I’ve just been chastised by my three year old for throwing a semi-frozen pea away instead of letting her eat it. In my defense, I’d like to point out that I’d just retrieved said pea from her left nostril after several tense minutes involving blowing, perseverance, the employment of a bobby-pin, and a great deal of Trying To Stay Very Calm.
How do I unsubscribe from my three year old’s tantrums? Or is there some sort of opt-out/opt-in list? I’m totally up for a tanty over a dropped icecream (scream it loud, honey, I would), but meltdowns over fictionally wonky ponytails are just spam.
You know you’re a gigantic sap when you go on your first EVER child-free holiday, see this on the in-flight viewing list and almost watch it to feel somehow connected to your kids. Almost.
After overhearing Amy rattle off a few Spanish words in the supermarket this morning, a Very Nice Lady commented how lovely it was to see children being brought up in bilingual homes, and how proud the Spanish speaking members of our family must be. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Dora the Explorer is the sole Spanish speaking member of our family.
Jeremy is back at work today after three weeks of loveliness. Yeah, sure, I’m missing all the fun-family-togetherness, but what I’m missing the most is being able to go to nip to the loo all by myself, without a one year old insisting she sits upon my knee while a three year old counts loudly to see how long the tinkle sound goes for.
Amy came running toward me, the sun shining behind her, golden curls fanning out in the breeze, sturdy little legs carrying her as fast as they could, a laugh bubbling out from her rosebud lips, a brilliant smile lighting up her face and crinkling her eyes. It was exactly the sort of moment I’d imagined when the nurse handed me my tiny newborn daughter three-and-a-half years ago. She flung herself into my arms…and said “hey Mum! Smell my fingers! I’ve been touching sheep poo”. Oh.
Me: “Stop touching your eyeball” x 157 Amy: “Why?” Me: “It’s gross” Amy: “I don’t think it’s gross” Me: “Stoptouchingyoureyeball!” Amy: “Why?!” Me: “Well…you might get an infection in your eye and not be able to see” Amy: “You mean I’d be blind? COOL! Then we could get a guide dog!” *prods eye* This is PRECISELY why “because I said so” should be a valid response to any and all three year old Why Questions.
She fell asleep while clutching an unfinished drink, mid-way through incoherently shouting and babbling. Been there, buddy. Been there.
Amy (who is usually terrified of dogs): “Mum, I reeeeaaaallly want a puppy, can we pllleeeaaasssee get one?” Me: “Dogs are a big responsibility. They need to be walked and played with every day, who will do that?” Amy: “I WILL!!” Me: “They need to be fed every day, who will do that?” Amy: “I WILL!” Me: “Someone has to pick up their poos when you take them walking, who will do that?” Amy: “Ummm, well, that sounds like more of a Mummy sort of job.” It does, doesn’t it?
Making homemade ice blocks is great for making you feel all healthy and Pinterest-Mum-ish, (“look what we did together with water, a drop of juice and assorted frozen berries! Can’t wait to eat them over hand-painted plates in my perfect garden under a tree decorated with our hand-cut bunting #love#suchagoodmum #lovemylife #mykidsareawesome #organic“etc.,) but the resulting afternoon with the three year old opening the freezer door every two minutes to check if they’re ready while I shout “stop opening the freezer, they won’t be ready for hours!” is really taking the shine off it.
McPikelets 