So I've done half a job......

Today I took J for his first settle in session at play group. It was with a slight sense of impending doom that I shuffled round the corner, having endured the mother of all Random Tantrum mornings, very aware that the session was slap bang in the middle of his usual nap time. Gulp. We had had, in no particular order, a tantrum because;

• "I don't want my wellies on!" Would these be the wellies you just found and then put on your own feet, yourself? Yes. Yes they would.
• "My spoon is too spoony!" Can't help you with that one darling.
• "I don't like that window!" Again, what?
• "My raisins are scaring me!" Sigh.......

Now, my children tend to get a bad rap on my blog. Mostly because the bits where they are naughty are funny, and the bits where they aren't, aren't. But J excelled himself at his first session, and made me just glow with pride (if you are thinking this whole post is a thinly veiled attempt to boast about my kids, you are wrong. It's not even thinly veiled).

But I couldn't help thinking two things during it. 1: I'm glad the stuff I'm banging on about day in day out is sinking in, and 2: Why then do you point blank refuse to do that at home?

I heard him talking to one of the lovely play leaders. The conversation he was having with her over the plastic fruit and veg was strikingly similar to one I had had with him at lunchtime, with a few key differences. Their conversation went like this;

 J: Would you like a sandwich lady?

Lady: Oooh yes please J.

J: Can I have one too please?

Lady: Yes of course.

J: And a juice please?

Lady: Yes, seeing as you asked so nicely.

J: Oh, thank you.

Lady: You're so welcome.

Our conversation earlier had gone like this:

Me: J, I have told you a bazillion times to put your feet down off the table.

J: You're a bazillion. You're a table.

Me: Would you like a sandwich?

J: OH THE GRAND OLD DUKE OF YORK........

Me: J, I asked you a question.

J: Get me a sandwich.

Me: Pardon?! Do you think you could ask me that in a different way?

(Pause while he scans head for all the manners I have diligently drummed in to him.)

J: Get me a sandwich. QUICKER!

Still. We are half way there.

I have linked this post up to the very funny Actually Mummy's Wot So Funee Blog Hop. Despite her patiently explaining to me on twitter how to get her badge, I'm still fumbling about trying to work it out, so take a look at http://www.actuallymummy.co.uk/ for a giggle x

Anything Goes Hour

When both my boys were tiny babies I affectionately termed 4pm - 6pm 'arsenic hour'. (I know its more than an hour, but when my babies were small I had a tendency to walk into walls I was so tired, telling the time accurately therefore being completely beyond me). 4pm was the point where we were all tired, grumpy, bored of being in the house, and colic kicked in. Now they are two and a half and 9 months, we have thankfully seen the back of colic a good while ago, but 4pm is still the time that we are all tired, grumpy, bored of being in the house, and very aware that Daddy doesn't get home till 6pm. Two hours away. Gah. I do manage to fill some of this never ending time abyss with dinner, but the rest has become an opportunity for the boys to engage in a little bit of brotherly extreme sport. I like to call it 'Anything Goes Hour'. In a nutshell, my eldest, J, will save up everything he has attempted to do during the day and been told off for, and then do it. With bells on. While I just watch, because I'm too tired to do anything about it. I sometimes entertain M to stop him joining in. Ok not true, I just let him join in. Over the past week or so Anything Goes Hour for J has involved;

• Going out into the garden, ripping the heads off my flowers, lobbing them around and shouting "poo!"
• Climbing to the top of a step ladder, with or without pointy dangerous objects. Mix it up a little, hide the sharp pointy objects somewhere on your person, then whip them out just as the stepladder starts to wobble. It makes mummy go a funny colour.
• Eating soil
• Shouting at passers by through the letterbox
• Getting everything out of the kitchen cupboards. And I mean everything. No wimping out on this. Every cupboard.
• Playing chicken. M on floor, J on bike, careering off at last minute to avoid squishing M, and instead colliding with various heavy/pointy objects. Also makes mummy go a funny colour.

By the time Husband arrives I'm usually lying on the floor breathing into a paper bag. Or hiding from the children in the bathroom.

At The Theatre Dahling

The boys and I have spent this week going to the theatre, and its been brilliant fun. J and M have loved it. Our first two visits saw impeccable behaviour. Cue smugness. Cue misbehaviour. On our arrival today to see a fabulous dance and music show, I had to sign a  form to say I was happy for the resident photographer to photograph the boys. As we settled into our spot in the audience I, in hindsight a little optimistically, wiped their noses and picked the dried weetabix off their clothes to make them more photogenic. (They are both beautiful of course, with or without snot and weetabix). They then proceeded to act like philistines for the whole of the show, and the photographers camera stayed resolutely away from our little corner of mayhem. 

First, after some swirly dancing, they gave out mirrors to the children.
What other people's kids did: looked in awe and wonder into mirrors, smiling happily at parents.
What my kids did: used the mirror as a skateboard, M while trying to crawl, resulting in face planting, and J across the floor and into the wall before I could catch him, as I was rescuing M from his face plant.

The performers then used fans to artistically waft bits of foil paper everywhere.
What other people's kids did: held up arms, laughed and danced in glittery sparkly rain.
What my kids did: ate it.

They then gave out crinkly sparkly huge tunnels of fabric.
What other people's kids did: peeped through them, crawled through them, wore them as dresses.
What my kids did: J put his over his head so he looked like a giant sparkly slug, and then just sat there. Weird.

They then did some snazzy tap dancing.
What other people's kids did: laughed, danced, tapped along.
What my kids did: J whinged for a snack very loudly, M lifted the wallet of the bloke sat next to us with impressive stealth, and then chewed on it happily before I noticed and, red faced, handed it back. Nothing says "I'm sorry my baby stole your wallet" like vast quantities of slobber.

As you can tell from the above, M is now mobile, which caused me to spend most of my time there pondering whether the 'assistance dogs welcome' sign on the door would mean I could bring in a friendly sheepdog I had trained to herd my children.

It was, genuinely, brilliant fun. We can't wait for next year.