Why being a mother is a life sentence: two examples

This was meant to be my week off work, where I'd imagined myself walking the dog every day, sleeping in a little, doing some writing, reading and catching up with a couple of friends for coffee.

In YA drEaMs LoVE!

I am a mother, so the week has comprised cleaning, cooking, dealing with several major breakdowns, ranting and handing over money like I've just won LOTTO.

Example 1: Missy Hissy, 13, had planned to go to the Sydney Royal Easter Show with friends she knew vaguely through sailing. However, most dropped out so Spanner and I decided she shouldn't go.

Her reaction: "I hate you Mum. Sometimes I say I hate you and I don't mean it, but today I really mean it."

For the rest of the day, she followed me around crying, whinging and generally making me feel like I was the baddest mother (not in the positive hip-hop sense of the term).

At one point, I was lying down doing exercises for my bad back and she got down next to me and began to sob - really close to my ear.

Example 2: The bedroom of my eldest daughter, Precious Princess, resembles a tip. Yesterday when I walked in to look for something (it might have been my makeup, the phone or my wallet), she was in her usual position - lying on her back on the bed, under the doona, with the computer propped up on her stomach.

Amongst the mess on the floor I spotted a piece of a broken bowl, which was encrusted with dried cereal. Surrounding it was fragments of porcelain.

"What's this?" I asked. "You've got to tidy this up."

The response was fired back at machine-gun speed: "Yes, yes, yes, yes, I know, I know, I know, I know. Now go!"

It's no wonder I drink, and not just coffee.