First day of family day care for Chippie today. Am feeling slighly better, slightly less guitly, and slightly more accepting (and remembering) of my need for such care.
I also have to make an additional lunch, for Chippie to take to care. Overwhelmed with my duties, slightly flustered and all the emotional stuff going on in the background, I was most annoyed to find the floor at my work area somewhat crunchy after Monkey Boy’s baking efforts of last night.
Unable to readily locate where Grumpy had parked the broom, I solved the problem by sending Monkey Boy to fetch my slippers, and I commenced the lunch making routine.
This pretty much consists of telling Grumpy to bugger off out of my way, and find a better time to make his own breakky, and making and eating my breakfast whilst making lunches, and yelling various instructions about putting the size 5 shirt back in the cupboard and change shirts, because I’m not letting him go to school with his bellly button on display.
Godzilla chooses this moment to inform me that “Chippie won’t like being left on his own”, you know, just to make sure I’m feeling really crap, and I explain to him that he will be looked after by a very nice lady and there will be other kids there for him to play with.
Ponder who I’m trying to convince; him or me?
Get Chippie’s shoes on where he throws a tanty about the concept and does his breath holdy thing which causes him to pass out again, panic for a moment, because I really don’t want him missing his first day of day care and don’t want the additional worry of him doing something untoward whilst there, he rights himself and goes back to being normal.
Drop kids off at school, drop him off at day care, go into that controlly mode where I commence informing her of every minute detail of everything, and her informing me it will all be ok and she looks after lots of kids every day of the week and knows what she is doing.
Which is why I’m sending him to her.
At a meeting all day, have just time to race home, grab snacks and gymnastics uniform, decide to pick Chippie up early today given its his first day, head in direction of gymnastics and double back to go get him.
Get to gymnastics, discover it’s very hot so they’ve opened the double doors that lead directly into the carpark. The one that crazy mums who are running late, or can’t find a park so race in and drop kids off with the firm belief that every other person driving in a 5km radius is after the last spot in front of the door.
Great. This will mean 2 hours of Chippie chasing.
He surprises me by eating everything he can find; the snacks I brought along, the snacks I was eating, and the lollypop left on the floor by the kid sitting next to us.
Bored with that, he then creates a game where he casually wanders off to the other end of the row of chairs, gives me a cheeky look and runs for the door.
Several methods of distraction and I resort to sitting on the floor and grabbing the back of his shorts whenever he tries the runner.
This, too, is hilarious and he does a little dance on the spot, the attempts to crawl away, giggling lots. Until he slips and hits the concrete floor.
With his top lip.
Screams. Tears. Blood.
Cuddles and requests for ice, where, being a gymnasium, they hand me a largish ice pack, designed for various body parts, which he refuses to suck on. Apparently nowhere near as tasty as the dead fly in the corner he’d had a go at earlier. The canteen man gave me an orange icy pole, which did more for making a mess than reducing swelling.
Godzilla, most put out, stood an looked longingly and was handed an icy pole of his own.
Monkey Boy then demanded one of me when he completed his class, to which I informed him he’d have to smack his face on the floor and draw blood.
It was later on this evening, after we’d had dinner and baths and Chippie had crawled, fully clothed, into Monkey Boy’s shower, that I realised I didn’t get a free icy pole. And I was probably the one who deserved it the most.
The only consolation is they didn’t have vodka infused icy poles, so no loss there, really.