“I’m the mum and I’m listening to Radio 4!”

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We get in the car to go to gym club and the radio is tuned to Radio 3. I’m not in the mood for classical (am I ever?) So I click the little steering wheel button and it stops on Radio 4. It’s a show about bread. From what I can gather over M’s intermittent protests it is about a collective social experiment bakery in Scotland. I think it sounds vaguely interesting though I don’t get to really listen to it as I kept having to turn the radio off to address M’s whining about wanting music on.

After a few days of having him shadow me around the house “in case of Dracula,” combined with his complete inability to go and play with anything without me (to the point that this morning I suggested he go play for five minutes while I got L cleaned up after lunch and I was met with: “I’ll just sit here on this step and wait for you. Mum, I’m just sitting on the step, I’m on the step mum is that okay? Mum?!”) I feel a little at the end of my tether and evidently like asserting some of my own (non-mummy) identity.

Quite why I decide to stake my claim to identity on Radio 4 is anyone’s guess other than that it happens to be on the radio, I am vaguely interested in listening to it, and am feeling a bit fed up of trying to get through the day with a four-year-old shadow come interrogator.

So after switching off the radio a few times to explain that I want to listen to this programme and M responding: “but it’s about bread! I already know about bread!” I say in my bossiest voice: “We are listening to this because the world does not always revolve around what you want. I’m the mum, it’s my car, and I want to listen to Radio 4!”

Mummy would really like a date night with daddy, a G&T and a lie-in but at the moment I’ll take Radio 4 for five minutes. My mini-tantrum does little to dampen his protests and he rests his case with “but wouldn’t you rather listen to Uptown Funk?” Yes, yes I would, but I’m not letting on. This bread show is where I have stuck my flag of independence and that is where it is staying.

Posted by BurntSupper.WordPress.com © A L Roark

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Burnt Supper

British/American, postgraduate, wife, mother, dog-owner

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