Every day teaches us new things, or so I like to think.
Here is what I have learnt today.
1) Don’t overfeed your offspring Shreddies. Three bowls in a row produces terrible, and I mean terrible, sticky faecal matter, which is impossible to clean off bottoms and requires serious scrubbing work in the shower.
2) After cleaning off your 18 month old in the shower (after aforementioned poo), don’t make the classic mistake of thinking ‘they’ll be ok without a nappy on while I quickly put the dirty one in a nappy bag’. Should have known better. A few seconds, and one enormous wee later, I was faced with a puddle of lake-like proportions, a merry, only just freshly showered DB2 sitting in the middle of it, and a fairly mammoth cleaning task ahead of me.
3) Lesson three – when taking your child BACK to the shower, to hose them off a second time (this time for being coated in a generous smothering of urine), don’t then make the mistake of returning to the room, thinking ‘he’ll be fine without a nappy on, because he’s only just had a wee’ and trying to quickly soak up the wee on the rug. True to form, DB2 discovered a hidden fountain (quite literally) of fresh wee in his bladder, and let it gush forth once again, with gay abandon, this time over the carpet.
4) Don’t then utter the phrase ‘for f**k’s sake’, even if under your breath, in front of your offspring. He looked all of a sudden extraordinarily interested at what I was saying, and I saw him quite distinctly, forming his mouth in an ‘f’ shape. This would be particularly awful, given that I have already made this error, with the exact same phrase, with DB1, my eldest.
And a last lesson:
5) It is actually possible for Justin Fletcher (see photo below) to send you over the edge.
I returned downstairs with Mr. ‘excessive faeces and urine’ DB2, only to hear sodding Justin Fletcher’s quite frankly downright infuriating voice on the tv. In my anguish at knowing that I would have to ensure his patronising faux-laughter, ridiculously unfunny ‘gags’ and silly noises, it only took one familiar phrase of ‘Let’s sign…playground!’ to send me completely over the edge.
Now, Mr Fletcher, I am not holding you personally responsible for this breakdown. After all, the event was preceded by some fairly trying toilet habits from my youngest. However, I do hold you partially responsible, simply by virtue of your capacity to be so incredibly irritating. Please, please, please, on behalf of parents everywhere, please stop. Please.
On an entirely different note – please support our business – we are so excited, as we are raising investment funds for our new range of pyjamas!
Check it out here – lots of exclusive products up for grabs, not available on our website! (www.pipsgarden.co.uk)
Here’s the link:
Thank you, kind folks. 🙂
Oh ho ho. Those boys. (*raising eyes heavenwards*)
Before I continue, in yet another ‘riveting’ and hopefully slightly amusing diatribe/ rant about the joys of motherhood, I should like to first say; much of the time, my boys are glorious little creatures. Full of fun and energy, and all that sort of thing. Kind and sweet natured and all round cute. In my opinion, anyway.
However, every so often, they pull little stunts that leave me feeling just a leeeeeetle bit worried.
We’ll focus on DB2 for now. In particular, DB2’s slightly disturbing (but also, worryingly, slightly cool) attitude to authority.
I think it’s safe to say, at the tender age of 18 months, he’s shaping up to be a rebel.
What evidence do we have to support this, you are probably wondering. Well, it’s just the small things that give us worrying suspicions. E.g:
1) He would rather go without food, even chocolate, than say ‘please’. Just for the record, he can say please. He can say it just fine. He knows how to apply the word, and use it in the right context. But, every so often, he gets a little steely glint in his eye that says ‘no.’ ‘Screw you, mother. I’m not uttering your fool word, you crazy mutha-f***a’.
Seriously, I can see it in his eyes. It panics me, but I also kind of have begrudging respect for it.
2) He does things he knows he shouldn’t. Now of course, every toddler does this, to an extent.
But I’ll wager not to the same extent as DB2.
DB2 seems to take a great delight in doing an ‘illegal’ activity, whether it’s wrenching all the DVDS off the shelf, beating the sh*t out of the laptop when I think it’s safe to run out for a quick loo break when working, grabbing the phone off the table and trying to call someone….all these things he does, with great glee, but also with great attitude.
The face says it all. ‘Just try and stop me. Oh yes, you can shout. You can hare across the room, flailing your arms and begging me to desist. But you know what? I ain’t going to. So deal with it.
That sort of thing. Most off putting, when the child suddenly gains far more authority and power than the parent.
In toddler group recently, we’ve had a few other events that have, shall we say, highlighted this issue.
Obviously, there was NativityGate. For the unfamiliar, this was the occasion where DB2 mounted the stage and hurled baby Jesus into the audience. In addition to destroying the Christmas tree and bellowing so loudly during the kindly vicar’s prayer at the end, that no sod could hear him. (cringe.)
But we also have a little reoccurring incident, which focuses around DB2s precious car.
Do you remember those little push along red and yellow plastic cars? They had them when we were kids. You basically climb in, then push yourself along with your feet, Fred Flintstone style.
Well, DB2 is obsessed with the one at toddler group. I’m fairly sure he thinks it’s his. He certainly spends a lot of time in it.
Woe betide the child who tries to have a go in it when Db2 is waddling over to get back into the driving seat. One word. Carnage.
Have you ever played Grand Theft Auto? You know when you have to rob a car, and you get your man to literally pounce on a car, haul the door roughly open, then unceremoniously yank the driver out?
Thats what DB2 does.
just like that.
If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, my 18 month performing violent ‘take down’ manoeuvres on all other toddlers who dare to try to use ‘his’ car, we also had another car related incident this morning. This one, I do confess, made me laugh a bit. (ahem. Quite a lot actually.)
DB2 was in ‘his’ car, just chilling out in it as usual, kicking back with an arm draped casually over the little plastic door.
Another kid, about twice DB2s age, lumbered over and commanded DB2 to ‘get out now’.
DB2 calmly eyed him, saying nothing.
The kid tried to pull open the door, getting more and more worked up and frustrated. Again, Db2 didn’t bat an eyelid, just watched silently.
The kid, by now highly red faced and reaching a crescendo of shouting, leapt to the front of the car, hammered at the bonnet and shouted ‘I HATE YOU! GET OUT!’ at DB2.
DB2 allowed him to continue for a while. Before suddenly, with no warning at all, he hauled the car into ‘drive’, powering his little legs as hard as they would go, and literally ran the poor kid over.
Seriously, this child was, at one point, pretty much trapped and helpless under the mass of plastic, before DB2 calmly reversed, drove back over him, then casually leant out of the window, just to check he’d done the job properly, I presume. The kid ran howling off to it’s mother (who thank god, hadn’t witnessed this horrific, brutal incident.). DB2 coolly watched the kid depart before silently getting out of the car, and toddling off, as though to say ‘I’ve made my point here. There is now no confusion as to who owns the car.’
I was mortified, yet strangely impressed. ‘My god’, I found myself thinking, as I watched him smoothly move over to the Wendy house and start playing, all innocence and sweetness. ‘That was actually, in a worrying way…a bit cool.’
Perhaps DB2 is the next cool dude driving hero…
It’s been that time of year again. Always a favourite of mine, I must confess. First, there’s the wonderful, exciting ‘yes, we’re nearly at the point where we can take the foot off the accelerator and eat mince pies until our stomachs erupt’ lead up to Christmas. Then, there’s the nice lead up to the New Year, though lord knows why I get so happy about this one, given that I’ve not been out for new years since 2008.
Then for me, there’s a nice little bonus, in that, five days after New Years, it’s my birthday.
Some people tend to moan and whine about having birthdays close to Christmas, bemoaning the inevitable receiving of joint Xmas/ birthday gifts and of people basically not being that arsed, as Chrimbo is generally far more fun.
Not me though. I like the smug feeling of having something extra to buoy my spirits after the festivities of the Xmas season have past and the hangovers have kicked in. I get a little thrill from having an extra little treat to look forward to.
How different that treat is though, since producing offspring.
Let’s review, shall we?
The WAKE UP
Old Days : wake up around 10am, probably after a nice night out the previous evening. Have a leisurely bath, and bask in the knowledge that I have a whole day devoted to me.
Now : get rudely snapped into some rudimentary state of consciousness by two small people leaping and clambering my person. At around 6am.
Old Days : a relaxing breakfast in bed, with a magazine for company.
Now : Blearily decanting Shreddies into two bowls by the bucketload, whilst wondering if I have time to fit in a visit to the loo before the smalls want their toast. Answer? Probably not.
Old Days : spend several hours titivating, tweaking and plucking until looking fairly attractive. Perhaps dye hair or do something similarly fun.
Now : Attempt to have quick shower whilst stopping DB2 from chucking my presents (unwrapped by him) down the stairs. Fail miserably. Ends in horrific climax when he seizes my pot of posh Whittards Hot Chocolate, lobs it gleefully through the stair gate, and it explodes in a dense, sticky cloud of brown powder, all over the stairs, walls, hallway and bannisters. Give him a royal bollocking. He is unfazed, runs off tittering, then promptly lobs down another few things for good measure.
The DAYTIME OUTING
Old Days : Relaxing lunch somewhere, perhaps cinema, perhaps meet a friend…
Now : wrestle with two wriggly boys in a pub, whilst trying not to gawp at John Hannah ( yes, that guy from Four Weddings and a Funeral, yes, the gay one who wasn’t fat) and his family. That was pretty cool actually.
And so the differences go on. However, let’s not forget the cute sparkly card, made by DB1. And even going to the park, getting steadily more and more dampened by the steady drizzle, was fun. Birthdays with boys…hot chocolate mishap aside…definitely more fun!
PS- to the person who bought me the hot chocolate, I managed to scrape up most of it…it was not wasted!!