I won't be winning any mothering awards this week. Yesterday I got the children ready to go out in the car. I told the lad to play in the front garden but not to get in the car. He, of course, got in the car and rearranged the dials, switches and indicators from the comfort of the driver's seat. I leant over the verranda which is at the top of a flight of stairs and overlooking the garden and bellowed at him. I had left the keys in the ignition from an earlier trip so was keen for him to make a smart exit. As he hopped out he smartly pushed the lock down and slammed the door. My rage put me at risk of a stroke and I screamed 'for fuck's sake Dusty'. Unfortunately my pulpit served its purpose well and carried my rage down the street so that everyone could get a lesson in how not to parent.
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