Check out our photo a day

She just smiled and made them a non-Vegemite sandwich

Fat Mum Slim /

I arrived at the supermarket to grab a few last minute groceries {because lately, somehow, my weekly shop just isn’t lasting a week}. I placed a BBQ chicken into my trolley, and then a loaf of bread. I walked through a few aisles after that, with just that chicken and the bread… and it was right near the condiments that I started to get anxiety. And guilt.

It hit me, like a tonne of Vegemite jars falling all over me, I’ve never made my kids a chicken sandwich for school lunch. Never. Not once.

What kind of mum was I?

Back in my school days, my mum sometimes made us chicken and mayonnaise sandwiches for lunch, and they were the greatest lunchbox delight. So much better than the old standard Vegemite one. The anxiety started to get worse as I made my way around the supermarket, and the guilt deepened too. I had to breathe through it. Over a chicken sandwich.

I’ve really let my kids down.

On Sunday I had a parenting moment. Lacey is all about slime. She talks about it for hours. Mixes any two or three things together whenever she can {usually when I’m in the shower and not supervising}, and it always hatching a plan to get more. THE SLIME WEARS ME DOWN. I think it was when she used my expensive moisturiser in a batch that broke me. Oh, and when she got Borax in her eye.


The moment wasn’t about the slime, but it probably didn’t help. On Sundays I like the kids to chillax, while I get all the laundry done and get life sorted. Hubby works every other Sunday, so it’s us three. Lacey does not chillax. There was pestering and requests for playdates. Constant requests and pestering. Non-stop.

I got mad. Threw some slime on the ground and had a tantrum. I broke. It was right at that slime-throwing moment that I didn’t like who I was. I was a cranky, irrational, PMTing, slime-hating mum. I should have handled that better, I thought.

I’ve really let my kids down.

Halloween night Lulu had a sugar-induced tantrum. She’s started doing this thing where she’ll go into her room, sit on her bed and have her tantrum while calling demands at me. “I NEED A DRINK!” she’ll yell through forced sobbing.

And then if I haven’t delivered the demand, it gets serious. “IF YOU DON’T BRING ME A DRINK, YOU’RE NOT THE BEST MUM IN THE WORLD.”

I laugh, because she knows how to get to me. I don’t make the drink. Not for two minutes anyway. I giggle a little, and then I make the drink and take it into her. She calms down and the tantrum stops. I’m the best mum in the world again, but only when giving into four year old demands.

A friend came over on that Sunday, when the slime tantrum happened, and I started saying how I wish I could do better. Most of the time I feel like I’m doing a shit job as this parenting thing. Parenting an almost tween is harder than I ever thought it would be. I didn’t expect my kid to look at me in disgust one minute, and then with utter love and respect the next. What a mind game. And then there’s that whole added layer of running a business and working from home. I feel like I’m failing them a lot.

I got a few sentences in telling my friend, and she stopped me, “I’m not doing that anymore.”

I looked at her puzzled.

“I’m not giving myself a hard time anymore. I’m a good mum. I’m not going to berate myself anymore for not doing things better.”

So I stopped, because I wasn’t going to either. I’m not the best mum in the world. I’m not even close. I’m not perfect, but I’m doing the best I can with what we have. I’m a good mum.

This morning, as I make their lunches, I’ll just smile and make them a chicken sandwich.

Which they probably won’t eat anyway, because KIDS.