My children are mini evil geniuses

Geniuses? Geniui? I don't know what the plural of genius is, but I do know that my children are slowly plotting a military style coup and it will only be a matter of time before they BRING ME DOWN and are in full charge of the household, and Husband and I are locked in one room of the house, feeding on scraps that the boys occasionally push under the door. Think I'm overreacting? I've been stealthily observing their tactics over a number of months, taking notes with which to protect myself/use as leverage when we are held hostage. Take a look, and then try and tell me I'm overreacting;

Evidence A: Mealtimes. 
Around two hours before any mealtime, said children will start adopting their best bereft and unfed look, and whingeing about being hungry. J will sigh and give mummy a disappointed look when told what todays offering is. Both J and M will tuck in heartily when plates are proffered. I will spend five minutes carving a Phoenix rising from the ashes from a cucumber as requested by J, slicing my finger in my hurry to sit down with them so we are having a family mealtime and they are getting all the necessary skills to become fully functional members of society as adults, blah blah blah. As I sit down, mouths clamp shut. And I discover that they weren't actually scoffing down mummy's wonderful homemade food, they were lobbing it on the floor and feeding the dog. No amount of aeroplanes and funny voices will budge them. They are hanging on for the good stuff that mummy will inevitably crack and give them at the end - raisins, yoghurt, yoghurt covered raisins. Yoghurt with raisins sprinkled in. You get the idea. Slowly, meal by meal, showing mummy who's boss. Not mummy.

Evidence B: Bedtimes.
This is a torture technique that J has solely franchised out to M. Being the main perpetrator of the day time terror, J needs his beauty sleep, and happily conks out for twelve solid hours. Enter M, his willing protégée. This one is a corker - Jack Bauer would be quaking in his boots. It's the Pretend Sleep. This is how it goes down. 

Step One: Have milk feed. Fall fast asleep. Stay fast asleep until the very second you hit your cot mattress. Open eyes, wail. When mummy picks you up, fall asleep before she's even finished picking you up. A few seconds later, eyes open and wail. Next time, take a little longer to drift off. When mummy puts you down, eyes open. Repeat 5 - 7000 times. Then it's time to implement the next step.

Step Two: The 'Pretend Sleep' stage. This is the most important part to get right if you are truly going to break mummy. When you fully believe that stage one has got mummy at her wits end, pretend to fall asleep. This takes acting skills of the highest order. Get it right. Quiet, snuffly breathing. Delicately fluttering eyelids. A relaxed fart or two. Then wait till she sighs with exhausted relief and backs away. When she hits the doorway, eyes open and wail. Repeat 5 - 7000 times. Then the icing on top of the cake - repeat pretend sleep stage, but hold your nerve. Let mummy get down the hallway. Into her room. Into bed. Just drifting off to sleep........BAM. Eyes open and wail (An important note - it takes willpower to not actually fall asleep during this last manoeuvre. Stay strong).

Evidence C: Love.
While implementing all of the above and more, my children have ensured we unequivocally, without question, unconditionally, love them. They make us laugh, melt our hearts, learn



from us, teach us, make us cry, make every day better just by being there. They are wonderful, amazing and beautiful human beings.

Dammit they have won.

And so it begins.....

Ah, hello toilet humour. I was wondering when it would surface, and It has begun. And I know enough grown up boys to know that once started, they never actually grow out of it. Poo, farts and willies are eternally funny if you are male. Much as I would like to rise above it though, I'm afraid I can't help but snigger when J waddles around the room playing his "bum drums" and singing "if you're a bottom and you know it do a trump, trump trump." But although I can allow myself a self indulgent smile when J sees how many times he can say "poo" in one small conversation, it has been causing some blushes out in public. We've been having another not-terribly-successful attempt at potty training, and with this gorgeous weather, J has been wandering around without a nappy on, and has rediscovered his 'bits'. He barrelled over to me the other day with a grin and proudly showed me his testicles; "it's another part of your willy darling, now stop poking them" obviously being translated as "poke them at all times darling, and please describe them in great detail constantly for at least 48 hours". This was all fine, until J did his now trademark trick of finding random people on the street to say inappropriate things to. At least two nice ladies in the village and a couple of my friends have been sidled up to by my butter-wouldn't-melt son and had the casual enquiry "would you like to see the other part of my willy?". J is very put out that no one else is as fascinated as he is, and that mummy keeps apologising, instead of backing him up with confirmation that he has in fact got something terribly fascinating in his nappy to share with them. He is definitely on to a winner with the bum drums routine though.

Dear Circus

Dear Generic Circus,

I am writing this letter in application to be part of your circus. I don't have a specific post in mind, but I feel I would be an asset to your team in many a different role. I have two young boys, you see, and my experience can be summed up as follows;

I can spend an entire rainy day indoors entertaining two demanding boys, and only cry a little bit. One is ten months old and eats everything in sight. One is two and a half and is, ummmm, lets say challenging. I can make the following things amusing - a sock, a spider, a piece of fluff, my nervous breakdown. I think this pretty much means I'd be a kick ass clown.

I can face down a toddler who is having an almighty, half hour tantrum about his toast being too pointy. I laugh in the face of danger. Your lions don't scare me. Bring them on. I'll stick my head inside their mouths. Covered in pâté.

Need a chimp handler? Today my ten month old chewed a mouthful of food, then spat it at me. And then clapped. And then farted. Enough said.

I can imagine that a travelling circus with many animals can get pretty gross. I'm guessing you don't get many offers to muck out the enclosures. Well, motherhood has reduced me to new heights of depravity. A little poo won't put me off. The other day I was too busy to make myself lunch. I hadn't had breakfast. As I was clearing away the boys food, I noticed a piece of sandwich. It had been pre chewed. I ate it.

By nine o'clock in the morning I have normally showered, got me and two wriggly children dressed and breakfasted, put a load of washing on the line, washed up, played Chase The Imaginary Lizard Around The Lounge (don't ask), chased the non imaginary children around the lounge to get coats and wellies on, and got out of the house to walk the dog. I may as well do all that whilst on a sodding unicycle. Juggling.

I reckon I can train some parrots to be pretty darn amusing. For my own entertainment I have taught my precocious two and a half year old to say long words. It's funny until you tell them off, and they reply "I'm not naughty mummy, I'm enormously brilliant" and you have to keep a straight face.

My personal interests are getting more than two hours sleep at a time, wearing clothes without vomit or porridge on them, and brushing my hair. I usually get to indulge in these about once a year.

I look forward to hearing from you.

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.

The Wonder That Is Potty Training

Today I gave up on a weeks attempt of potty training J. You'd have to see me to get the full picture of why I have given up. The extra grey hairs and facial tics give it away, as does the manic gleam in my eyes. It was not fun. My usually very supportive Husband has been practically skipping out the door to work, happy to leave me knee deep in wet pants. It started off rather fun - J and I toddled off to the supermarket to buy his first big boy pants. On the way in he spotted a Bob the Builder car ride, which I promised him a go on when we had made our purchase. I suggested that Bob the Builder would probably like to see his new pants. I got to indulge my rather sadistic sense of humour as we reached the till and J told everyone within earshot he was going to show Bob his pants, by not clarifying what he meant when I got perplexed looks from them. Fun.

It all went downhill from there though. J and I seemed to have been at cross purposes this week. We've been talking to each other, but most definitely having two very separate conversations. It has been going a little something like this;

Me: J, do you need a wee?
J: No mummy. (Translation - yes mummy, but I'm going to wait until you've turned your back and squat behind the TV).

Me: J, you've been sat on the potty for a while now, have you done anything?
J: Yes mummy. (Translation - no I haven't, I've been saving up a tsunami of wee, which I will unleash as soon as you are trying to feed/change M, answer the phone or the door, so you are completely powerless to do anything about it).

Me: I'm just going to put M down for a nap. Do you need a wee?
J: No Mummy. I sit on my potty though.
Mummy leaves J alone downstairs.
Silence
J: I done a wee Mummy!
Me: I'm coming! LEAVE THE POTTY ALONE! I'm coming downstairs right now!
J: (Triumphant smile) I put it in the toilet for you mummy. (Translation - I have picked up the full potty and flung it around the room).
Me: Gosh! What a clever boy! (Translation - there is wee every-sodding-where! It's on the dog for pete's sake! Now what the hell do I do? This is sodding ridiculous!)
J: Is that a happy face mummy?

And so on. It was give up, or have a nervous breakdown. We will try again in a few months. When I've snuck off to the beach in Spain and left Husband to it. I wish.