Tuesday, 29 March 2011

By the Skin of his Teeth

Youngest is awfully good at saying he had Done His Teeth.
And not doing them.
Every morning I ask him, EVERY MORNING,
'Have you done your teeth?' as he comes down the stairs to have his collar straightened. It gets stuck under his school jumper. This also happens every morning.
'Yes,' he beams. Every morning.
'Show me,' I say. Every morning.
And Every Blasted Morning he does a Half Bare'ing sort of smile. Showing bits of teeth, but not the full package.
'No, you haven't, go and do them again.'
And EVERY CHUFFING MORNING he sulks, and goes up the stairs to do them. Again.
Although he hasn't done them AT ALL.
You would think after almost 7 years of Teeth Cleaning, of which the last 700 mornings he has done it on his own, with me peering into his mouth to check out the missed bits, that he would have Copped On.
Oh, well, at least I don't have to check his bottom these days. You know, the 'Have you wiped your bottom?' scenario, when they say they have and you know, you just KNOW that it hasn't been That Successful.
And you check.
And you thank the Heavenly Stars above that you did.
Because it is Carnage.
So checking a mouthful of teeth isn't so bad really. It's at the right end of a person. Can't really go wrong.
Teeth? Or 'Wiped' Bottom?
Absolutely No Contest. Teeth every time. I avoid bottoms at all costs these days. Apart from my own.

Thursday, 24 March 2011

Hysteria during Revision

Am vaguely aware of Middle Son revising for his Geography Exam, as I examine my emails, tea all finished and washing up complete.
'Ecosystem,' he is muttering to himself.
Occasionally he asks me a question, but I am too engrossed in a new email that am not really hearing him.
'Just a minute,' I say.
When suddenly, through my consciousness, I hear him say, quite distinctly. 'Orgasm.'
What the ****?
'Dead orgasm,' he is muttering now.
'Darling,' I say, brightly. 'Don't think you have the right word.'
'Huh?' he grunts.
'ORGASM!' I yell, trying to Get Through fog of incomprehension.
Middle Son's eyes widen like an animal caught in head lights. There is a brief moment of brain ticking.
Then the penny drops.
Helpless giggles begin.
'Don't write that in your exam,' I weep, trying to get the words out.
'Nope!' he whimpers back, holding his stomach.
'Dead orgasms!!' I manage to voice, hoarsely.
'Living orgasms!!' he claws out, with effort, between bouts of laughter.
And so it continues.
Until we have exhausted the orgasm jokes. And then, we settle back into Sensible Revision Time.
With just the odd chuckle or two to relieve the monotony of memorising Food Chains and Herbivores.

Wednesday, 16 March 2011

Puppy Love

'Oh, it's just like having a baby again!!!'
Says Everyone.
About having a puppy.
I laughed.
I did!!
Because I thought to myself, WHY?
It's a Puppy. Not a Baby.
But. I. Was. Wrong.
A puppy is NOT a dog. A puppy is a wee'ing, poo'ing, whining, biting, taking everything away'ing, BABY.
And not only that, but as I sit next to his cage at night, waiting until he drops off (yes, I do, I really, really do) and thinking to myself that this is JUST like being a mother and waiting for that baby to GO TO SLEEP so that I can finally put my oh, so weary head on my deliciously comfortable pillow and disappear into the haven of unconciousness...well, as I do that, I am KICKING myself for not doing this sooner.
Because I am loving every minute.
Because although Milo is just like a baby in some ways, (wee, poo, feeding) in all other ways he is a delightful, gallumping, sweet natured, DEAR little thing.
And the best thing is that, unlike new mothers, I DON'T have anything pouring out of every orifice that I possess. (not ears, I seem to recall...)
I DON'T have breasts the size of two magnified melons, each one seemingly plugged into a painful and persistent electric shock treatment, just as the baby latches on, yet again, for another agonising feed.
I am NOT stupified by a 48 hour labour, the equivalent of a triathlon. Twice.
My stomach is NOT a quivering and wobbling landscape, trying to escape from Maternity Jeans at every movement.
No. Really! HONESTLY!
On the whole, I am just as I was a week ago, perhaps a little weary from getting up in the middle of the night, to potter outside with Milo, while he wees and does his stuff. And then waiting for him to settle, before I nip upstairs to bed.
But also very happy as we wander down the track behind our house, with Milo in arms until we are off the public footpath and we can finally let him go, and let him gallump and gambol next to the children.
Who LOVE him.
I mean, who COULDN'T!
I mean, LOOK at Milo and Eldest. Ad-or-able. Both of them.

And so, yes, it IS just like having a baby again.
Only without the enormous breasts, sleepless nights and preoccupation with Orifices.
Mind you, looking forward to a whole night's sleep. Tell me, how does that feel again?

Thursday, 10 March 2011

Meet Milo. Small, round and gorgeous.

Look who's arrived at our house.
Name of Milo.
Howled throughout the whole of the first night. Thought that would have to return the little blighter.
Slept until 5 am this morning, which was a vast improvement.
Children are totally in love with him. Well, who WOULDN'T be?!
Youngest says things like,
'It's all different now, Mummy. All changed. The cat's food is Not On The Floor anymore.'
And sighs deeply, as if all the weight of the world were on him.
But this IS the biggest change in his life. Huge.
And we are all adjusting to the strangeness of a new member of the family who pees everywhere and bites little holes in our shoes.
But OH! We love him.
Hope you do too.

Wednesday, 2 March 2011

A Little Tale about Nothing in Particular

'Mummy, Mummy, Mummy,' started Youngest, yesterday after tea. Was still struggling with the clearing away of mountains of plates and cutlery, forcing the buggers into the Dishwasher, as I like to fill each and every Available Crevice with plates and cups and saucepans and lids and big spoons that won't fit into that absurd Cutlery thing that's supposed to fit all the Cutlery. But never does.
'WHAT?' said I, somewhat Exasperated, as can't seem to finish a Thought in my Head at the moment, let alone a Simple Task about the Home. 'Can't you see I am already busy? Trying AS USUAL to do too many things at the same time??'
You can see what a marvellous mother I am.
I can see Youngest thinking.
'I can do two things at once,' he announced.
Was a little Doubtful. He is after all Male and six years old.
'Yup,' he said. Confidence oozing out of every pore.
'Tell me what two things you can do at once,' I muttered, from the bowels of the Dish Washer, forcing that last fecking glass in.
Youngest almost Preened with Pride.
'I can make a Poo AND a Wee come out at the same time.'
Oh, Dear.
Could see my giggling mirror image in the dirty reflection of saucepan lid, winking up at me, as I am crouched over my machine like a paratrooper over land.
Heaving myself out, Youngest asked when I would be ready to play with him.
'In a minute!!' I said, in that time honoured way, crashing dishwasher shut and hearing the familiar whirrings and splashings to indicate that the cycle had begun.
'Oh.' he said.
Eeyore-like with Gloom.
There was a Very Long Silence.
And then he said,
'I'll just stand here then and Stare at the Floor.'
Oh, for God's sake. Talk about Martyr. Clearly action was needed and Fast.
'Nearly done! I boomed, in Cheerful Mother mode, when she knows that Playing with Children is Inevitable and there is NO MORE procrastination available.
In desperation I tidied the Fairy Liquid.
I could see Youngest in his droopy pose in the reflection in the window.
Staring at the floor.
I pulled myself together.
And took my Youngest into the warmth of the sitting room where we played Racing Demon for half an hour before bath time.
Which is crap with just two people, but Youngest doesn't mind.
It beats staring at the floor.