
Yeah yeah they look pretty cute here don't they?
Pffft.
Not so cute when they're kicking up a fuss about what position they'll sit in when they get into a car. Head against the lamp-post mock crying. Defeated, because you are adamant moving everything else that is already in the car around them is not happening.
Not when they hit hysterics about having a wee in the perfectly acceptable portable potty you have with you in the woods. And by hysterics I mean a total inability to acknowledge your initially calm and reasonable arguments. Just screaming. When you follow that with basically screaming at them back to snap out of it, strangely enough you are met with a similar, although more amplified lack of regard.
He obviously wet himself in the end and I had to carry him back to the car. But I did get a new waterproof coat for Christmas. Oh happy day!
Not great when they whinge about every food choice you present them from sun rise to sun set. 'I want peanut butter on toast'. Presented. 'No, I don't want toast, I want porridge.'
'I don't want sandwiches (that you prepared with little time to spare, you ungrateful little....) I want sausage rolls'.
'I want the pink cup', they get the pink cup, followed by screams of 'Nooooo, THAT pink cup' and following the point to what is in fact a grey cup.
By the end of today, once my food was ready (a wheat free homity pie since you ask) a full half hour after their pizza, I made the executive decision to take time out. I set aside a whole 10 minutes and put them on one episode of Octonauts whilst I walked into the kitchen. I had some peace and quiet. Watching George peel off each slice of pizza from the board, pull away a part of the cheese from each bit and then stab each slice with his index finger followed by then trying to hang it off the edge of the table apparently oblivious to its edible qualities was enough. I. had. had. enough.
10 minutes, on the money they were back again. 'Can we watch another episode of Octonauts?' said Ruby standing on a chair facing her reflection in the patio doors. 'No that's it,' I replied, 'bathtime now.' And then she replied as she so often does, using the word promise incongruously. 'Just one more, I promise mummy.'
I think I sighed then. A full on, I am one step away from going up to the bedroom and screaming into the pillow. Alone. Don't follow me. 'No, no more TV.' And there it came, the false gutteral wracking sobs, the bottom lip protruding and then I watch her make complete, total, locking eye contact with herself and there it is, she precedes to pretend to cry, to wail. At herself.
ARGH.
I ran the bath and walked back into the kitchen to find hundreds (I am honestly not exaggerating there) of tiny pieces of moondough scattered over the table and the floor. Thankyou George.
Do you know one of the highlights of my day was having George poo in his pants and pulling them down and having the thought, 'oh good! This one is peelable! phew!' and I was able to just pop it into a bag rather than deal with any mess. I was inordinately happy and relieved. Ridiculous.
I do love them.
I do.
Any there were beautiful moments. They were simply FEW.