mothers on the verge

This morning I got out the cookie recipes. I collect cookies recipes. I love cookies. And every year I try out at least one new recipe for our party to see if I can add to the mix. Usually it's a dud-a-thon. Like the key limes cookies that never harden and turned into panier-like lace things the size of my head. And the sandwich cookies with filling that never hardened and dripped on everything. On my satin skirt for example. Or my favorite: a Martha Stewart recipe that promised disks of candy-colored crisp. And required so much food coloring I felt I was eating a cleaning product. The Rabbit and I sat as she ate breakfast deciding which 5 batches I should make -- never more than 5 different kinds. I've tried six. And The Prince didn't speak to me for a day after leaving me at 3 am crying into the flour.....He keeps tally now. She hates meringues (so cute though...!) so those were out. Ditto to anything with nuts since we have too many friends now with kids who are allergic

I have discovered a speedy route to Heaven. No, I haven't been in secret conference with The Man Upstairs. Quite simply, I have found the best bribe ever. Picture this. I am at home on Friday morning, trying to work while all hell is breaking loose around me. The Small(er) One is bellowing for me to take her for a wee while Firstborn is literally hanging off my leg in despair because she can't find her pink Dora The Explorer knickers. The phone is ringing and I can't find it. Some fool buzzes the intercom repeatedly, refusing to accept that I am not his mate Ahmed. Then Alpha Male calls to ask exactly why I spent £75 at Boots earlier that week and do I not realise the critical state of our overdraft? Just as I am about to break into a million mental mommy pieces, screaming that I can not bear another second of this level of harassment from both family and non-family members before locking myself in the bathroom for an extended period of sulking, I remember that I have my v

Children have a serious design fault. To a child, it seems quite reasonable to shout even simple requests at the top of their voices. To them, a whisper is unthinkable. Life is carried out cranked up to the highest volume and at top speed. It exhausts me just to look at them and as for listening, well, it's no wonder that my hearing is no longer as acute as it used to be. There's a lot of talk about the dangers of youngsters hanging out in nightclubs and dancing too close to the speakers, and the danger this poses to their hearing. But what about parents? Who ever thinks about us? After the daily torment of demands for juice bellowed straight into my ear, it's a surprise my ears drums haven't perforated and that I still manage to cling on to the small amount of cognitive function remaining. After the 13th tantrum of the day my ears continue to ring long into the night, a fitting accompaniment to the jangling of my nerves. And these are just the high points to endless da