Am I talking to myself....?

 I did not share in the delight of my students at the arrival of the half term holidays as despite loving being with Mol and Laurie, it means holidays are not the cause for relaxation they used to be. Laurie has been having bad dreams keeping him up at night shouting for Mum but not often not awake enough to be soothed. Mol is still struggling with her teeth. Sod this recession, after seeing Laurie's saving plan loosing cash again, I recon shares in Calpol may be a safer way to invest for the future than stuffing the bankers pockets.

Mol has started chatting a little more and now has quite a number of words. "More". "Bear"."Milk"."Bum Bum"."Poo". Throw in a couple of animal noises and a smile, point  and a coy simper and thats pretty much all you need at 16 months  to charm your parents into bending to your every whim. I think she may turn out to have abiltiy to hold a conversation that flows over its listeners rather like a tidal bore, not concerned in the least if those in attendance are either interested or even listening. Apparently at her age I held full conversations including relevant lively intertnation  without knowing a word and have carried on in a similar tone since

The Sound of Silence

Silence, it's a funny thing. As a novice Mum I am soothed by it, considering it to be a sign that all is calm and peaceful. Not so this morning when due to the quiet downstairs, I felt safe to get dressed rather than run around the house weighing up the risks of tots weeing on the floor against being caught by the postman in my underwear. (Darn that glass fronted door). When I arrived downstairs I was concerned not to find Mol in the front room where I left her. Instead she sat contented and hiding under a pile of snowy flakes of toilet tissue in the bathroom. I learn from today, silence is a dangerous thing meaning tots are doing something so naughty they know they must be quiet lest risk discovery.

A number of hours later I am praying for a little peace as my lovely girl lies screaming herself to near sleep in her cot after hour two of soothing n rocking.  Why do babies have to get teeth...it seems so unfair both on them and their poor parents. Controlled crying is a killer.

'Life is a Rollercoaster........'

It turns out that aside from being an alleged adultering, slightly faded 90's boy popster, Mr Ronan Keating may have had the odd wise piece of advice. Life is indeed at times, a rollercoaster. I suspect however Mr Keating was not singing of the trials of managing a young family.

Today started well, if a little early, as Laurie slept thru for the first time in a while without waking and screaming 'I want my mum' until he wakes the house. It was such a treat to have a full 6 hrs without having to share the bed with a very sweet but rather sweaty little boy or a little girl who just wants to poke me in the eye of shove her fingers up my nose. After the luxury of a shower, which was only briefly interrupted by a tot demaning a poo..I was full of good intentions to style my hair properly for the first time since it was cut a month ago. However, five minutes after picking up the straighteners and ten minutes before we were due to leave for a party, I am called to assist in the lastest event of toddlergeddon.

Mol had decided to throw her chair backwards onto the floor whilst fastened into her booster, whack her head and vomit her breakfast all over her father. One call to NHS direct later and we are rushing about to gather things before dropping Mol and her Pa off at the Children's Hospital and taking Laurie, rather late to his party.

The party was great, although not so much my last minute grab of an outfit. Sadly a mini skirt and leggings is not the ideal demure look for crawling thru the spiders web atop the soft play..and definatly not for clambering out of the scary toddler tube slide. Mol, was fine...she seems pretty indestructable. We were dismissed from the hospital with some head injury leaflets and instructions to wake her at midnight to check she isn't sleeping too deelpy...! Goodbye 6 hrs, it was short but so sweet.

S@%t happens

And so it came to pass that after a pleasant morning with Mol showing off her new confidence in walking and Laurie having had an enjoyable morning at preschool (a change from the screaming and wailing of the last week), the afternoon went down hill.

The rain set in and a cloud of mizzle hung in the valley like a wet sponge. This meant even a trip to Cow park to jump in puddles was sacked off in favour of wholesome wet weather indoor pursuits. So like the diligent Mother I headed to the craft cupboard and we set about on some plaster of paris creation from birthdays past. Mol then decided she was creativly unchallenged by her finger painting options and came over all Barbra Hepworth making holes in play dough and trying to get her hands on the plaster. A one year old with plaster of paris is never good. A one year old trying to snatch the plaster of paris from her brother is perhaps worse. Screaming commenced and continued into the afternoon.

By the time their father arrived home we were upstairs with the iplayer on, house in disarray, mother fraught, jewelery box strewn over the floor, Mol cross trying to wear an adult tsirt bra, both kids naked bar Mol's nappy and a bath full of poo. Nothing tops off a stressfull afternoon quite like pulling two kids from a bath newly full of poo.

Tonight we had Chilli- a good recipie and hopefully not to blame for the bath incident.

Laurie, the occassionally naked chef

After an exciting day of toilet cleaning, sink unblocking and fitting in a work powerpoint druing Mol's nap, I was hoping on an easy late afternoon with a sleepy boy, tired after a busy day at preschool. Sadly, I was to be disappointed by the enthusiastic tot that greeted me and refused to watch any of the mildly jarring but immensly educationally enriching (I tell myself) programmes CBeebies had to offer.

Instead, it seemed some chirpy presenter had inspired him to want to cook, so we embarked on baked blackcurrant rice and chocolate dipped biscuits. For the next two and a half long hours the kids poured and stirred and prodded and squished away happily enough as I ran about thinking of tot proof(ish) cullinary activities. Laurie worked away, an enthuisatic chef, like his father, although with a bit less skill and considerably less pride in his tidy house. Mol struggled to make the distinction between real and play dough despite the vibrant colours of the latter, but seemed happy enough at the taste of both.

In hindsight, I am thrilled my son would rather do something creative and practical then slouching infront of the box. I am however, left cursing why anyone would think it a good idea to carpet a kitchen and wishing I had been allowed to have a full nights sleep to recover. Alas, it was not to be.