But, he really loves the dashing about bit. He gets a little excited though and, much to my
I’ve started agility training with the pooch. We’re learning to get him to run forwards, rather than coming to me. Sounds painless, but it’s not. All the time we’ve had him, I’ve trained him to come to me at my recall. Now, inexplicably, to him I suppose, I want him to run straight on. He’s bamboozled. We’re getting there.
But, he really loves the dashing about bit. He gets a little excited though and, much to my
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This morning, taking my blonde, bobbed one to school, she sagely pronounced.....
“Be careful of the pricks”. Now, whether she was referring to the holly bushes alongside the car as I climbed out or if this was an allusion to life going forward, I couldn’t be sure. Either way, it was sound advice. I just love it when I hurt myself and the kids come to *help* me. I. Just. Love it.
When I shouted “Youch”, followed by a few muttered expletives (the one I generally whisper under my breath at least 50 times a day is, “For f*@ks sake”, just for the record; It genuinely helps with my sanity) one of the little sausages came rushing to save me. On this particular occasion I had slammed by finger in the drawer. No biggy, but it was the bottom drawer so I was at perfect child height. The 10 year old clumsy food-faced one ran into the kitchen, “Mummy, are you O……….”, tripped over an invisible brick on his way to save me from my fate, arms flailing and elbowed me in the eye……”K….?” “Youch”, I exclaimed (and probably ffs, very quietly, but I can't be sure). (Hand over one eye, sore finger tucked under other arm, gingerly) “I’m fine. Thanks.” “Sorry, Mummy”. “It’s OK” On hearing the rumpus, the smallest blonde sausage came to administer emergency cuddles only to be tripped up by the other child’s wayward leg and she full-on head-butted me in the boobies. At this point, I was in some kind of foetus position with both of them climbing over me asking if I was OK…. “I’m fine” (FFS) I’m never sure when the Christmas Decorations should be taken down. There are the Twelve Days of Christmas (my Mum used to tell us it was bad luck to take them down before the 6th) and, in Spain, Christmas isn’t over until the 6th, The 3 Kings Day (El Dia de Los Reyes). That’s when we SHOULD do it, really. But, in our household, the decorations just become sort of *invisible*.
It’s pretty much the day after Christmas. All of a sudden, no-one cares if the twinkly lights aren’t switched on, the stockings are shoved in a bag, the Santa hats a forgotten squeal, the angel on the top of the tree looks slightly pissed, but no-one bothers to adjust the poor dear. So, they are duly removed, this year on New Years Day. I always recruit the kids to help and, to start with, they are placed lovingly in boxes (not the kids, the decs. Though, putting the kids in boxes, sealing them and storing them in the loft ’til next Christmas is alluring. Not *really*…ahem) After a while it’s just a free-for-all of hurling them (again, not the kids) from the other side of the room, dog in the way, like Piggy In The Middle, and hoping to hit the target of the half collapsed box. Every now and again, I have the insane idea of taking a hot, relaxing bath, clearly forgetting the last attempt several lifetimes ago. The taking of the bath isn’t in itself insane, it’s the *relaxing* bit that comes in to play here.
Sure, for the first 30 seconds, sheer heaven, until the inevitable stomp stomp stomp of small elephant feet coming up the stairs in the guise of a blonde 5 year old with pig tails. Blondie - Mummy, what you doing? Me - Erm, having a bath. Blondie - Why? Me - Because I want one Blondie - I’ll get you my toys! Do you want Paw Patrol to play with? Me - No thanks Blondie - Marshall? Skye? Where’s... We went for a canal boat trip the other day. I’m on the front with the kids and the dog, constantly worrying that one or the other would fall in….not the calm, sedate passage I had hoped for.
We’re putt, putt, putting along when the hormonal one notices a whole herd of rabbits, must have My sister and I get the giggles about stuff. Stupid stuff, mainly, but especially stuff that humiliates either the one or the other, sort of stuff. You know the stuff?
One such time I still cannot help but snort at even to this day. Seriously, if I were attending a funeral ![]() My son loves his little sister, sooooo much. Sadly, she’s bloody horrible to him most of the time. Anyway, this morning, when she was hiding under the duvet in my bed because, apparently, a monster was coming for her, he bravely burst into the room like Zorro and said from behind his hand hand, out of he corner of his mouth, "Don’t worry Mum, I’ll handle this”. With some trepidation, I let him step forward into the breach to reassure a genuinely petrified 4 year old. He announced “It’s OK, you really shouldn’t worry, because the monsters have been caught and are either going to be hanged or killed". Nailed it. My 10 year old son is clumsy. Not clumsy in a 'fally-over' kind of way, more of a 'just not paying attention' kind of way. He drops/knocks over drinks, spills milk out the cereal bowl, splats people in the face while being some weird character or another, randomly kicks people in the head while being a
My youngest is a craftaholic. She makes things out of anything that is motionless. Plus the dog. It doesn't impress him. Anyway, yesterday morning she thought it would be fabulous to do some crafting with a chilli pepper while I was upstairs getting myself ready to take her to school.
She'd stuck sticks in it, put diamonds on it, even drawn a face! There was no denying it, it was a very beautiful chilli pepper. Beautiful, that is, until it bit back. It always seems like a good idea to go on a trip in the car with the kids. Doesn’t matter where, just to get out somewhere…..until you have to leave the house and get IN the car…..
I had the very exceptional idea of visiting a lovely National Trust property close to us. The squidlets ![]() My 4 year old daughter is beautiful, tiny, blonde and, usually, pigtailed. How is it then that she can produce bogies the size of small sheep? And those things are so sticky, I’ve hung mirrors with them. She knows that she isn’t supposed to eat it, bleurch, or wipe it anywhere, so she always passes it to ME. Fab. This happens in the most inconvenient of places. Favourites are: In the car; ‘Mama, bogey”. Any attempt of flicking the little bastard is futile (the bogey that is, I wasn’t referring to my daughter, though, in fairness, it had occurred to me, only very briefly. I digress) and makes It was my son’s 10th birthday yesterday. Plans were set. The BIG park (this is no ordinary park, this is the kind of park where you think someone will jump out the bushes and say ‘Excuse me madam, have you paid?’, that kind of big park) and then, Treatz Ice Cream Parlour for afters. We were meeting up with my eldest son, a massive nerd, and his massive nerd mates, who were going to be sparring with
I always suspected it, but now I know for sure.
He came downstairs this morning, with just his pants on, not ready for school and a little upset because he had knocked his fluffy duck teddy thing down the end of his bed and couldn’t get it out (yes, he’s 10…let’s leave it, shall we?). Easy, you would think…just pull the bed away and get it. Not so I love my Dad……but he’s a bit of a plonker sometimes. I don’t mean that in a bad way, just, I sometimes wonder if he’s winding me up.
I will give you an example and you can make up your own minds. The blonde, pigtailed one - Mummy, come and see this giant poo....
I think the siblings may have heard my gasp at the impossible size of it as they all had to complete an inspection. My 9 year old boy thought that it 'defied logic' huh! Smart. Also, it took 3 attempts to flush the s.o.b. (not my son, the poo) Later that day, my son decided to join the 'Massive Poo Party'. I think I will get a visit from DynoRod sometime soon. It is well known in our family that number 2 son can get a little, well...distracted. He easily forgets what he's doing, with the smallest of diversions, usually the television.
It took several attempts to get him to go out with the dog, between getting his school clothes in the wash, getting his socks and shoes on and assuring him that the ice cream would still be there in the freezer for him when he got back, I finally snapped and said, with some force, "Would you PLEASE take Ralphy out" It snaps his attention from the TV, he runs out the door, lead in hand and up the garden path. But, he forgot one essential ingredient.... Me - Sweetheart, could you do me a massive favour and get the washing in please, I must finish dinner.
Number 1 daughter - Ooohhh, do I HAVE to? Me - No Her - MUuuuM....?? Me - What? Her - You RUined my dramatic moment. *sigh* |
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AuthorRandom, but thoughtful, witterings about the comedy of every day family life and some, quite frankly, incredibly sharp insights into what other people really should, or should not, be doing, in my opinion. I spend a lot of time thinking, is it just me? Writing actually gives me an outlet for all the debris bouncing around in my mind and makes a little room ... ArchivesCategories |