"My children don’t know me at all, and that’s fine."

My children don’t know me at all, and that’s fine.

It’s meant to be that way. I am their lord, master and servant. I feed them, clothe them, tell them what to do and buy them their first car. It’s the way it’s meant to be, after all.

But as my son gets older, he’s starting to pick up on a few of my personality traits, ones that aren’t attached to me as a mother or me as a wife.

I have mixed feelings about this.

Our children start off worshipping us – we can do no wrong. Then we get cranky with them, discipline them, refuse to buy them a particular gaming console and we become the enemy, until dinner time when their favourite chicken schnitzel meal snaps them out of their sulk.

If my kids knew me really well, they’d know a few things about me that I’m not ready for them to know. But I know it’s going to happen. Yes kids, mummy is more complex than you think.

Here are the secrets I keep from my kids. I’m now living on borrowed time:

1. I’m terrible at maths

I am really bad at maths. I have no concept of numbers. It borders on an allergy. I have physical symptoms. When someone asks me a maths question or starts doing sums out loud in front of me I feel sick, dizzy and have an incredible headache. My eyes start to search for the nearest exit. Then, their little eyes zoom in on me. Damn. “Mummy, can you help me learn my 7 Times Tables?”

So I sit down, pretending to be calm and we carefully work through it together. What they don’t see is me using my fingers under the table to try and figure it out. Yes, I still do this.

2. I’m scared all the time

My children don’t know how much I worry about them. They don’t know that each and every day I think of ways to keep them safe. Should they really be catching the school bus? Do you need to stay at soccer training the entire time just in case? Is that a possible choking hazard? Are trampolines really safe, even if they land on their head? My mind goes at a million miles an hour. All they see is me sitting down on the chair, smiling and watching them jump. “See how high I can jump Mummy?” They have no idea what is going on inside my head. And they shouldn’t know. I want them to feel carefree.

3. I miss them

Each time my children started school I went through a grieving period. I physically grieved for that time in our lives when we were together always.

At the same time I was so excited for them, so proud of them and so happy they would be learning and becoming amazing little people. When I see the school bus pull up each afternoon my heart leaps. I hug them and casually ask them how their day

has been. They chat and ask for snacks. I think, “Thank goodness they are home”. They say they miss me, but they have no idea how it feels when I miss them.

4. Toys that sing or dance freak me out

I have a severe phobia of toys that dance or sing. I blame the movie Chucky. Whenever Elmo starts dancing or laughing I get chills. There are always these plastic toys that sing and dance, you know the pot plants with sunglasses and such.

They have a dancing Santa that I always imagine is holding a knife behind its back. Sometimes at night after the boys are asleep I throw the toys out. The other night after I had thrown that damn pot plant away I was watching TV and could have sworn I heard it singing and dancing.

I didn’t want to look out the window. It’s crawled out of the bin to kill me! I made my husband go. There it was, singing and dancing in the bin. He ‘took care of it’ for me. Poor beheaded toy.

5. The real reason we don’t buy them everything

My children have no idea that we have money troubles. They think that when I say no to a particular toy or outing it’s because I don’t want to spoil them or I can’t be bothered. That’s not the case. It’s because we simply can’t afford it. I know they could probably handle the truth, but I don’t want that for them yet.

I don’t want them to worry about money yet. There’s plenty of time for that later. I tell them they have to earn their toys and outings through good behaviour and have implemented a sticker system. They think it is a behaviour thing. It’s actually a way to give myself time to save the money.

6. I wish I had travelled before having them

I’ve always wanted to backpack round Europe. I didn’t get the chance. I met my husband instead and had my children. It’s my single biggest regret, because travelling with kids is a completely different thing. My husband and I are secretly planning for me to get away for two weeks but have no idea how to explain this to them. I look forward to travelling with them too, but only after I’ve fulfilled this dream.

7. I doubt everything I do

My children think I am so certain as I choose their food and clothes, guide them and give them advice. The truth is that as I’m saying the words and giving them advice I’m thinking, “Gosh I hope I’m saying the right thing”. I’m never quite sure. They ask me a difficult question about human behaviour and I speak with such certainty, hoping they grow up to be accepting, grateful, loving people. Then I spend the rest of the day going over and over the conversation in my head.

8. I don’t share all my food with them

I usually make a big deal over food. I make a beautiful dinner, we enjoy it together. If they want more I happily give them all the food on my plate. I am such a generous and kind mummy.

Except neither of my boys has yet found my secret chocolate stash behind the cereal boxes on the very top shelf of the cupboard, buried in a basket full of medicine. They almost had.

If my son – who was searching for Pez refills at the time – had just shifted that basket, the Panadol would have toppled over revealing his favourite Cadbury Marvellous chocolate and my Mint Aero that are mine, mine, mine!

9. I can’t wait for them to grow up either

My children are desperate to grow up. They are bored and can’t wait to be able to do more, be more. They dream of the jobs they will have and the cars they will drive and the things they will do. I tell them to settle down. There’s plenty of time for that. “Enjoy being a child”, I say.

Then I secretly dream of them as adults, living in various locations, me visiting them and us having lunch together. I think of my boys wearing suits, having jobs, of being friends with their wives (let me dream) and helping them look after their kids.

Do you have a secret stash of treats you hide from your kids? What are some of the things your children don’t know about you?