I’ve not been at my finest today. Some mums blog about the things they do with their kids to retain a vivid memory of the inspiring and wonderful childhood they gave to their offspring.
Let me state for the record, the things undertaken today were to maintain a state of sanity.
Some humourless arse has brought germs into our house and today I have swung wildly between bouts of nausea and temperatures to tiredness and chills. Topped off with a nice health dose of hormones. Beanpole also has a cold, but in child fashion had a temperature spike, then promptly felt awesome again.
I don’t feel awesome.
This morning, I thought a bit of fresh air might do us some good (it probably did, and the vitamin C from the noshed raspberries may have helped too). The kids were desperate to scavenge the last of the strawberries. They found three.
It was far less about the strawberries, than the taking photos of all the weird bugs and riding on the tractor.
And Beanpole, despite her possible fever dropped the strop and enjoyed the raspberry fest 🙂
After the farm, we needed to hit the supermarket as we were running low on basically everything. Shopping with two kids and my mother is an experience. I’m pretty sure if the UN witnessed our trip, they would list it as banned under the torture laws. Seriously, I was the mother who’s kids became a train down the aisle. I also clocked the look of the guy at in front of us at the checkout when I suggested that I could duct tape the pair of them to the ceiling until September. (I think he caught the not quite kidding tone in my voice and looked genuinely concerned!)
Once home, I needed just a few minutes of peace to put the shopping away and stop my head spinning, so I set the kids up outside with the cardboard wendyhouse we bought at Easter and some paints. Cue I’m a great mummy smug moment (don’t worry, it won’t last).
The shopping went away. I hear giggling. Awwwwww….
This is the last photo I took.
I sat down to do a few rows of my sock. I see a pair of trousers flung in the air and more giggling… I let them get away with the more creative hand printing painting, after all they’re expressing themselves…. And I’ll just rest my eyes for five minutes….
Then I hear this.
TinyPants: “why are you throwing paint?”
BeanPole: “I’m painting blood splatter”
“Cool! It looks like someone’s been killed in here!”
“Welcome to my fresh slaughter house”
(Turns out, she’s been reading a 1920’s boys annual, rather than watching CSI or worse)
I open one eye to discover both my children marauding around the garden stark naked and painted head to toe in a variety of shades of poster paint. Literally smothered in it. They could pass as blue men. Except they’re purpley green.
Why? I’m sure I said paint the house. I think I mentioned no mess. Other children paint pretty pictures!
So I hand them soap and turn the hose on them. Cue pitiful cries of ‘but it’s cold!’. Yes. But it’s sunny and there’s no way in hell you are stepping foot in my house covered in paint. My children used over 1 litre of poster paint on their own bodies. I have white walls and wooden floors. They were NOT coming inside.
Once hosed, I stuck them in a warm bath to soak off the last of the paint stains and cleaned up the garden.
On reflection, her blood splatter is quite effective.
Perhaps the politicians should move their attention away from GTA and Call of Duty and start studying old boys annuals from years past. The pen is mightier than the game pad, and has infiltrated my daughter’s psyche. She refuses to read ‘girly’ books and has just started on Steve Backshaw’s Tiger Wars . If I find a giant cat in my house…..