Aaaaaah, how wondrous it is to be reminded that life is a great tapestry.

It was Albert Einstein who told us, ‘the individual is only an insignificant thread in an immense and miraculous pattern.’

How we each deal with our infinitesimal part in life’s great tapestry, is as diverse and complicated as the pattern itself.

Some of us toil away every day, weaving our weft over and under our tiny stretch of warp, aware that others are weaving right next to us and that we need all those different threads to get the tough job of existence done without getting in too much of a tangle.

Meanwhile others (let’s call them ‘twats’) are pathalogically unhappy and dissatisfied with YOUR weaving and are determined to obstruct the production of the entire tapestry until everyone has signed a petition and participated in an awareness day in order to achieve their goal of us all using the EXACT SAME weaving technique.

Allow me to bring to your awareness that today is, in fact, ‘Don’t Call Me Mum (or Dad) Awareness Day’.


A group of actual parents are actually “heartbroken” by being referred to as Mum or Dad by the professionals who deal with their children.

According to this group of clearly extremely busy and entirely normal parents, the main culprits for this abusive behaviour are nurses, doctors, teachers and generally anyone whose function within our tapestry is to improve the lives of our children.

Well sod that, say these parents!

I don’t care if you have just performed open-heart surgery on my child, after performing open-heart surgery on hundreds of other children; when you address me, I expect you to call me by my name and I feel so strongly about this that I have set up a website and an awareness day and a petition in the hopes that one day, your ability to do your life-saving work will be so impeded by the pressure to correctly name sensitive parents like me that many more children will die, but at least when you break the news you will remember to call the bereaved parents Mr and Mrs Twatface.

When I’m in A&E with one of my kids, you can call me Nigel Farage as long as you fix them. When I’m at a teacher meeting, I’m just grateful you know the name of my kid and don’t hate me for inflicting them on you. When I’m at regular special needs meetings, trying to secure the best treatment I possibly can for my child, I won’t even NOTICE what you call me because without pointing out the bleedin’ obvious, the meeting isn’t about ME.

At work this morning, I asked the grown-ups if they minded that I called them ‘Mum’. Only one had an objection…Arno’s Dad…

Often I’ll call them ‘Sam’s Mum’ (NB only applicable to Sam’s actual mum). One Mum told me she loved being called ‘Mum’ by everyone; her child was her last chance at mumming and she revels in her longed-for label. All of them agreed that with so many constantly-changing children at each session, each of them bringing a variety of carers each week, knowing the adults names would be a daft unnecessary pressure that would interfere in the crucial life-saving work of entertaining small children.

We all have pet hates, don’t we? The little things which annoy us, and probably only us. Like a pet, they are ours. Like ‘petty’ they are of little real importance.

The founder of this awareness day lists her pet hates as including hardened weetabix and disintegrated tissues in the laundry.

Mine include people who set up pointless and possibly highly damaging petitions due to their undiagnosed problem with control issues.

Watch out for ‘Don’t Put Tissues In Your Laundry Awareness Day’ and a petition to ban Weetabix…

I do hope your day of weaving has been minimally obstructed by twats…