DB1 achieved 8 stickers on his ‘Im a clever boy and did a widdle on the toilet’ chart last night. In Danny terms, this means he reached his grand goal, which earned him a toy animal. Yes, yes, I know, before you say it. Yes, it is a SH*T way of potty training, by bribing the arse off of him. But seriously, this boy would be in nappies in secondary school, the way we’re going.
So anyway, that meant a jaunt into town to purchase said animal. Imagine my delight at discovering 2 animals in the charity shop, at 49p each! (charity shops are as far as I dare extend into the world of retail these days. We’re in a recession don’t you know.) DB1 was equally delighted, the world was a happy place and it was smiles all round.
Until, bizarrely, we got to the play barn. Ironically, a place designed solely with the purpose of making children happy little people. DB1 started off happy…then rapidly descended into grizzles, as I wouldn’t let him take his animals into the ball pool. ‘You’ll just lose them darling’, I tried to explain, whilst gently trying to prise them from his tight, sweaty little grip.
This made for a very unhappy little boy. He skulked off, casting baleful glares at me over his shoulder as he climbed the squishy ladder. Two minutes later, he returned, in floods of tears, claiming he had ‘hurt his hand’. The hand was dutifully kissed and rubbed better.
‘Can I have my animals?’ was the desperate little request. Again, I explained why it wasnt a good idea. Again, DB1 mooched off in a huff, only to return again, wailing sorrowfully, this time because he had hurt his lip.
‘Can I have my animals?’
‘No sweetheart, as I said before, it’s best mummy looks after them for now, as they’ll get lost…’
‘Can I please have my animals?’
(deep inward sigh) ‘It’s not a good idea darling, you might lose them, and it would be a shame after all those weewees that you did on the potty!’
(full on tears now) ‘Please mummy, please! Please! Want my animals! Please!’
I must admit, at this point, I wish I’d never said no. I wish I’d never made a stand on this one, and just let him have the sodding animals, lose them, then learn for himself. People in the play barn were now staring as DB1 erupted into a fountain of livid snot and tears. DB2 simply sat in the highchair and laughed. (he always finds DB1 crying hilarious…slightly worrying).
I resisted the urge to join in, and start howling too. Instead, I chose to ignore him and sit at the table, staring despondently at the ceiling. Thankfully, at that moment, his little friend joined us and we had a welcome distraction. Pretty fortunate that, given I was about to go completely bonkers.
Later on, back home, we had a good time of it, playing with the new animals and building a Lego house for them to live in. All was going swimmingly, and i had built what was, in my humble opinion, the most magnificent Lego house I’d ever seen, complete with three stories, en suite bathroom and garden (with palm tree and hammock style outside bedding!). When DB1 and DB2 decided to RUTHLESSLY smash it into pieces, giggling and cackling as they did so.
Is it childish of me to say that I felt really put out? I actually wanted to do a Db1 and start grizzling…saying ‘want my Lego house. Want my Lego house.’
Perhaps DB1 is more of a chip off the old maternal block than I realise eh….