Subject Matter

If toddlers wrote Horror movies they’d probably be called things like:

Wanted a red apple: given a green one

Given the sippy cup but I wanted the straw cup

Where’s mr dinosaur gone?

Time to say bye-bye to Grandma 

Brother took my blankie

She sliced my cheese when I wanted grated 

Hair wash day 

Time to get dressed 

Daddy says Peppa’s been made into bacon

If they wrote Self help books, I imagine they’d look something like this:

Sent back to bed no more: how to get away with a 5.30 start 

Squishing play doh into unlikely places: the step by step handy guide 

Asking Daddy when Mummy’s said no – the do’s and don’t’s 

Imaginary friends and general weirdness: how to creep everyone out

Resisting sleep: what do do when you’re exhausted and they’re forcing you to take a nap 

Using tears as a weapon: how to get the best out of emotional blackmail 

Electricity: don’t listen to them; go on, stick your fingers in that socket 

When to go stiff like a plank and when to flop: your one – stop guide on being picked up by an adult 

If they produced Dramas, I think this is what they would center around:

Someone (not mummy that’s for sure) ate all the cake

Mrs Goggins and Postman Pat: the affair 

Someone else has done the Velcro up on my shoes 

Daddy puts on a Gruffalo costume and leaps out from behind doors : this shit just got real 

There’s an ant in the dining room

Not allowed to sit (or defacate) in the cat litter box when I really wanted to 
πŸ“ΊπŸ“½πŸ“š

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*new post* If tomorrow never comes…

When is school next mummy?

Tomorrow. (Thank god)

Oh ok. When will it be tomorrow? 

It’ll be tomorrow tomorrow.

What’s today then? Will it be today tomorrow? 

 Er, today’s today. Right now. It’ll be tomorrow tomorrow. But then yes, I suppose it will be today, but tomorrow’s today. Which hasn’t happened yet.      

Oh. Well when’s yesterday then? 

Yesterday was, well, yesterday. That already happened. Yesterday won’t happen again.

So then yesterday is now today?             

Yes. 

But you said it will be today tomorrow. And then today will be yesterday. Which you said won’t happen again. Why are you lying? You told me it’s not nice to tell lies. *glares in accusing manner*

No I’m not *brain hurts*…er…I’m not lying…*squeeze eyes shut in concentration* It will be. When we get to tomorrow, it’ll be today, and then today will be yesterday. It happens every day.

So then why isn’t today tomorrow now?         

It will be tomorrow. Tomorrow. But we have to do today first. Then tomorrow it’ll be today. And today, like right now, *jabs finger in the direction of the floor as if this will help* today will be yesterday.

*shrugs and picks nose* Huh. Ok. Can I have a biscuit? 

For all you catch-22 fans out there, I was distinctly reminded of crab apples and horse chestnuts.🍏 I don’t know why anyone ever says they need adult conversation when you get this kind of chat from a (nearly) 5 year old 😊

Rain, rain go away

Living in England means occasionally (often) needing a brolly, because there’s always a significant chance of rain.

The Beasts love a brolly, and it so happens that the umbrellas they currently like to use are rather *ahem* ‘feminine,’ seeing as how Beast 1’s is transparent and covered in pictures of multi coloured clouds, rainbows, unicorns and giant raindrops, and Beast 2’s is just pink and red all over with a giant Minnie Mouse on the side. 
Whenever the brollies come out, because you can’t remember why you hid them in the first place, there’s reverent gasps then a collective sigh (‘they’re just so beautiful mummy’). It’s rather endearing to see just how excited two small boys can be about the prospect of taking an umbrella outside. That is, until you actually get outside; the endearment wears off pretty quickly once you’ve remembered why you hid them, and end up muttering under your breath that you’re never getting the stupid things out ever again as they are far more trouble than they’re worth. You’ll also find yourself lamenting that your two small beasts, who are swinging the tiny umbrellas around like machetes, are making it pretty tricky to be the type of mother you always thought you’d be (patient, easygoing, laid back), because all you now want to do is fling the umbrellas into the nearest skip whilst fantasizing about how much wine you’re going to drink later. (Note: actually end up managing about half a glass before falling asleep, rather fetchingly, on the couch with mouth open, smeared in food and general grub, so that husband has to then manhandle you up the stairs into bed). Glamorous – he married a winner πŸ˜‰ 

Anywho, being a firm believer in the fact that boys can have as many pink things as they want (and girls as many blue) and it won’t make the teeniest tiniest bit of difference to anything at all, the colour of the brollies doesn’t bother me. It’s the general use (or rather, misuse) of the mini umbrella which makes a normally rational person consider snapping the damn things clean in two over one knee, while shrieking hysterically that ‘it’s no wonder you’re getting bloody wet when you’re not holding it over your *clench teeth tightly so a naughty word doesn’t fall out* head like I keep showing you!’

During the course of one forty minute walk (in the rain) the two umbrellas were continually put up, and then and down again, with Beast 1 being particularly impressed by the popper to fasten the tie. After this amazement had passed, they were then used as:

Swords

Walking aides 

Poking sticks (each other, worms, puddles, and the occasional ladybird, mummy, clumps of mud)

Twirling batons

For running along metal fences

At no point when it was actually raining were they used to keep The Beasts dry, leading to general complaints and grumblings about having to walk in the rain. 

Upon entering the shop we had to visit, everyone now much soggier, both umbrellas were swiftly opened in unison and brandished about wildly, knocking various things off shelves before Beast 2 managed (somewhat impressively) to poke himself in the eye with one of the spindly bits. This of course then prompted furious wails, arm flailing and more shelf knocking, after launching the umbrella across the room while yelling that IT HIT ME IN THE EYE, MUMMY’.

Needless to say we scurried hastily out of the shop muttering ‘sorry, sorry, yes come on, both of you, yes ok – quickly go and fetch your umbrella then please, no – don’t touch anything else for god’s sake’ we trudge home and start the whole cycle again. 

Of course, only once it had stopped raining were the brollies finally raised overhead and held there for more than twenty seconds at a time, at which point The Beasts then refused to put them down for the rest of the way home. This meant that on the narrow paths they were continually bumping into one another as the umbrellas competed for space. Every time Beast 1 brushed against Beast 2, or vice versa, a small (but violent) scuffle would ensue, complete with a good amount of shoving, name calling and ‘HE PUSHED ME MUMMY’s’, while mummy says in bewilderment ‘but it’s not even raining anymore, you don’t need to have the umbrellas up now.’

Finally home, mummy merrily shoves the umbrellas down by the side of the fridge again, to be retrieved when I’ve forgotten what a pain in the bottom they are. I would say ‘next time I’ll just let them get wet’ but that’s actually just what happened anyway, despite both Beasts having the necessary tools to stop them getting wet. So next time I’ll just take the car. Or move somewhere sunny. πŸŒ¦πŸ’¦β˜”οΈπŸ™„β˜€οΈ

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Who needs toys anyway?Β 

We’ve all heard the anecdote about the kid who finds the packaging more interesting than the toy inside so one year his parents just wrap up an empty box (genius).  But when you have yourself two fine beasts, it’s not just an empty box that becomes an unconventional play thing. What I’m about to list are at at best, merely frustrating things that The Beasts find more exciting than toys, and at worst, either downright unhygienic or plain dangerous. So I ask that you remove your judgy-pants while reading this post, resist the urge to call childline, and remember that your little cherubs probably haven’t always just played nicely with a pile of Lego or some Barbies.  Mummy  and / or daddy have *so far* been able to intervene (due to keeping the Beasts under constant surveillance, you’ll understand why by the time you get to the end) and have managed thus far to avoid serious injury, so do not be alarmed. 

The litter box. What could be more thrilling than clumps of soggy wood pellets, exuding the faint aroma of cat urine, to stick your hands in and scatter around the floor?

Rusty old screws or nails: no matter how hard you, as a parent, try to remove any such item from your home or garden, for fear that your small humans may swallow them or cut themselves and contract tetanus, Beast 1 boasts an uncanny ability to find a rusty nail, screw (or screws) in approximately 5 seconds flat. With his eyes closed. Once procured, these will then be paraded around like jewels, and he will attempt to screw it in to anything that looks worthy of an attempt – the lawn, the door frames, the carpets, the dining room chairs, his brother. 

A freshly mopped vinyl floor. You’re not anyone to either beast unless you’re prepared to remove your socks and run full pelt at said floor, then attempt to slide across it with the finesse of the word’s best snowboarder – this is the aim. What actually happens after removal of socks is two manic little humans legging it over to the wet floor, taking a leap, zooming across the surface and crashing into the wall on the opposite side, banging heads, limbs and each other. Then of course mummy’s the asshole for getting the steam mop out in the first place because the floor would’ve been dry if I’d just left it the hell alone. 

Stairgates. Completely unfit for purpose in this house. Way more fun if you’ve figured out how to open them before you’ve even hit two (because your brother’s shown you how), to hang on to the top and swing like a monkey backwards and forwards until the fastenings give in and the whole gate crashes to the floor. On top of you. And once again mummy’s the dick for “not screwing them in properly” *shit parent alert*

Toilet roll. When you’re beastly, the sole purpose of a roll of toilet paper is to be unravelled, at speed, onto the floor then used to mummify your sibling until their muffled cries for help attract attention, at which point you abandon ship and go in search of other things to do. Such as – 

Holes on the tv like USB or scart ports. Great for sticking things in, like food (the wetter the better) pens, the actual toys that are being largely ignored in general, your fingers,or even your tongue. Bonus points if you can manage to get your tongue in the USB hole and your fingers in the scart hole both at the same time. 

Baby wipes. As an adult you will never understand or agree with the phrase ‘I literally just turned my back for 10 seconds’ until you have seen a toddler empty a packet of baby wipes in that amount of time. After the thrill of pulling all of the wipes out, your beast will look at you smugly as you attempt to shove them all back in, giving up half way through as there seems no physical way you’re getting them all back in there. 

The plug sockets. Anyone familiar with Beast 1 will know of his obsession with electricity. He finds holes in the wall with little switches endlessly compelling & can remove a plug socket cover faster than you can say “don’t stick your fingers in there.”

The kitchen bin. What could be more fun than rummaging around in rotting food, wet pull up pants and soggy cold teabags?

DVDs. Endless fun can be had by circumventing the child locks on the cupboard (*amateurs* – daddy thinks he’s so clever screwing those sticks to the door, we’ll show him) then pulling out every DVD in there. Which is about 100. Once scattered over the floor it’s an easy job to remove the disks and lob them into the Black Hole of Lost Things – that place in every house where half the socks, Tupperware lids, the one piece of paper you really need to sort something important out, and now, all the good DVDs, go forever. They can’t even do me the courtesy of losing hubbo’s shite war films or my excersize DVDs *oh what a shame I can’t find the disk, I guess I’ll just have to sit down and eat two biscuits, a few donuts, a cake and the whole kitchen instead* no – they go and ‘disappear’ hunger games and twilight. Ffs. 

So when you ask to bring your children to my house and ask if it’s ‘baby proofed’ or ‘child friendly’ and I say yes, I really mean “only if your children are not beasts.” πŸ˜³πŸ™„πŸ€”πŸ˜±

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