Going out out!

This is what parenting is about: sacrifice. And now, as I’ve just typed that, I’ve realised I’m quoting the ‘profound’ taxi driver we got later that night 🙈…  I was more excited than Queen I for our first cinema morning together- not for the bossy little shite we were going to watch (although it was a relief that new episodes, that I couldn’t quote, were finally being released). Queen I didn’t have a clue what was going on, except that her false idol Peppa was involved; ‘cin-e-ma’ was just another damned word for her to learn, I’m sure.

I was excited to be spending ‘quality’ (don’t be sick at the cliche) time with my little girl, something that has fallen by the way a little if Big N’s not asleep. She was my every waking minute until Kid 2 came along, but now even my headspace is shared. 

We went to the fancy (expensive) multiplex,    she picked whatever insanely priced treats she wanted and we waited in a soul-destroying queue to pay for them. For good measure, I got her a ‘munch box’ with other crap in it (snacks is the way to Queen I’s ❤️)…and a foot-long-mechanically-removed-meat hotdog for £6 at 10am 😳. Turns out she didn’t like the popcorn either, so I took one for the team 🍿.

 But we sat down 20 minutes before the film started. 

Queen I kept asking about ‘queen’ Peppa, repeatedly. I promised she’d come. 25 minutes after the film was supposed to have started, the ads finished and the ‘film’ finally started…but it wasn’t a Peppa cartoon (that’s the only time I’ve prayed for a Peppa cartoon) it was some weirdo with even weirder ‘Peppa and George’ puppets. Queen I grabbed me in terror.

A fellow WM’s Peppa movie experience 😫.

It finally started- interspersed with more weirdness…but Queen I is her mother’s daughter, despite being her dad’s double 🙌. 45 minutes in, she tricked me into going to the toilet, just minutes after she’d just been, to then say she wanted ‘car’ when we got out of the screen 🎉. And, as luck would have it, there was a relaxed garden birthday party happening: I nattered with my fave Wine Mums and the other kids occupied my kids (we’d acquired Big N en route).

The party was going to kill the time (with my BFFs) until it was time to take The Tag Team to my mum’s, for me and the OH to have an anniversary night out. 

But then the Original Wine Mum text: “sned clothes nicase ee got to Chatsworth in morn. Mumx” You work it out, but basically it meant the ‘rents would potentially keep the kids for the following morning 🙌🎉💖.  We thought we’d won the lottery when OWM text to say “drop them off when you wang [sic: want]” 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

I was out of my mate’s garden like a rabbit out of the trap! We pulled up on our drive and our left the engine running and the front door open as I pelted upstairs for clothes for ‘Chatsworth’. I threw the clothes in to the car- bag-less and still on the hanger- and sped to my mum’s. If the kids had been older I would’ve dumped them at the bottom of her drive…

For the rest of the afternoon I sauntered around, in peace, getting ready, taking unsuccessful selfies🙈… Until me and the OH went in to town.

We lounged in a warm, pretty square outside nice bars, on an unusually warm Saturday. Then, hey, we bumped into our old friends 👌🍷. And then little cloud crept across the sky…

My ‘rents taking The Tag Team to Chatsworth depended on their friends- our old friends’ parents, who we’d bumped in to- being too hungover from their night out to be able to go out with them walking.

But my pal Loz had dubious news: she didn’t think her parents were going out anymore. Ergo: my parents may not be taking the Tag Team out for the morning. Would I get a lie in…?

Stay tuned for the conclusion to this enthralling thriller 😉.