Days out without the kids

Don’t get me wrong, I bloody love my kids, they are loving, cheeky, naughty and absolutely hilarious. But today I have the day off both work and motherhood. An actual genuine holiday day. Today the Diva is going for a trip to Legoland with Daddy and her nursery, and the Hulk is in the safe hands of his nursery, these are, by far, safer hands than mummy’s hands. They can even get him to wear his sunhat without staging a wrestling match. And they seem able to apply sun cream without sustaining injuries to themselves. I have to have St John’s ambulance on standby before attempting this task, and to date have been kicked in the lady garden, poked in the eye and had my hand scratched. To add insult to injury he sits nicely to eat his meals. He even pops his own bib on. I know this, I’ve seen him. I suspect sorcery.

8 photos of happiness

Thank you so much lovely loveofacaptain for nominating me to play the game of 8 photos of happiness, here are mine!

1. Newborn Edie, we had no idea what we were letting ourselves in for. 7 pounds 5 ounces of chaos.

Pick your own fruit, as opposed to your own child.

The 22 month old hulk is an enormous fan of picking. His nose is visited by an inquisitive finger with alarming regularity, he picks fights with me on a daily basis and he picks the heads off flowers in immaculate National Trust Gardens while volunteers scowl at me. So it didn’t seem too far fetched to imagine that he might like fruit picking. Also seeing as it occurs on a farm, he can run around safely in a nice environment and there might be tractors to look at, it seemed like it could work. Winner I thought.

The Rumble in the Garden – Toddler vs Sunhat

Here we are today, on this auspicious afternoon in the glorious beaming sun, it’s lovely to see that so many of you have made it here, in the garden, to witness this long fought battle between two old adversaries. They’ve both been in training for the event for some time, and there’s been a certain amount of trash talk in the run up, including a well publicised incident outside nursery, where the Hulk shouted poo very loudly at Mummy before running away. Let’s meet the key competitors –

Taking a toddler to Clarks – a bull in a shoe shop

  Mr Mess, Stress & Fancy Dress has enormous feet. Proper size 13 clown offerings. You know what they say about men with big feet, *wry smile, smug face* ……..they have shoes so big a toddler can hide a remote control and 2 Barbies in them? Well, yes, but anyway, it’s been passed down to the kids and we spend far more time in shoe shops than is good for anyone’s sanity. The Diva’s flippers are currently the same size as her 7 year old cousin’s (she’s not quite 4) and we know the Clarks staff by name.

Imaginary friends

My daughter has an imaginary friend, Aurora. Who better to choose to spend your formative years with than an actual Disney princess? It wouldn’t be my choice of friend to hang out with all day, but I’m not 3 and I don’t think she knows who Knight Rider is yet, so we’ll let her off.

Reward charts – I ain’t doing shit without a sticker mummy.

Every book writing nanny known to man staunchly supports the process of the reward chart. And a mighty fine system it appears to be at first. Wee in the potty and mummy will put a lovely sticker on your chart. Stay in bed till your sun comes up and we can put a smiley face on your picture. Don’t throw a tantrum in sainsburys and you can have 27 fruit shoots and piece of cake bigger than your face from the cafe.

Parenting boys – it really would have been easier to get a dog.

When I found out I was having a boy, I’m ashamed to say I had a little cry. I’d wanted another girl. I am ridiculously close to my marvellous sister and I had beautiful Bronte dreams of my lovely daughters enjoying this closeness. Younger brothers are generally irritating and I’d heard enough friends with boys telling me they had to be walked like dogs in order to wear them out. I’d tried to avoid owning a cagoul, and my national trust membership was generally reserved for the cream tea, so this really didn’t fit well with my parenting dreams.

Swimming poo-l

Our holiday draws to an end. The Incredible Hulk has whined and moaned his way round Cornwall. He’s kicked me in the face in a pushchair related tantrum in the maritime museum, he’s tried to jump off a ferry – I nearly let him – and he’s become enraged by a horse riding hat at the farm. He’s been an absolute pleasure. But it is not he, but the Diva who brings shame on family mess stress and fancy dress.

Taking a toddler to the beach – a masochistic dream

 The diva was desperate to go to the beach. We’ve been putting it off, hoping she forgets that she’s had this idea as we know the hulk will show his true colours (green) within 5 minutes of arrival. She announces that she dreams of going to the beach, and it could be a dream come true. After we have gathered up the remnants of our melted hearts, we accept that a trip to the beach is inevitable.