Argh! I hate Thursdays at the best of times.
This year is slightly better, what with the two older ones now doing swimming at the same time. And at the same place.
Not at the same place, only six and a half hours apart with the need for school dropoffs and pickups in between.
Not that it makes the kids any more meniable.
Still, I have found something that sorts them out. Quite by accident.
I feed Chippie, real growed up food – mashed stuff. He likes it. The main problem with it is, well, he now poos human poo.
Not that breast milky poo, but real human poo. It’s gross. And smelly.
I then do some proficient yelling about finishing meals and getting in baths. I strip the littlest one off as two school-aged kids come hurtling in, wrestling, teasing and doing everything but quietly getting undressed and hopping in the bath.
“Right!” I yell, as I whip the nappy out from under a wriggling little bottom and simultaneously point a finger, full of “if you two don’t stop that now” intent.
The poo previously contained in the nappy leaps out, rolls out the bathroom door and chases the now screaming children down the stairs, where it then sits, menacingly, daring them to head back in it’s direction; threatening them to come near so it may work its way under their feet and squelch up between their toes.
(For people who eat their own snot, they are certainly picky about what constitutes ‘grossness’)
Ah, success at last. The universe working with me instead of against.
“Get. In. The. Bath. Now. If you are not in the bath by the time I count to ‘one’ you will have to pick that poo up!”
“No,” come the sobs. “Please don’t make us, mummy.”
I’ve never seen two children get into a bath so quickly, quietly or efficiently.
Now all I have to do is remember to move it before I stand on it. Given my recent state of mind I’ll probably forg …
Um, what was I doing?