The Bad Parenting Chronicles: Episode 9

Considering I haven't chronicled my parenting faux pas since September 2008 you could be forgiven for thinking that either,

a. I have obviously learned from my mistakes and reached new supreme levels of parenting,

or b. I was just too lazy to blog about what a failure I am.

I know what you're thinking.......

It has to be B.

And you'd be right.

Here is a sterling example of how I haven't come any closer to achieving Super-Parent status.

I was 37 weeks pregnant.

We went to get the few (mostly pink) things left on our baby list.

Me, Rob, Thomas, Eli.

We lost Eli.

Here.

At one of the biggest shopping malls in all of England.

It turns out buying tiny pink clothing doesn't excite Eli.

He wandered off.

We panicked.

I ran the length of the place in my heavily pregnant state dragging a 4 year old in flip flops behind me. (Do you have any idea how hard it is for a 4 year old to sprint in flip flops? Or how amusing a 37 weeks pregnant woman looks running?)

After the longest phone conversation known to man between the customer services lady and the head of security it was confirmed he'd been located.

I nearly squeezed the life out of him.

And sadly it was in that moment that I realised that if that recipe of shock, panic and trauma coupled with the fastest running of my life didn't manage to dislodge that baby from my uterus then she was never gonna come out without being evicted.

Bummer.

New evidence that nothing good comes from cleaning.

Imagine the scene.

A young(ish) Mother's first day with all 3 kidlets all by herself.

The 4 year old gets to school, clean, dressed and on time.

The 3 year old gets to nursery, somewhat clean, dressed and on time, albeit reluctantly.

The Mother delights in her efficiency and arrives home with 2 week old baby in tow feeling like maybe life isn't gonna be the chaotic existence she imagined after all.

She gazes at her sleeping baby and glances at her watch. She has time to quickly overhaul the house and get things all shiny clean and super tidy before the baby needs feeding then she can indulge in uninterrupted baby time before the 3 year old needs collecting.

Bliss, yes?

Until the part where the completely excellent Mother falls over who knows what bashing her head and fracturing her shoulder.

And that, friends, is why I'm never cleaning again.

(I wish I had it caught on camera because that tumble would be truly hilarious to watch I am sure, just saying!)

Giving a Bit of Credit Where it's Long Overdue

For Father's Day this year we happened to be off by the sea enjoying some sunshine on our family Summer holiday.

On Thomas's last day of school before we left Rob wasn't working and so he went to pick him up. I tried to talk him out of it because I knew Thomas would be coming home with some top quality hand crafted card or gift and I had wanted to keep it as a surprise for the big day itself.

But Rob went nonetheless and really I should have just been grateful that someone else was doing the pick up for a change. Because really after the 212th pick up of the academic year the monotony really started to kick in.

Thomas came home with this card.

I knew right away what the drawing was. It couldn't have been more obvious.

It's Rob playing his Xbox. Priceless.

I looked at Rob, he seemed crestfallen, he said with a tinge of sarcasm, 'Oh it gets better!'

So I looked inside and there recorded by his teacher is what in the eyes of Thomas his dad liked doing the most in all the world.

Rob was both gutted and concerned that Thomas's teachers would have a far less than top notch opinion of his fathering prowess.

Behind a chuckle I tried to comfort him by suggesting that it could have been far, far worse.

After all It could have said my dad likes to play Grand Theft Auto or some Zombie killing game.

So should Thomas's teachers ever fill their spare hours randomly googling parents of their pupils for the record I'd just like to say what a fab dad Rob truly is (and that his Xbox generally only enjoys the wonder of electrical power when they kids are fast asleep in bed).

I don't give him nearly enough vocal credit (or probably non vocal credit either) and I don't devote nearly enough blog posts to him (really I should cos the guy has hilariously killer OCD and what's not entertaining about that?).

On Father's Day when he was well within his rights to demand a nap and maybe even breakfast in bed (which I'm pretty sure were my Mother's day demands) he was instead doing this with his two biggest fans.

Plus one things for sure you'd never catch me doing stuff like this with them.

I'm impressed I even went outside to take pictures of it.

Mummy's are for warm, indoor and clean activities only.

Oh and for the record Rob actually didn't even think the Xbox tennis was that special.

I'm a tiny bit concerned.....

....that this baby currently residing in my uterus (with something wedged rather inhospitably under my ribs) is gonna be born with the uncanny ability to count from 1 to 3.

She will probably think too that my normal tone of voice is that of a shrieking beast.

For such is the frequency these days that I appear to be giving out warnings and counting sternly to three before one of my delightful monsters requires a visit (or 8) to the naughty spot.

I just can't work out if my unborn child's numerical brilliance will be the result of my good parenting or bad.

Ah well brilliance is brilliance.

Who cares how we get there.

I Blame That Geoffrey Giraffe

Recently we hit Toys R Us (Thomas pronounces it Toys R arse which always makes me chuckle because the A word is tres naughty here) with the kids in tow.

Knowing fully well that leaving toy-less would result in complete hysteria from our offspring.

Thomas chose a Ninja Turtle and Eli a Fire Engine, Police Car and Ambulance Combo.

Hysteria avoided.

But then he saw this:

The Hot Wheels Shark Park.

It was half price.

He started using words like awesome, car munching action and dare I say it? Flying Pizza.

I did my best to discourage the purchase but he had his heart set on it.

Oh and when I say he I'm not referring to Thomas or Eli.

I am referring to Rob.

Apparently boys never grow up.

The Best Money Ever Spent

At Thomas' school they have a book club where you can buy really lovely books for discounted prices and the school makes commission on their sales. So when I indulge in my book purchasing addiction really I am just helping his school raise funds. See, I am totally selfless like that.

I ordered this one with the Christmas season sneaking up on us for the discounted price of £4, reduced from £12.99. You gotta love a bargain like that right?

I have really fond childhood memories of watching the short movie adaptation of this book at Christmastime and feeling fully festive.

The beautifully presented hard bound version of the book in it's super snazzy presentation case I bought also came along with a CD reading of the book.

Tonight after their bath we read some stories and then I asked Thomas if he'd like us to read the Snowman book (Eli and I had read it earlier while Thomas was at school) but he was so impressed that it came with a CD of his very own that he wanted to listen to it.

So I took the CD player in their room, tucked my boys up in bed, switched off the light and pressed play.

Silence followed, as did sleep.

And that my friends is priceless.

Giving Thanks at the Wrong End of November

I may not be American and I may not officially recognise the Thanksgiving holiday as such but today I would feel beyond ungrateful if I didn't give just a little, but very specific thanks.

I am eternally thankful for the inventor/creator or the portable DVD Player.

Yesterday we had a 5 hour trip to take with the kids to a family baptism.

Anything beyond an hour these days requires a family sized pack of sedatives to ensure we all survive.

So we may have borrowed the DVD players without asking from the in laws house while they were away.

We may have even had to listen to Aristocats and Cars simultaneously, but that was a joyous and welcome treat in comparison to the whining, grumping and pouting we usually have to contend with. (Besides isn't the Cars soundtrack pretty cool? Or is that just me?)

I now know what is going on my list to Santa.

It may not be very indulgent but anything sanity preserving has to be the best gift EVER!

Dear Santa.....

Halloween and Rob's birthday both behind us we enter into my territory.....

Christmas.

Having pulled out my Santa card on Thomas weeks ago I am gutted to admit the novelty has started to gradually wear off. Santa's all powerful gift control no longer makes my 3 year old stop in his naughty tracks. I guess naughtiness is just more alluring than gifts to this child. (Lucky me when he is older).

Last week was half term from school and Rob was away in Scotland with work so the kids and I went to stay at my mum's where I got to share bunk beds with Thomas. (I am actually thinking that bunk beds are the way forward, having returned last night and slept in my own bed I sadly missed the bunk beds. I am thinking we need some for our room. All the convenience and company of having Rob close by but without the inconvenience of his cover hogging and trampolining style turning over, maybe I'll just have to suggest it.)

Anyhow during such visit we ended up in a shop that sold toys. To which Thomas reacts by requesting one by one each and every toy on their shelves. To which I respond like I always do, "well we can't buy any right now because if we do Santa won't know what to bring you" the combination of too many late nights at nanny's house and pure greed resulted in him not being completely satisfied with that response.

Finally he was happy to buy nothing if we could write his list to Santa right away when we got back to Nanny's house, just to be sure he didn't forget anything that he really needed Santa to bring him.

So I present to you our gift lists to Santa.......

Thomas: (FYI 'mash up' is what the boys do with their dad roughly translates as wrestling)

Diego Rescue Pack

Golden Coin Maker (thank you Nickelodeon for putting this idea into his head BTW)

A Game with Monkeys

A new DVD of a stagecoach

A mash up stage

A jigsaw with an animal picture

A water squirting game

A kicker man to mash up

A mash up turtle

New pictures

New Plates

New Door

Teapot

Peppa Pig Ball (Previous 5 are due to him getting slightly distracted and just naming whatever he saw as he looked around Nanny's house, he does the same thing in his prayers, very entertaining to get an inventory of his bedroom each night)

Brand new white car (which I am hoping is actually for me)

Fire shooter

Fire engine

Peppa Pig house with beds

A shop

Eli:

Dora Back Pack

Diego Rescue Pack (not that he's completely obsessed or anything)

So there we have it.

So now that it is officially Christmas I am off to break out my Frank and Bing CD's and the kiddo's are watching Mickey Mouse's Once Upon a Christmas as I type.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Let Me Educate You

What do the following pictures of models that Thomas created at nursery clearly have in common?



Well quite obviously they are all speedboats.

What?

You didn't get that?

Don't worry me either, but Thomas has kindly overlooked my stupidity and corrected me (with sheer disgust) so it's only polite for me to do the same for you.

It's the Reason for the Season

I know the secret.

I have discovered how to positively encourage good behaviour from my eldest child.

It may well still be September.

I may have already been using this technique for two weeks.

The technique?

The power of Santa.

Never did I imagine the thought of disappointing Santa would have such a radical effect on a three year olds behaviour.

Fortunately for me he is naive enough to believe I have Santa's number in my mobile phone and can call him to discuss behavioural issues any hour of the day.

Fortunately for me I just have to utter the magic words 'What would Santa say.....' and angelic peace is restored.

I can only hope the magic lasts through to December.

And I can only wish it worked on my two year old.

But in the mean time I am feeling festive already.

The Grino Goes to School

Remember not so long ago I was harping on about Thomas starting nursery and not feeling ready for that stage?

Well I really need to clarify, it wasn't the thought of him being gone 12.5 hours a week (I was excited about that for both of us I assure you) that pulled on my heart strings it was the fact that he is getting bigger and more independent all the time and I just simply can't keep up.

For goodness sake he was just born and he is already 3 and next time I blink he'll no doubt be fully grown and leaving home (see how I completely bypassed the teenage years there? Yep, I am in denial and we're 9 years away). Time betrays me every day by going too quickly.

Two weeks in he adores Nursery School but every day I collect him he seems just a little bit smarter and a tiny bit bigger. I have to admit though the last two weeks I have revelled in the wisdom of my decision making skills by choosing to send him in the afternoons. We have happily idled away our mornings waking at 8:30, breakfasting at leisure and dressing sometime before noon. It has also been lovely to have quality time with Eli every single day.

I have been feeling like life is pretty much perfect.

Then on Thursday I got the most terrific phone message ever. It was Thomas's old playgroup calling to say that they had Eli on their waiting list to start in January (the next term after he turns 2.5) but because they're familiar with him and he is used to the environment would I like to start him a little bit earlier, like on Monday????

YES I REALLY REALLY WOULD!!

I was so excited by the prospect I had to listen to the message 4 times to get her number to call her back. I returned her call and made sure she knew that he wasn't potty trained (and I have no intentions of attempting him being so) and that he wasn't 2.5 yet. She knew both things and they were still happy to take him. Hooray!

So on Monday and Wednesday he will be attending playgroup. I am thrilled for him and even more so for myself.

Back when I made the slothful decision to send Thomas in the afternoons I knew when Eli started playgroup in January he would be going in the mornings.

You know what that means? It means I could have had 6 beautiful hours to myself, every single week. But in some obvious attempt to win some Mother of the year contest I actually decided to put the kids before myself (could I be more motherly?) and have them go at alternate times so I could have quality time with one while the other was busy at school/playgroup. That has to be award worthy, seriously.

I was elated at the prospect of him being a big boy and attending playgroup right up until I climbed into bed on Thursday night. I lay there waiting for sleep to come and my head filled with thoughts.

What if it turns out like that time I helped out and took Eli along?

What if he bites someone? (Always a possibility where Eli is concerned.)

What if he is just too young?

What if creates poop art there?

What if they discover his double butt and think he's a bit odd?

Eli is my baby. He may well be 2 and 4 months but he is my baby.

He is our youngest and he is starting playgroup and becoming independent.

I had my babies close together and every day felt 47 hours long and it felt like they would be babies forever. But now neither of them are babies.

I felt sad.

I knew the day was coming but January seemed so far away and so much more manageable.

Think of me because tomorrow (slightly reluctantly) I become the mother of two big boys.

The One Where I Get Sentimental

Recently I read 'for one more day' by Mitch Albom, it had been stashed under my bed for months and months where I keep my vast collection of unread books. I love Mitch Albom's books (if you haven't read Tuesdays with Morrie or the five people you meet in heaven you really must) but they always give me so much to think about and reflect upon, and to be honest in my life right now which is best described as utter chaos I have little enough time for actually reading. Thinking and reflecting are luxuries I definitely don't have time for.

But I pulled out for one more day and I was hooked within minutes. As I read one line struck me deeply and has been on my mind ever since,

And I realised when you look at your mother, you are looking at the purest love you will ever know.

Isn't that just perfectly true?

As I have pondered I have thought about how grateful to my own mother I am, and how it wasn't until I had my very own children that I realised finally, fully and completely, how much she actually must love me. Ever since I experienced a feeling of love so deeply overwhelming that there are no words to actually describe it, as I held my very own infant in my arms (even if they were a bit on the hairy side) and felt love grow and mature I have felt both humbled and amazed to realise that my mother had had those exact same feelings of love and dedication for me every single day of my life.

I thought about the pure love I feel for my boys and how everyday I am amazed by this unconditional love I have for them, (and they're both at totally unreasonable ages and push my love to its limits at times) and the amazing beings they are.

As they both grew inside me and I felt the first flutterings of life a relationship began that I never imagined could be so wonderfully powerful.

I know I will never be a perfect mum and I know they will never be perfect children. Neither of those things exist, anywhere. We can but do our best.

But my love for them will always be pure and in my eyes they will always be perfect.

And it Has to Happen on My Shift?

I don't think I have mentioned that this week all week long Rob is off work.

You know what that means?

Yesterday I got to sleep in until 9:30! Yay! (Of course Eli didn't want me feeling too rested and happy so decided to wake up randomly for two hours in the middle of the night but I got to sleep til 9:30 so who cares, right?)

Yesterday consisted of a trip to the Kids Museum, going to the supermarket with an equal ratio of adults and children (a real luxury), getting a £75 parking ticket and watching Federer destroy Murray at the US open (So not worth staying up past midnight for I assure you!).

Today we were woken at 8:30 by Eli. Rob had arranged to go visit his sister Helen down South because she had her 4th baby, Sophie, weeks ago and we haven't had a chance to meet the newest addition before now. So he was up and out the door with Eli in tow by 9am. (Good luck on 6 hours in a car with Eli today Rob!)

I stayed here with Thomas because it is his first 'official' day at nursery today and he has football training later which was rudely cancelled on Saturday because Friday involved so much rain that apparently we had a months rainfall all in one day. This irks me somewhat because a months rainfall is surely sufficient, but, no, it continues to rain and rain and rain. (Get used to comments like this they'll be coming frequently between now and Spring I assure you.)

So, Thomas decided to wake up at 9:15 (that's why he is my favourite, just kidding) and came and clambered on my knee enquiring where Eli and Daddy were. Then the waterworks commenced. Thomas it appears had his heart set on meeting baby Sophie today too. Which came as no big surprise because my boys try to bring home any baby we ever see. I managed to cheer him out of it with excited talk of Nursery and football and settled him finally happily with the Backyardigans and his breakfast.

Then a few minutes later he approached me just sobbing. I figured he just felt sad because his dad was gone, he is a bit sensitive by nature after all. He kept saying something that I couldn't understand through the muffled cries.

Then I got it.

'One is missing'

Now I just needed to ascertain what exactly was missing. No easy task because he has taken to carrying and hoarding ridiculous amounts of anything everywhere he goes.

So I followed him back to the living room.

He approached the fish tank.

I held my breath, hoping he'd keep walking.

He didn't. He stopped, turned, looked at me. Crying all the time.

He said, pointing, "My fish (insert sob), one missing, (sob), look 1, (sob), 2 (sob), 3 (multiple sobs), one gone".

At which point I had to explain that Squidward got very sick and has now gone to live with Heavenly Father.

I chickened out and avoided use of both the D word (dead) and burial at sea (down the toilet) as he was upset enough.

So note to Rob. If you're gonna have a week off work at least have the courtesy to be home when our sensitve and emotional 3 year old comes to a realisation that one of his/your fish has passed away.

Even if it does take him 9 days to come to that particular realisation.

Why 3 is the Magic Number

Just lately I am loving this boy.

Not that I didn't love him before but right now I really absolutely totally love him.

He makes me laugh without fail every single day with his weird and wonderful ways.

Whether it is catching him peeing into a bucket in the bathroom whilst stood actually right next to the toilet,

Whether it is him asking me whilst pointing to his face, "Do I have something right here on my face next to my beard?"

Whether it is going into his room at 10pm to find this,

Allegedly he lost something under his bed. (For like 5 days in a row.)

Or the fact that he has to sleep with both of these, what you can't see what they are?

Well one is a Huddersfield Town FC bear that his dad got him as a baby and the other.....

......well, the other is this, a pile of bookmarks commemorating the 10th anniversary of the Preston Temple.

Bishop actually gave them to me and asked me to give them to the children in primary but before I had a chance Thomas found them in my bag and has been sleeping with them regularly ever since.

Shh don't tell Bishop.

Last week he randomly came to a knowledge of borrowing.

Borrowing to a three year old is a dream come true. It means you can enjoy something you like but doesn't belong to you. On Sunday his teacher at church had bags and bags of things with her to keep the little ones entertained and when I went to collect Thomas he was holding what had to be easily 20 items. I explained that we had to give them back because they were his teachers and he curtly replied 'It's OK mummy I just borrow them', his teacher being one of the nicest people on earth couldn't say no and neither could I but I did manage to persuade him to only bring home 5 things.

Which included this dog, 3 used wedding cards and a truly hideous picture of Rob and I at a wedding in our pre-parenting years. All of which he insisted on sleeping with also, obviously.

I love that he now takes a genuine interest in other people now.

How work good mum?

How your run good dad?

It really just never ends.

Some days he'll approach me with his sad face and I'll enquire what's wrong and he'll just say "I miss Lucas" even though they have been in Utah now for a month.

If he happens to be in the garden when our neighbours come home he'll be sure to hold them up in enquiring about their day. I'm sure they really appreciate it.

I love that he has started football training and passionately loves it despite having the concentration span of a fly.

I adore seeing how his brain works, last Sunday he asked me "But who draw those pictures of Jesus?" referring to the the ones on our wall.

Stumped for an explanation fitting to a three year old logic I did what all good mums do. I directed him with his question to his dad.

He asked his dad.

His dad paused considering his answer and then replied, "I did!"

Thomas was completely content with that response.

I know that being 3 isn't a perfect age by far and we do have our moments I assure you. But at this point I am focusing on the positives and the fact that Eli is not so far behind and whatever Thomas can throw at us as a three year old will surely be vastly eclipsed by Eli when his turn comes.

That I would bet on.

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!

Let Him Eat Cake

You know how middle children are always droning on about how neglected they are?

How there are no pictures of them growing up but a trillion of both older and younger siblings?

How they got to wear nothing but hand-me-downs (my sister can tell a lovely tale about wearing my brothers Y-front pants but with the hole sewn up) but the next child got all new things just like the firstborn did solely because everything was completely worn out by the time the middle child was through with it.

I suspect most middle children actually think they were adopted because after all that is surely the only logical explanation as to why there is very little documented evidence of their existence prior to starting school.

This I cannot relate to.

I am the youngest child in my family. I loved being the youngest. Being the youngest by 5 years was even better. Sure my siblings would rather have lost an appendage than have to play with me (allegedly I was annoying) but I got quality time alone with my mum every single day while they were at school. Plus by the time the youngest comes along the parents have both more money and more time. Life for me was pretty good I have to admit.

Having had several friends over the years who had middle child syndrome to varying horrifying degrees I committed myself to always treat all my kids equally. Now I currently only have two kids so how hard can it really be?

Really hard it would appear, because I just found this unfinished post from Eli's birthday.

Yep, Eli's birthday that was in May. Two and a half months ago.

Poor kid isn't even a middle child yet and already he is neglected. No wonder he spends most of his life in a state of rage and anger.

As if this wasn't bad enough at the age of 26 months there are zero, yes zero pictures of Eli in our house. If you were to come to our house and not be familiar with us you would instantly assume we have just the one child. Just Thomas. (Though those pictures haven't been updated since Eli was born either.)

Whereas the first months of Thomas' life were celebrated with almost daily photo shoots, Eli's first months are documented in about 15 pictures.

Eli's baby book remains both incomplete and abandoned.

Eli has been frequently subjected to hand-me-downs.

So I figured I'd document here for all to see. That Eli is loved. Just as much as his brother.

Contrary to all the evidence that would make it appear otherwise.

He had a great birthday. Reaching the 2 year milestone weighing 28 pounds (50th %ile) and measuring 88cm/34.6 inches (75th %ile)

Just wanted to make that matter perfectly clear so that when he is suffering with middle child syndrome (which is surely gonna come eventually) and suspecting he was actually in fact adopted.

I can direct him right here for the truth.

We love you Eli (I promise!)

And the Winner Is......for Once, The Mummy

Remember our Poop art issues?

(As if you could possibly ever forget. I know those pictures burned a permanent impression in many a blog readers mind.)

Well after he found several new opportunities to create various new masterpieces (fear not no photographic evidence included in this post!) I was at my wits end.

So I resorted to what I hadn't done for over a year.

I put him back in vests.

Who knew you could even buy them in his size?

The little monkey can no longer happily delve his hand into his nappy and let his creative juices flow. We fought this battle and for once I was victorious!

Yes, he looks really ridiculous. (But also kind of cute!)
Yes, he may very well collapse from heat exhaustion from wearing an extra layer under his clothes with it being summer and all.
But my walls are poop free and frankly it is worth the risk!

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.

I used to.....

This week all week I am on holiday (please don't come burgle us!) in Wales with Rob's extended family, ALL of them. Well with 5 out 8 of my father in laws siblings and their families. Obviously it will rain all week long and we'll get on each others nerves constantly. But that's only to be expected when you choose Wales as a holiday destination. It is after all hardly the Caribbean.

So I'd thought I'd take this opportunity to recycle some older posts (courtesy of scheduled posting!) that I wrote when I was pretty much the only person reading my blog!

Enjoy!

I used to have rock hard abs despite doing no exercise, now I look at my stomach and wonder if I even have abs at all.

I used to look forward to the weekend because it was free time for fun stuff, now I look forward to the weekend because I have an extra pair of hands at my disposal for 48 hours.

I used to think I was legitimately tired before I had kids, now I know I wasn't tired at all but actually perfectly well rested.

I used to know exactly how Dolly the sheep was cloned, now I only remember that she was called Dolly because she was cloned from udder cells.

I used to read plenty of books educating my mind constantly, now I read about how Dinosaurs say goodnight and Gruffalo's.

I used to wear PJ's all day because I could, now I wear PJ's all day because sometimes there is no window of opportunity to get dressed.

I used to judge Mothers who had kids with dried snot on their face, now I know some days it's an achievement to get the little monkeys dressed let alone clean.

I used to think I'd never bribe my kids, now I know the power of a small piece of chocolate.

I used to know the whole Periodic Table of Elements, now I know every single train from Thomas the Tank Engine.

I used to love going to the movies, now I like watching Cars, Toy Story and Peter Pan on DVD with the boys even if it is for the millionth time.

I used to do 3 loads of washing a week, now I do 8.

I used to go to the toilet alone with the door closed, now I have trouble remembering to shut the door when I'm at someone else's house.

I used to take pride in my appearance, now I take pride in my kids.

I used to eat all my dinner by myself and while it was hot, now I get to eat it when it's cold and still have to share.

I used to think I'd have 4 or 5 kids, now I think I'll have 3.

I used to think I couldn't love another child as much as my first, now I know I was wrong.

I used to enjoy 10 hours sleep a night, now I don't remember what that feels like.

I used to think I was happy, Now I know what happiness really is.

Scary Movie

You know when we buy the kids a new DVD it is not only a gift for them it is totally a gift for me too. Having endured Cars and Toy Story (both 1 & 2) more times than is reasonably expected of any adult human being I figured a change in our viewing material was way way overdue. We do incidently have a whole drawer of kids DVD's but our kids must have really high grading criteria because most of them simply don't cut the mustard. A few will get an occasional viewing but they're really like Lightening McQueen and Buzz Lightyear's poor relations you know.

So we picked up Surf's Up for Eli, for obvious reasons.

Then for Thomas we got this. Considering his favourites are all made by Pixar I figured we were onto a sure thing. A potentially new favourite. Plus it had the added bonus of me never having seen it (hooray!) so I didn't even have to fake enthusiasm when he insisted I sit down right next to him to watch it. I grabbed a blanket thinking if they get engrossed (which they hopefully would!) I could actually grab a nap. (Rob was in the next room so that sounds more neglectful than it really is!)

The verdict from my 3 year old?

Remy and his brother getting struck by lightening? Practically pee your pants laugh out loud for ten minutes hilarious.

The rest? Absolutely no clue.

The minute Remy was separated from his family (13 whole minutes into the movie) Thomas was beside himself. He kept saying he needed to see Grandma. Then proceeded to cry/sob/wail. A lot!

Yep I had to double check it was in fact Ratatouille and not The Shining or The Exorcist I had inserted in the DVD player such was his reaction. (Not that I am brave enough to have such titles in the house, let alone watch them!)

Needless to say I never got a nap and we had to watch Surf's Up instead.