mummy is always tired

Weapons of not mass destruction

It is 7.45 am and there is screaming from the hallway, the eldest one is distraught. I race over and demand an explanation (calmly and not shouty because I’ve stopped being shouty mum remember).

The response to my question of ‘what’s going on?’ was not what I was expecting: ‘she’s got a weapon and she going to use it against me. Or it could be a sword….I think it’s a sword mummy.’

Ok – so once I’d finished guffawing – ‘weapon?’ I mean seriously, how on earth does ‘weapon’ ease its way into a four year old’s vocabulary? Anyway, back to this weapon, I’m thinking I’ve been careless. Maybe our youngest has been brandishing the metal skewer I use to poke vegetables to check they are cooked, or maybe she’s found a screwdriver in daddy’s box of random, miscellaneous things, or some scissors, perhaps a knife?

No. I turn around and the weapon of much distress is a hollowed out pawn from a Ludo set that she has stuck her index finger in. Clearly this now pointy, blue tipped finger is a real threat so early in the day. All I can think of is how this Ludo set has become a perennial pain. It came with a set of indecipherable instructions and as such I refuse to play it.

The only person who does know how to play it, is Grandma. But because only Grandma knows how to play, it’s played by ‘Grandma’s rules’ which involves a bizarre ritual of aimlessly moving the pawns around the board until you decide to house them wherever you like. It makes no sense. It makes even less sense when your four year old tries to explain it.

And so I tell the youngest whilst restraining my irritation at this ridiculous board game to put away her 1 inch plastic weapon. The boxed pawns and board are now sitting on a shelf…waiting…until I decide on my own weapon for its annihilation.

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The Bath Poo

Our youngest decided to potty train herself a few weeks ago. No doubt she was fed up of hiding in corners or behind curtains to secretly squeeze one out and then deny it despite the trail of smell quite literally following her around.

I proudly announced to a fellow mummy how our youngest had the wees sorted in just a couple of days. Clearly that was a mistake because less than three hours later, the God of anti smugness struck and the result was nothing short of a pint of wee over the dining room chair – a wooden chair no less. Who knew aged pine chairs would be so absorbent – like a sponge to water. As such I am not saying which chair it was because what house guests don’t know won’t hurt them.

So…apart from that, there have been few other liquid accidents. However, she’s been reluctant to extend her potty abilities to include solid packages. She’s been leaving it and leaving it, only to get to day three absolutely bursting – quite literally and no amount of raisins or dried dates could flush through the blockage.

No. Silly me. Clearly what was needed was a lovely, relaxing bath. Preferably when your sister is in it as well and when it’s only mummy on bath duty. And so here we were, both girls splashing around when our youngest suddenly jumps up clutching her bottom screaming ‘I need a poo!’

Quick! I’m panicking now, the thought of it scooping up out the bath doesn’t appeal. My hands? No judging by what’s rapidly making an appearance they won’t be big enough. Ok what’s next, the toy boat? No, too many nooks and crannies to clean out after. I’ve got it – one of the stacking cups, number one, the largest of them all thank goodness – shame it wasn’t the number two, but that would have been too perfect.

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