There is no love on Earth like a mother’s love. But just because we adore our kids in this unconditional and all-consuming way, doesn’t mean we like being in their company all of the time.

This is one of a number of annoying habits children have – the fact that they are always there. When you’re taking a shower. When you’re paying the bills. When you are on the loo. When you are trying to eat dinner hours after you have tucked them up in bed.

There they are, just inches from your face and creeping you out in the middle of the night, and again, staring at you or pulling at your arm at the crack of dawn.

They follow you around the house when you’re doing the washing, feeding the dog, stacking the dishwasher and vacuuming the carpet.

And they don’t do this weird stalking thing silently either. That is another annoying trait of small people – they never shut up.

‘’Do I have to?” and ‘‘why?’’ are among the most irritating conversation starters followed by such gems as ‘‘it’s not fair’’, I’m bored’’ and ‘‘it wasn’t me”.

Throughout the school holidays we have also been regaled with cries of “in a minute” and “but you said …” along with a good dose of “can you do it for me?”.

There has also been a lot of bargaining.

“If I eat one more carrot can I have the fudge cake?”

“If I pick up my socks, can I watch a movie?”

“I will tidy my room if you let me stay up tonight.”

That sort of thing.

Children have plenty more annoying habits too. They are sticky. Or filthy. Or both. They are the masters of inconsistency. One day they like spaghetti, the next they don’t. They also behave like little drunks on the lash at New Year’s Eve.

They stumble around, spill stuff, slur their words, and knock things over.

They also take every opportunity to tell company the intimate details of your most embarrassing moments.

Of course, like all good parenting guides will tell you, ignoring such behavior is the best course of action.

That, or addressing it in a firm voice which, let’s face it, usually falls on deaf ears because that’s the other exasperating thing about kids – they don’t listen.

“It’s just a phase,” my husband and I say hopefully to each other.

What else are we supposed to do? They grew out of pooing in the tub and eating nothing but cheese toasties, so this must be the same kind of thing… right?

The alternative – that they will continue to possess such maddening traits into adulthood – doesn’t bear thinking about.

And yet I’ve started picturing all of the unbelievably annoying adults I know and wondering if their parents are to blame.

The overachievers, the attention seekers, the lip-smacking loud eaters, the secret nose pickers, the incessant question askers, the ones who have to win, the sore losers, those who can’t make a decision.

Did their parents, like me, naively assume their grating behaviour would disappear all by itself?

“Perhaps we should show them just how maddening these habits really are?”suggested my husband, promptly lying on the floor at the feet of my son, wailing that he couldn’t tie up his own shoelaces.

I smirked. My kids looked horrified.

“I’m hungry,” he shouted, dramatically rubbing his stomach. “My tummy hurts. I’m so hungry. I might die.”

“What do you want for lunch?” I asked.

“Pasta,” my son said, looking strangely at his father.

“Fish fingers,” said my daughter.

“Yuck, urgh, disgusting,” said my husband. “I’m not eating THAT. Are you serious? Gross.”

He paused. “If I finish my peas can I play on the PlayStation?”

In the afternoon the kids put on a film.

“Neeeeeeawwwwwww!” my husband screeched, flying paper airplanes at the television screen.

“Daddy!” shouted my daughter. “We can’t hear!” He went and sat next to her, squashing himself right up and flinging his arms across her. “I’m bored. Bored, bored, bored. Let’s play a game. Let’s get out the Lego. Let’s do painting. Play football? ”

“Get off,” she said.

“Why?”

“You are making me hot,” she replied.

“But why?”

He started humming. No tune in particular. Just a dull repetitive noise.

“Stop it,” my daughter said. “I get it ok? You’ve made your point. Enough is enough.”

But it wasn’t. He went for a run and came back hobbling. “My knee hurts,” he shrieked, clutching his leg and falling to the floor. “My knee hurts. My knee hurts. My knee hurts. Kids? My knee hurts.”

Then he left his stinking sports kit in a pile on the floor of the bathroom.

“Ew!” my daughter said, holding her nose. “Clear this up Daddy!”

“It’s so unfair,” he replied, slamming the door.

“I’m thirsty,” said my son, mid afternoon.

“So fix yourself a drink,” I replied.

“ I can’t,” he replied crossly. “There are no clean glasses.”

Someone had helped himself to a clean glass every half hour and left them all on the side by the sink.

We got ready to go to swimming.

“Where are my goggles?” my husband yelled flinging bathing suits around the kitchen. “Where are my goggles? Where are they? You’ve lost them. It’s all your fault!”

“Right here,” my daughter said.

“But where are my shoes?” he flailed.

“I saw them upstairs,” she replied exasperatedly.

“Can you get them for me?” he whined.

“Daddy is being really weird,” my son whispered to me as we got in the car. “It’s a bit embarrassing.”

“You and your sister behave like that all the time,” I replied.

“Yeah but…” he paused.

Was it starting to sink in? Could they be beginning to understand just how irritating their behavior could be?

“She hit me!” my son yelled, jabbing his sister in the ribs.

“He started it,” she screeched, kicking him back. Clearly not.

My husband started the engine.

“If you can’t beat them, join them,” he said grinning. “One, two, three …”

“Are we nearly there yet?” we shouted in unison.

@EllenWiddup