Pee, pee, pee, pee, all the way home.

You know we have never gotten around to teaching our boys to pee standing up.

I'd always figured that considering the bathroom is a place of zero privacy they'd kind of see their father in action and follow suit eventually.

In the mean time I was more than happy with them aiming at their target from the safety of a sitting position because they manage to somehow make enough mess that way without having free reign to spray all of the bathroom should they wish.

See, small things make me happy.

Fast forward to a walk home from school.

A walk that I have now forced Eli to endure despite his very loud protests because pushing an almost 3 year old in a pushchair up a 80 degree hill in my delicate condition is just not good for my blood pressure.

Or maybe I'm just using that as an excuse.

Truth is the kid is enormous and when he walks up that hill he sleeps like an angel which is good for his health and excellent for my mental health. Win-win.

We got about one twentieth of the way home one day and Thomas informs me he needs to pee. This is a frequent conversation on the journey home and I tell him he should have gone two minutes ago at school and now he'll just have to wait until we get home.

He lingers behind sulking. Eli stays with him. After all misery does love company.

Thomas shouts 'It's OK. I'll go right here' and before I have a chance to inform him that dogs are just about the only species for whom it is acceptable to pee in the street. He has his pants half way down his little white bottom, wilbsy liberated in the front and he pees into the bushes.

Completely horrified but knowing there isn't a right lot I can do to stop him in mid stream. I say a frantic silent prayer that the good Lord will render all 3 of us completely invisible, possibly forever.

You know because there are 650 pupils in Thomas's school and ours is a popular route home.

Just when I start to convince myself that maybe I won't have to move to some remote Scottish island with just sheep for company and where nobody will have heard about the boy who pees in the street because it probably wasn't even that noticeable really. I hear another little voice announce 'Me pee too!' as Eli in his newly potty trained fervour replicates his brothers actions perfectly.

But fails to be even slightly discreet.

Needless to say we avoided the walk home for a while and I took the car instead.

If only it had blacked out windows.

Holy Cricket

On our street there are just the two houses, ours and our neighbours.

As far as neighbours go they are really terrific. We have no complaints at all. Not like at our first house where the guy on the right walked his cat on a lead umpteen times daily or the blokes on our left gave us reason to believe they were most likely drug dealers. (Not that we're judgmental at all.)

A year ago our current neighbour also became our Bishop. Initially I slightly panicked. Living your lives in such close proximity to your Bishop really helps motivate you to get kick started on the road to perfection I have found.

We soon realised we were not under scrutiny at all and after the worlds worst tantrum we found out that although their house was really close they couldn't even hear the shrillest of toddler screams. I also came to the realisation back in April that they must not hear me either on my worst parenting days when I have been known to raise my voice on occasion because I got called to be the Primary President at church. Hooray for soundproofing I guess.

At times we have had a closer relationship with our Bishop than anyone probably ever should. Like for instance the hot summer day that I was sitting on the loo to pee with the bathroom window open and I happened to sneeze, then following my sneeze I heard the words 'Bless you Carol'. Seriously? That is closer than anyone needs to be to their religious leader right? (I'm sure he'd be mortified to know I was actually in the process of urination at the time, almost as mortified as I am to admit it).

Our boys have a great fondness for Bishop and his wife Judith and their three older sons and frequently stop them given any opportunity for inane conversation about the random contents of the three year old brain. They are really great sports and we appreciate their patience and kindness no end.

Yesterday I could hear Thomas chattering away to Bishop so after a while I went outside to say Hi and make sure he wasn't being unnecessarily bothered. As I stepped out I saw Thomas swinging his yellow cricket bat all around no doubt injuring himself or his brother was inevitable.

Bishop said he needed a word with me and then with a big smile recounted how Thomas had just confessed that I hit him with the cricket bat.

There are times when your neighbour being your Bishop has it's disadvantages it turns out after all.

The truth is I have never hit Thomas (or Eli for that matter) with a cricket bat, plastic or otherwise.

Well I hadn't but maybe I will now!

The Bad Parenting Chronicles: Episode 7

Yesterday I managed to leave a very important member of our family at the play gym. I don't know what I was thinking. It was not my best day.

My day started off innocently enough by going to my friend Lisa's house to give her a super quick blogging tutorial while our 4 kids mostly fought, wrestled and cried. Lisa suggested we go to the play gym to let the kids burn off some energy and how could I decline? This was after all our last opportunity to hang out properly before she forsakes us all and moves to Utah this weekend. So I agreed and off we went.

I should have known from all the crying, fighting and wrestling that we had already encountered that Eli wasn't at his sociable best. Within minutes of arriving he had decided to plough a big plastic car into a one year old (which he repeated again later). He also added pinching and hair pulling to his arsenal of attack. So after several apologies to several reasonable parents (thank goodness) I was beginning to imagine a life where it would be far better to stay indoors with my Grino child (Half Gorilla, half Rhino in case you were wondering) and not have to endure the endless humiliation of having to say, "I'm so sorry that he /pulled the hair of/pinched/ran over/ your child". It just doesn't make for a relaxing day out you know. But after several trips to the naughty spot (which is always a blast to do in a public place, it is a real crowd puller) and some lunch he was back to being normal happy Eli. The Eli he is 95% of the time. Now, that Eli is just wonderful. Personally I blame the Siswick temper for the other 5%.

After that we played happily and nicely and we eventually all headed home. Well what I thought was all of us. Now for those that either know Eli or have read my blog for a while you'll know about Eli and his Gee-Gee's. (You really need to click that link for the whole story) It is true, complete, perfect love.

If Eli ever wakes at night generally it is because he wants his dummy 'doe-doe' or his Penguin 'Gee-Gee'. We have several of these penguin pals. Can you tell them apart? I know you're thinking well yeah the one third from the left is a different colour entirely. But could you tell them apart in the dark? Even the grey ones?

Eli can. A few nights ago he woke up crying I went to comfort him. He asked for 'doe-doe', I obliged. He laid down. He requested 'Gee-Gee' I couldn't see which was which (he favours the one second left) and gave him one (he sleeps with like 9 of them) he instantly shouted NO in total disgust and threw the Penguin promptly out of bed. That process was repeated several times until I searched in the dark on my hands and knees for the supremo Gee-Gee before he would settle and finally go back to sleep.

When ever he is tired, upset or sad it is not us that comforts him. It is Gee-Gee. Gee-Gee is there when he wakes up in the morning and he is there when he goes to sleep. They are inseparable.

Well until I left him at the play gym that is.

While I went to work Rob had the unfortunate experience of realising that Gee-Gee was MIA at bedtime. Gee-Gee wasn't any of the places he usually would be. Eli was not happy. He went to bed for the first time ever without his beloved penguin pal. He was not smiling about it but he did it. I can only hope all his other penguins were some comfort to him in his time of need.

When I got home Rob told me about the catastrophe. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach all night. I knew Eli would wake in the night and he'd ask for Gee-Gee and I knew from my experience several nights before that he wouldn't be fooled into accepting another less special Gee-Gee in Supremo Gee-Gee's place.

He did wake up. He did request Gee-Gee and lucky for me on this occasion he didn't register that it wasn't his extra special friend and slumbered on.

But this morning at opening time I was at the play gym the second it opened and I have never seen joy such as I saw when the Grino and Gee-Gee were reunited.

On the Mend

Rob has been away in Scotland with work this week and so my mum came to stay with us. As I have previously mentioned this is one of my favourite things ever, ever, ever. I don't think I changed one nappy all week long, I even managed a nap on Thursday morning and when on Monday morning Eli decided to wake up at the disgustingly unacceptable time of 6:30am which to me is still very much night time (I'm truly spoiled because I feel hard done to if my kids ever wake up before 8am) she dealt with him and sent me back to bed for two more lovely hours. Did I want her to ever leave? Absolutely not!

While my mum was here we took a trip to the local(ish!) farm with some friends and the kids had a marvelous time. You'll see from the pictures a broken appendage isn't interfering with Thomas and his lifestyle whatsoever.

On Tuesday we had to go to the hospital to see the orthopaedic doctor for a check-up. The problem (apart from it being crappily inefficient) with free health care like we have here in the UK is that they totally judge you on appearance. I'll give you an example, me turning up without Rob with two children who don't look alike (I was once asked in Burger King if they had different fathers due to the lack of brotherly resemblance, now I obviously avoid Burger King) would get me pigeon holed as the following.......a single promiscuous mother. Now I have nothing against single promiscuous mothers I just would prefer not to be labelled as such.

So Tuesday came and we had plans to go to the farm so I made sure to shower and fully apply my make up and actually style my hair so that I could give the kids a good old clean with baby wipes (how did people survive before the invention of baby wipes?) and arrive at the hospital from the farm a perfect picture of wholesome family life.

But things don't always go to plan do they? Somehow Thomas got totally filthy and cut his leg open, then getting home took longer than I'd anticipated so we were running late for our appointment. I pulled onto the drive got him a clean T shirt and a wet cloth to wipe off the dry blood from his leg. By this time of course he was completely comatose not to mention incredibly sweaty. I woke him up at the hospital and changed his top only to realise the clean T shirt I picked up didn't match his shorts at all. I thought for some reason he had blue shorts on but they were brown (yes, my brain is damaged). The T shirt totally clashed with the brown shorts. There was my three year old wearing uncoordinated clothes, with wet sweaty hair and a broken arm, but he was at least clean. Well, apart from half of the farm that was embedded under his fingernails. I had to swallow my pride and go in regardless.

We were waiting to be called in to see the doctor when my mum tells me she has to make a phone call and she'd take Eli with her but could I hold her newspaper? I agreed grudgingly. My mum's newspaper is the kind that has very little if any news, mostly deeply salacious gossip and even a topless beauty on page 3. Hardly the perfect picture of wholesome family life that I was hoping to exude. Obviously we got called in while I was in possession of this newspaper. Between that and Thomas' appearance I am pretty sure we secured the tag of total white trash. I may as well have not showered or done my hair after all.

But on a more positive note his arm is healing excellently and he gets to have the plaster removed two whole weeks early, roll on next Tuesday. When obviously we'll all be immaculately groomed and I am making Rob come so the doctor is fully aware that he at least has a father.

Why You Should Always Think Before You Volunteer

I can only assume that yesterday I was delirious to the point where it was bordering on insanity.

At playgroup (preschool) they have a rota for the parents, the presence of one parent at each session helps to keep costs down. Now I am all for saving money when I can so I shouldn't complain, they take Thomas 7.5 hours a week so I can't really grumble about having to put in 2.5 hours work every 2/3 months. It is nice to see what he's doing while he's out in the big wide world by himself but still part of me really really loathes to do it. They are more than happy for you to bring younger siblings along when it is your turn but so far I have always managed to palm Eli off elsewhere and do my time alone.

Yesterday we were running late (as always) and we were some of the last people to arrive. I saw on the door they needed a volunteer for the session (it would appear I am not the only parent less than enthused about taking turns because they get let down frequently). I had been considering all morning how I was gonna keep Eli entertained while Thomas was at playgroup because I just had zero energy and wanted more than anything either to crawl back under the duvet (if only!) or take a massive hit of caffeine. Somehow my mouth started working faster than my brain and before I knew it I had volunteered to help with Eli in tow.

I knew the second that clarity of thought returned that this was not my best idea ever. Eli in a confined space with twenty something 2-4 year olds, with paint, glue, soil, pens and water at his disposal just made me totally nervous.

Was my feeling of dread justified? Absolutely.

Eli proceeded to continually turn all the paintbrushes upside down in the paint pots so that when an unsuspecting preschooler came to paint they would get in their palm instead of the stick part of the paint brush the brush part thickly covered in paint. Delightful!

Then he found some asparagus in the play kitchen and realised that was the perfect size to fit in the paint pot too and proceeded to complete a painting with an asparagus tip before I even noticed. Which leads me to wonder why paintbrushes were ever invented at all because an asparagus tip is a perfectly wonderful alternative.

Obviously the session wouldn't have been complete without Eli inflicting purple paint highlights on his inexplicable head of hair.

You imagine a one year old (almost two) would feel a little intimidated in the presence of these older kids. Did Eli? No. In fact he managed to make two 4 year olds cry like babies (that sounds more dramatic than it was he really isn't that much of a hooligan, one boy cried because Eli snatched something from him and the other because Eli laid on him while playing trains). Without exception the staff asked me when Eli would be joining them for playgroup and they all looked relieved when I informed them they had until January to brace themselves for his arrival.

So my turn on the rota is in a couple of weeks. Will I be taking Eli with me? Nope, he'll be going to Grandma's house instead, if only to help preserve the asparagus.

Butt, What?

This is what we affectionately refer to in our household as 'double-butt'. The owner of this spectacular crevice is Eli. (I'm sure he'll really appreciate me posting about this when he's older!)

Now I wish I could say the amount of bottoms I have seen in my life is very limited but it just wouldn't be the truth. I have seen all kinds of bottoms, big ones, small ones, hairy ones, black ones, white ones and just about every shade in between. This is all down to working in Radiology in my pre-children days and the fact that my manager seemed to think I was well suited to a lifestyle consisting of Barium enema's 9-5, 5 days a week! (Which I can only imagine wasn't a compliment.) Over a period of time all of these posteriors have slowly blurred into one gigantic bottom in my mind. But one thing I never saw in my barium enema days was a butt crack quite like our Eli's.

Being the overreacting drama queen that I am this obviously concerned me no end. When Eli failed to sit unsupported until 8 months, crawl until 11 months and walk until 16.5 months (I had visions of him being the 1st child ever to crawl into nursery at church at 18 months) clearly I felt deep down the butt crack was justifiably to blame. Even though the doctor informed us that yes it was unusual yet completely normal at his 6 week check. I didn't take into account the fact that I am lazy and laziness is clearly hereditary, which is undoubtedly the actual reason for Eli's ever slothful attitude towards becoming mobile.

I guess the 'double-butt' isn't as uncommon as I thought after all, it would appear that Eli isn't the only Siswick with an irregular bum crevice (as tempting as it is to illuminate you as to which of our relatives has a similar backside I'll forge all my willpower and restrain myself for their sake!) and it turns out my friend has a little girl 7 months younger than Eli who has the exact same odd feature on her peachy bottom too.

So there you have it, not only is laziness hereditary but double-butts are too!

Haircut From Hell

Check out the hair on this guy! As an infant Eli had this olive complexion and tres dark hair that secured him the affectionate nickname of Asad from my in laws. Then one day his hair started getting curly and unruly (courtesy of the Uttley family) and he was no longer referred to as one of Pakistan origin but instead as a child of Italy. Which I vastly preferred! On a recent trip to get him a haircut (of which there have been many) he seemed somewhat disgruntled. The girl assigned to Eli I suspect had very little experience with children in her whole two years working experience. The minute she started cutting he started muttering some objections. At first quietly gradually increasing in volume. Every time he would object she would stop and wait for him to compose himself and then continue. When I insisted she really didn't need to do that and that we should just get the ordeal over and done with as quickly as possible she looked at me like I had eight heads. So she continued to leisurely cut his hair. Five minutes in he'd well and truly grasped that if he objected enough she'd put the scissors down and he's be saved from any more haircut torture. Ten minutes in when she'd cut about 6 hairs in total I had to insist that she just carry on regardless of his objections. She looked uncomfortable about it but she did as I asked.

So I wrestled with Eli (I actually think he might be stronger than me already!) while she attempted to cut his unruly mop while he screamed and screamed and SCREAMED. It was embarrassing but fortunately they had no other customers and the only other people there were two other staff who appeared to have the combined age of about 21. So I sat there in the chair attempting to immobilise my toddler who was behaving like we were trying to rob him of his Samsonesque powers.

About every 20 seconds when Eli would wrestle a hand free he would hit the hairdresser and shout "NO!!!" before resuming to full screaming mode. During this visit I considered leaving about 3,653 times but seeming as I knew I'd have to pay regardless I was committed to getting value for my £6! Until a lady came in who had been to the bakery 3 shops along and happily told us how she could hear his blood curdling screams while she ordered her lunch. I was defeated. His hair was about 70% cut which was better than nothing so I paid and left. I tried my best to make him look presentable when I got home. He of course resisted. Let's just hope he looks cute with Samsonesque hair because I am certainly never enduring a repeat experience of that.

In future I'll just inviest my £6 in chocolate and put a hat on Eli! Win-Win!

The Bad Parenting Chronicles: Part 2

I may be weird but I really really love grocery shopping, particularly alone.

I enjoy it with one child in tow.

I abhor it with both kids.

We have those shopping trolleys with two seats at the front so both of my boys could fit in. I realised long ago that I could avoid the wrestling bouts that inevitably led to at least one but usually two crying kids if I let Eli ride up front and put Thomas in the trolley with the food. Obviously it means that all my groceries are squashed beyond repair but it makes for a more peaceful shopping experience overall so I'm willing to live with the mishapen food. I'm all about sacrifice!

In September Thomas started playgroup three (bliss-filled) mornings a week. This was my window of opportunity to have a somewhat peaceful weekly visit to the supermarket with just Eli. Who is generally spellbound by the huge selection of food (the kids loves food!) surrounding him anyway.

Sadly playgroup isn't open 52 weeks a year so unfortunately I recently had to go shopping with both boys. I reverted to my old habits of putting Eli up front and Thomas in with the food, sadly my tactic no longer worked. Thomas realised that he could torment Eli all he liked and Eli was confined and unable to defend himself. He poked, pushed, tickled (a tickle from a 3 year old is purely painful by the way) and grabbed poor Eli over and over and over.

After several threats of, "If you don't leave your brother alone I will get you out and make you walk alongside me!" (Which he'd hate, the kid got my lazy gene!) I hear a big scream from Thomas. Turns out he poked his younger sibling one too many times in the mouth and this time Eli clamped onto that finger and certainly planned not to let go for the forseeable future. Everyone has their limits I guess.

I removed his finger from Eli's jaw and explained that it was his own fault for annoying Eli incessantly despite me telling him not to. That if he'd only listened to Mummy (because obviously I am always right!) and been good it never would have happened. So I took my still whimpering child from the trolley and made him walk alongside me as previously threatened.

"Ouch!!!!!!!"(followed by ultra loud wailing and hysteria)

(Slightly confused)"What's wrong Thomas?"

"You bit me Mummy, I want Daddy, I want Daddy, I want DAAAADDDDDDDDDDDDY!" (X what felt like 40 times!)

"Mummy did not bite you Thomas, Eli bit you because you poked him in his mouth" (Just loud enough for those giving me accusing looks to hear).

Here I was again being embarrassed in public for something I hadn't even done. Obviously he cried and yelled for daddy for the duration of the shopping trip. Well, right until I asked him to help me like a big boy at the check out to put all the groceries on the conveyer belt. Where he threw a glass jar of pasta sauce at the conveyer belt but missed completely. Hitting the floor instead, where it smashed spectacularly, covering the groceries, Thomas, Eli, the check out lady and myself in tomato and garlic sauce.

Never ever, ever again will I take them both. I'd actually rather go without food than endure that again. Now I plan on spacing out all of my future children so I only ever have to go to the supermarket with one child accompanying me.

Experiencing the inevitable

I am the proud parent of a child who has been potty trained since Mid-December. I had been expecting what we experienced today, it was inevitable. But I just wish it hadn't been inevitable today. That we could have put it off another year or two.

So we were out shopping and half way round the shop I hear,

"Mummy I need Pee Pee!!!

"Can you hold it in?"

"I need Pee Pee!"

I scanned around hoping to see a toilet sign but knowing deep down inside that there would be no such thing. Also knowing that the nearest toilet was a car journey away. So I had to succumb and be one of those mothers who takes their child outside to pee in public. This is humiliating to me, but what can you do? Neither of the following options are appealing, a public pee or peeing his pants in public. So I went with the option that didn't add to my huge pile of laundry resembling the Himalayas.

So I took him outside to get it over and done with and preferably before he got his urination over and done with in his pants.

"Mum, I wanna go pee pee in there! (Pointing at the shop I just left as we head to the car)

We arrive at the car and go round the front of it so we're secluded partly by the car and against a wall.

"But Mummy this isn't a toilet!"

I try to explain that it's perfectly fine to pee in a car park when there are no toilets, even though I don't for a second believe it. I soon realise that this isn't a good opportunity to teach him to pee standing up. He looked at me like I was a lunatic. So I pick him up by the backs of his knees try to aim his hose so that neither of us get pee on us. (Much to my dismay I realise now that shoppers use the walkway between my car and the wall where we are trying to pee as a shortcut to the entrance, like that doesn't make this experience a million times more mortifying!)

"Mummy this is not a toilet!"

"I know Thomas but you need to go pee so just do it it's fine, it's ok!

"NO!"

"Ok you hold it in like a good boy and we'll go find a toilet quickly!"

So we jump in the car and head to a nearby Supermarket to use their facilities. Obviously Supermarkets are heaving on Saturday afternoons. Nowhere to park so I have to pull up at the entrance (Dukes of Hazzrd style obviously!) get my mum to take him to the toilet while I wait in the car.

Predictably he does the smallest pee ever in the history of the human race. Ironically if I had made him hold it until he could hold it no longer I bet it would've been a pee comparable to that of a giant horse or Niagara Falls.

He gets back in the car,

"Mum, I did it!"

"Good boy!"

(With disgust!) "I pee in toilet, not in car park!"

Next time I'll just avoid the major humiliation and let him pee his pants!

The Bad Parenting Chronicles: Part 1

I am the happy owner of one of these buggy board contraptions. This piece of plastic has improved my life immeasurably. Having purchased an array of double buggies (ok well only 2) that are cumbersome and heavy and impossible to maneuver unless you have the muscle strength of the Ultimate Warrior, which I certainly lack. We decided to shell out even more money (it grows on trees, right?) and buy the buggy board. The buggy board has many advantages but one major disadvantage. Disadvantage being that you no longer have the peace of mind that you can strap your little angels in and know unless they're a budding Houdini that they'll remain happily(?) confined for the remainder of your trip. Take a toddler into a shop that sells toys on the buggy board and you have an entirely different experience. A toddlers feet and the buggy board part company faster than the speed of light. Now, that is fast!

So on a recent trip to town the following occurred:

Thomas had parted company with his board and I was getting ready to leave the shop so asked him to get back on so we could go. He resisted due to the array of toys that were on display. So I firmly but quietly (I don't wanna be one of those parents that yells in public, that'd be embarrassing!) insisted he get back on his board immediately. Which he did and I was pleased that I had won this particular battle and coud happily be on my way.

If only the story ended here. To my utter humiliation this was the outcome.

Thomas (loud): "Sorry, sorry Mummy please don't shut me in that room again!"

Me (a little bit confused) "Shhhhh....It's OK Thomas we're going home now and I'll get you a gingerbread man on the way to the car". (I am a great believer in bribery to diffuse a situation).

Thomas (louder): No, no please don't shut me in the bathroom, don't shut that door on me, please, please!"

Me (Even louder wanting to make sure everyone was aware that I am not guilty of the atrocities my child is accusing me of): "Thomas don't be so silly, Mummy would never and has NEVER done that, mummy loves you!"

Thomas: "PLEASE MUM, I'm sorry please don't shut me in that room again!"

By this time I had quickened my pace considerably in a bid to be free of my humiliation. Needless to say I don't frequent that shop anymore and only go to town when Thomas is at playgroup to avoid a repeat experience.

I have never shut him in the bathroom or any room, nor would I ever. But after that episode it was a far more appealing idea.