Tuesday, 6 May 2008

Recreating My Girl..

Today in my quest for Garden Perfection, I decided to tame the Shed. Or the place I often threaten to send the children to live. It's a nice little shed, more of a Log Cabin type thing.. with windows and carpet. It even had net curtains until this afternoon. Sadly, it has been left to rot over the winter, and G's tidying methods leave rather a lot to be desired. Within the 6 x 4 confines I found:

1 Paddling pool

1 Awning for over paddling pool

26 metal posts to put up awning 2 pushchairs, 1 fake silver cross and 1large antique Victorian thing (that was for display ONLY... she must have gotten it out of the loft by herself - that reminds me to tell her off.. excellent. 8 Babies. Not real ones obviously. Doll type ones. Just not sure if I'm allowed to call them d*lls yet. I think it works the same as Tinkerbell and the "no such thing as f****s" rule. I kill one with the word d*ll. Notice the child in me still won't say the words.. just in case **crosses fingers**2 D*lls Houses. One barbie type one, last used circa 2001, but to be kept forever, and one wooden one that Lal as completely fallen in love with. It has doors and windows and a roof that opens and shuts! (And that reminds me to ask G where the furniture for it is!) About 100,000 leaves, bits of rubble, dead spiders.. the sort of stuff that gathers in a shed when someone fails to shut the door over the course of the winter. Right. So. Got all that out, sorted the paddling pool and awnings into the bag they came in, hung them up neatly in the garage. Removed 6 dead/dying, soon to be dead and dying snails. Ran to the house, ran mind, to get the feather duster and hoover. Just because it's only a shed, doesn't mean Monica standards of cleanliness can't be adherred to. Got back with duster and started getting all the cobwebs down. Looked up into the eaves.. and saw what looked suspiciously like a wasp's nest. Urgh. I HATE wasps. At least bees have the decency to die of shame after they've stung you. Wasps could care less. Hmm.. wasps nest.. only looked like one in there, so smashed it repeatedly with a broom, killed wasp, and hoovered up the mess. Sorted. I lovingly arranged Lally type toys. A wheelbarrow, buckets and spades, the d*lls house, I even brought books in there from the house. Beautiful. Of course Lal trashed it the minute he saw the inside.. but hey.. that's what it's for! Ooh.. and his ride on Zebra. And the leather football that K insisted he needed, the child kicks it and it doesn't move. Can we not start with a plastic one? No? Ok then.
Shed sorted, I carried on with the gardening, longing for the day I can pave over the whole damn thing. 5pm, time to pack away. Bye bye ball pond. Bye bye Tent and Tunnel Combo. Time to put the things back into the shed. Oh. Slight problem. I opened the door to find all the little wasps buzzing. Well no, getting ahead of myself. I went inside and started putting away. Then noticed all the little wasps buzzing. They'd just got home from a hard day at work and were looking forward to getting into bed. Only THAT PERSON has killed their bed. ATTACK. It was the scene from My Girl.. Thomas J... only in my case, it was screaming "Lally ruuuun" to a child who has no idea what that command means. I scooped him up, ran to the house. Shut the door and breathed again. I daren't look outside now. They've probably set up camp on the patio and the Generals are marshalling the troops to attack at first light. I've been reliably informed that spraying the entire shed with Wasp Killer will just upset them even more.. thinking of trying ammonia.. I can't really burn them out, that would mean sacrificing the shed.. and it can't call for such desperate measures surely. Maybe they'll forgive me if I leave them the shed.. and a concilliatory jar of jam? K xx

(Pic is Lal in shed.. pre Angering Of Wasp Moment.)

Sunday, 4 May 2008

I have spent all day in the garden. I have weeded, planted, forked (that's forked..) watered, scratched to my hearts content. I now have no body. Or I have a body, but it won't move. It hurts. I can barely lift my cup of tea up. Seriously.

But enough of the humdrum. Lal. A perfect end to what was actually a really nice day.

He was bathed, drying, and left sitting on the bed, whilst I got his clothes and nappy out. Somehow he found the glasses case that K lost about 6 months ago and was happily talking to it, and playing with it.

I reached for a vest and heard a ridiculously loud scream. He'd attempted to circumcise himself using said glasses case. He poor little penis was still stuck in it. In the snappy bit! He was writhing over the bed, crying.. I got it off, picked him up, and he stopped.

He now has a large blood blister, with a tiny drop of blood coming from it, and a huge lump along the top, not the tip, of his penis.

Dammit. Why? I'm not usually quite so irresponsible. Well, ok.. I am. But I don't mean to be.

I can tell not much sleep will be had by me tonight.. I need to check that he can still wee. Not that I'm overreacting or anything.. but you know. I could actually now have a girl. And he'll have to be called Alexandra instead.

List of baby maiming so far:

Pyloric Stenosis: Scar on tummy.. Not so much my fault..

Hair caught around toe: Developed a form of Herpes.. Hospital stay required: My fault

Several head smacks against door frames: Damage not yet known: My fault

Home Castration/Circumcision: Possible failure to wee correctly: K's fault for needing glasses..


K x x

Saturday, 3 May 2008

Crash.. uh oh

I had loads to do yesterday.. I decided that I am going to live by Budget, die by Budget, and lose the Die in Debt plan that has treated me so well over the last few years.

Started off well.. managed to knock £40 off the food shop, I'm discounting the fact that K is away for the week.. that saves me nothing! :) Also decided to bake my own snacks. Oh yes, no biscuits touched the trolley, no cakes... nothing. I am one of "those" people now. I have a pink apron that says Yummy Mummy and everything. I can feel the change.

Ooh.. before Tesco.. plenty of G fun to be had.. the Dreaded Non Uniform Day. Oh the joy of having to pay £1 to have a knock down stand up fight with your child. It's wonderful. I maybe old fashioned, but my initial reaction to wearing short shorts, over tights,and a skimpy top, is that it isn't quite right for a Catholic school. I made the mistake of articulating these thoughts. I was informed, under no uncertain terms, that she would "do as she likes".. Oh yes. Teenage angst.. marvellous. Fought the child into getting changed.. why can't she just wear jeans and a T shirt? Got annoyed and told her to be straight home from school, no stopping at the shop for sweets, nothing.. Response? Slammed out of house. I may have followed her up the road in my blue fluffy dressing gown, may have told her to never speak to me like that EVER again... may have told her that I'd make her life a living hell. According to her, it already is.. I'm a success as a parent! Woo hooooooo...Anyway.. back to Tesco!Lal was in fine fettle. Tracing the prices of crisps with his fingers, studying them, looking up, clapping the prices and saying "well done." He's looking for a job, obviously, little suck up!

Ok.. so.. I'm putting the shopping away. Being ultra organised and even cleaning out the fridge and sorting the cupboards. Brain completely switched off. Don't hear the monster wake from his (ridiculously short nap) and leave the sofa. Hear crashing. Brat child has pulled my cup of tea and G's still mostly full cereal bowl of the table. Tea and milk and soggy cheerios everywhere... GAH!
Soak it up, and wash with cold water (urgh the stale milk smell.. must prevent.. lmao) Leave very wet rug drying out. Bring Monstrous into the kitchen to help me.

Start cleaning out fridge again. Fail to notice that he's disappeared and is now ferrying milk bottles (late milkman) from the hall to the kitchen to "help." Hear crash, smash and "B*gger" (Yes, he does swear.. I am now replacing all my swearing with "Squiggle" - not as much fun as it sounds.) Rescue baby from sea of milk and glass, shove him in cot.. run downstairs, but not quickly enough to prevent the milk from sinking into another rug.


(On the plus side... I found the missing "i" from the alphabet puzzle behind the clock! )

K x

Embarrassing toddler moments

There are a few.. G ones usually. Lal hasn't perfected the Art of Embarrassment yet. He'll get it though. *sigh*

When G was younger, I took her swimming every week. I couldn't get her to actual classes because I was either working or at Uni, so we'd head off on a Saturday morning and play in the baby pool.

Far from being a mute like Lal, the only words he seems to say are either swearing or unintelligible, she had a huge vocabulary. Which wasn't so much fun.

When she was 2, still in pull up nappies, off we went to the pool. Swimming Costume on under clothes, pull up on under cossie. Perfect. Whip it out when we got there, straight in the pool. No fuss.. etc etc. Once again. I was wrong.

We arrived in the It's Saturday Morning and therefore packed changing rooms, got a cubicle, and started to get ready. She was chattering away as usual, nothing out of the ordinary.. I started to inch the nappy out from under the swimming costume. Sudden silence outside the doors and Little Miss G pipes up, in her best carrying voice.." No mummy.. noooooooo.. please... don't put your fingers in my bottom.. noooooooooo"

Silence turns to frigid shock outside. I started gabbling on about removing the nappy.. no fingers.. it's not happening.. NO! "There.. NAPPY off from UNDER swimming costume baby.. let's go.."

I swear the child was whimpering when we left...

Embarrassing tales Part Two

Walking to shops, aged 4.. stop to admire daisy's near a 40ish year old man chatting with a group of friends. Hear him exclaim in disbelief, " I mean, I ain't done nuffin wrong.." Lose control of child, who wanderes over to him, pulls his sleeve, and said "If you haven't done nothing wrong, then you have done something.. that's right isn't it Mummy?" Umm... run?

Electrician, standing on step ladder in our sitting room, fixing lights to the ceiling. 3 year old wanders up to him, appropos of nothing and says.." We don't say f*cking ell in this house.." No one had said it!

Mass, aged 3.. removes all clothes except for body type top, colours in legs and arms with biro, and run around shouting.. "I'm a 'pider.."

Can't wait until Lal starts speaking properly.. really..

K x