After Godzilla tried on his “my tummy hurts, I feel sick” trick last night because he couldn’t be arsed going to basketball due to overtiredness from having a disgustingly late night at a sleepover on Saturday night, I made him go to bed early.
After, of course, we went to basketball, cos there was no chance I was gonna miss an opportunity to get on the court and pretend I’m really awesome at playing the game. Um. Just saying.
He wasn’t much chop, moping around and getting in my way of having fun. Was, thus, much annoyed that when we arrived home he commenced the consumption of his evening meal, a behaviour which was in complete contradiction to the stomach hugging, moaning, whining he was doing only moments earlier.
So, I made him go to bed early. Partly because I was very annoyed he spoilt my opportunity to be basketball superstar, and partly because I had to go with the “you’re sick, so you have to go to bed early” thing. He did. With mild rejection of the concept, but not much.
This morning, he was chirpy as ever, no pain in tummy and ready to go to school. It must be nicer there than it is at home. With me.
(Have slight complex about this, as Grumpy’s leaving early also means I get to deal with “where daddy” from Chippie every 35 seconds)
School dropoff and the fun starts!
Chippie decides he wants to go on a train. I have the pram, because you never know when your toddler who is incapable of walking – it appears he can only run – may just decide he’s going to sit in it for a moment or two. Having a pram on hand “just in case” makes it incredibly difficult to chase a toddler. Especially one who can see a train pulling into the train station some 300 metres in front of you and starts screaming and running towards it along a very narrow, not designed for prams, footpath. He then has complete meltdown when the train pulls out of the station some 299 metres in front of us, collapses on the very narrow footpath, gets up and runs off screaming “Wanna go onna train! Please stop, train, please stop!” and throws himself on the ground again.
We make it to the station, where we have another meltdown because there is no train there, awaiting his viewing pleasure, and I come very close to having one when the old guy at the kiosk gives him a lolly.
Becuase, yet again, he needs to be rewarded for such behaviour.
My near meltdown prevented me from having enough energy to do anything about it. On the upside, it did distract him enough from the Train At Station Deficit and we made it home, went grocery shopping, sans tantrums and make it home again.
At which point I decided a nice drink of soda stream would be lovely, and we had none made up. I grabbed one of the two Soda Stream bottles, full of chilled water, out of the fridge, shooshed it up, unscrewed it from the machine thingy and muttered fucking fuckery! as the lemon lime mix in the particular bottle I’d grabbed (and the flavour I really wanted) sprayed itself over the entire interior of my house.
I changed my top. As the microwave has (finally!!!) just been replaced, I was forced to wipe it down rather than change it for a clean one, too. And the coffee machine. The toaster. The fridge. The … oh fuck it … look at the time!
Get phone call from the school advising me Godzilla is sick and feel twinge of “Oh, nice one!” as I recall my grumpiness with him last night and discussion around telling me if he’s tired and not pretending he’s sick. Pick him up. Pick Monkey Boy up whilst I’m there, drop them home, where Grumpy has also arrived, and head off for the only break I’m getting at the moment … the bi-annual leg wax. Which is now a workplace necessity as Grumpy is filling in a few Wednesday morning classes and I get the Toddler Swimming Lessons task.
Arrive home to find Godzilla – allegedly still sick – playing the Wii. He is, however, in his pyjamas. Presumably to reassure me that he is sick. Feel twinge of “Yeah, nice one!” and resume previous nights discussion about prenting to be sick. Apparently, he had a big drink of water, did a poo and feels better.
I think he missed the point. Also, he is giving me the shits with this newfound behaviour. Grrrr.
Dinner, bath, deal with toddler poo in the bath (sigh), yell at them about getting into bed, mention it to Monkey Boy another seven times before doing that Look Combined With WTF Sigh thing, which is countered with an eye roll and “Fine then, I’ll go to bed”, which is responded to with “Thanks, that’s only what I’ve been asking you to do for the last half hour!” and he stomps off.
Enough shit for the day, I think and am about to take self off to bed, when Godilla approaches.
Nuh uh, no more “I’m sick” from you buddy, I telepath to him.
“Mum, I need to do my homework.”
Apparently the last six hours wasn’t enough time. To remember.