed with a kiss and they both fell into a deep sleep.

Then I poured a generous glass of wine.

Was I a bad mum?

No. I was just having a Bad Mummying Day.

This morning,  something has clicked and the boys were up and dressed,  had made themselves breakfast and Harry came in and gave me a cuddle in bed and told me he was going to do the Kiss and Drop this morning.

The Good Mummy Gods seem to be smiling on me today. Thank fuck and about time!

Do you ever suffer from a Bad Mummy Day?

Post Script added 10 hours later
Harry did the Kiss and Drop today and was as happy as a dog with two dicks xx