I’m posting this from MineCon, an event my nearly 13yo boyo has dreamed of attending for the past five years. It usually abroad (Paris, Orlando and the like) but this year it is in London and I made him a rash promise that I would attempt to get tickets. Which, purely by a fluke, I did. So I’ve basically spent the family holiday budget on two days of all things Minecraft <gulp>. 

I am still very much batshit but the tickets were named and booked pre-breakdown so I have had to strap on my big girl pants and brave the crowds. It’s not been too heinous (apart from a minor wobble when I was convinced an aeroplane was going to land on the arena), it’s not overly crowded and seeing it through Harry’s eyes has been glorious. It’s 10,000 preteens and their parents with some inventive and amazing costumes dotted throughout (not us, we’re in our comfy togs). 

Seeing Harry in raptures of pure joy at all the Minecraft events and stands and games makes it all worthwhile, the crowds, the cost and the trouble all melt away. 

I love going all out for my children. I’m a pretty shoddy parent most of the time, I’m shouty and stressy and fail to remember important things like clean uniform and sports day, but I overcompensate by treating them to a standard of living that’s just that bit beyond expectations. I want them to have experiences and treats as often as possible; hotel stays, posh meals out, adventure days. None of us go without but I’d rather spend time and money on them than on us, and Rob’s the same. I don’t feel it’s spoiling them, we have limits and they don’t get everything they ask for, but if I can arrange it or buy it for them I go out of my way to do it. Just not if it involves remembering they have a half day at school or a dentists appointment, apparently. 

I will probably never be a supermum but giving them amazing treats once in a while makes me feel like I’m getting at least one thing right and that’s ok for now. 


About Just Some Stuff About Us

I live in West Sussex with three bonkers children and a Rock God for a husband. I'm somewhere in my thirties but I frequently have to count on my fingers to remember where exactly. I like to talk about myself and my chums. Some people like to read it.

One response »

  1. It sounds like heaven and hell rolled into one! My 12-year-old son would probably have loved it, but I didn’t even know it was on, dammit.

    I love your posts about being a shoddy mother – which you absolutely are NOT. They make me feel a whole lot more normal. Go, Bat(shit)Woman!

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