The older child is moving out. Proper raging she is. We have been (I say we but it’s mostly me) have been ‘MEAN’ and ‘HORRIBLE’ to her, all day. So if you too, want to inflict so much mental torture upon your six year old that they pack a Sainsbury’s bag and erect a ‘tent’ of a rainy evening so they don’t have to spend ‘ONE MORE SECOND’ with you, then here’s how to go about it.
- Take them to Junior parkrun where they can run and frolic with their friends with wild abandon.
- Bring them to Kaffe-O for refreshments afterwards, since like Hobbits, children like a ‘second breakfast’, especially after zipping about, hither and thither.
- Spare them the ordeal that is Palm Sunday Mass and instead motor over to Stormont where they can swing and slide, pick buttercups and stroke a spaniel, and gambol about the grass like carefree little Easter goats.
- Head to town and do some colouring at the Mac, listen to a Yukelele band and acquiesce to take them to ‘Yo Sushi’ for lunch, despite there being numerous food vans at the ‘Belfeast’ carnival which offer more nourishing and no doubt, more ethically sourced fare.
- Resist the urge to go berserk when the bill in ‘Yo Sushi’ comes to forty-two pounds, since the little buggers have been swiping salmon nigiri & maki rolls off the belt and then have the audacity to grab a sizeable dessert each. (The bill total excludes the price of a hoisin duck bao bap. “I’m sorry to tell you this,’ I told our server, when he had the misfortune to enquire how our meal was, ‘but that was one of the vilest things I have ever eaten.’ He nodded, looking utterly unsurprised. ‘ The sauce was so cloying and synthetic it tasted almost radio-active,’ I went on. Off the bill it came.)
- Before heading for home, take a trip into ‘The Black Box’ where your offspring can make themselves an Easter bunny with the aid of an icing bag filled brimming over with white chocolate. Allow them to eat them in the car home, because frankly, you just don’t care anymore.
So reading this, I’m sure you can see why the older child wants to leg it.
I give it ten minutes after I post this for the Mothership to lift the phone. ‘FORTY-TWO POUNDS,’ she will say. ‘IS IT ANY WONDER THAT YOU’RE BROKE? NOT RIGHT WISE, I’M TELLING YOU.’
And this time, sadly, she’s absolutely right.
