|Monty, aged 2, long, long time ago it seems...|
Stirring my coffee with a pencil, never quite the same, but the kids nick off with my spoons/teaspoons/cutlery in general, to dig and make mud pies and feed snails (Lola is obsessed with making homes for her pet snails, tucking them all in to their beds, then they all up and leave, leaving nothing but a slimy mass as a reminder), I have a flashback (and strong desire for a teaspoon as pencil coffee, not quite cutting it), which goes a bit like this:
Once upon a time at university, no kid days…yes there really were those days…*sighs reminiscently* I got very drunk on vodka and redbull, and some kind of fizzy lemonade alcoholic drink in a bottle who’s name now completely escapes me (like the purpose of life, every morning…..!! had to put exclamation marks there to suggest I am joking) with my, then, brand new best mate of the night (I had met Keri in Fresher’s week) we decided, after going to the loo, that to pull the toilet seats off, spit clean them (OMG *runs off to bleach hands and face at memory*) and sport them as ‘necklaces’ around our necks would be the most hilarious thing anyone had ever done in their lives. We donned the toilet seats, and discovered the bouncers were after us in no time (I went to Newcastle uni, fyi), and we tore round ‘The Boat’ which was literally a boat on the harbour dressed up as a night club, we’d cue for hours in tiny clothes enduring all weather types, drinking our way through the pain barriers…remember those days? We ran round for what seemed like hours, stumbling and finding ourselves hilarious. I mention this story because today, I saw my toddler following her mother’s hygiene and ‘that was a prank that you found amusing?’ standards, at such a young age too, and sporting the little toilet adapter seat for teeny bums, around her neck.
Anyway, as I, tonight, watch Alex amuse himself as I sweep up outside, by chasing the chickens who incidentally are now referred to as ostriches, I needn’t spell out why, but I will, they’re bloody HUGE! By running at them, arms flailing ‘grrrrring’ at them, making them run away in flap frenzies, flapping terrified. Big huge, great-big giant ostrich flaps at that too (these ‘flap’ jokes are endless, and back to my point-), I reflect on the day. Friday night’s Bibliotech trip has now been replaced by park. All us mummies get to hang out, watching our kids run around manically, tiring themselves out (dinner time is going to be fun…) and secretly eating the snacks we intended for them. Tomorrow is also going to be hot, hot, hot, then Sunday rain. So tomorrow we will be ‘up and at ‘em’, as Alex and I like to leap out of bed roaring at the top of our voices, chest pumping each other and adding a few Tarzan-like fchest fist thumps.… Also heard is ‘CUPOFTEA!’, along side the cries for ‘Weetabix!’ or ‘Porridge!’, or if Esmie had her way ‘biscuits and chocolate’, she must wake up saying this most mornings, in fact it’s quite often our alarm call “mum, dad?” (yes, although she’s 2 and a half, we are mostly ‘mum’ and ‘dad’ now, long gone is the little cries for ‘mummy’ or daddy’. It happened the summer before last. *violins softly screeching in background as it would be the kids playing them* We thought we’d got away with it, living in France with kids not even calling their parents the same word, us still being called ‘mummy’ and ‘daddy’ was going to be our name forever! Until a family with ‘big’ kids came to stay, and my kids, out of adoration for their 3, picked up on a fundamental difference between them, and the Big kids, the big kids never, ever, ever said ‘mummy, or ‘daddy’. And my life changed in an instant. I had lost my ‘mummyhood’ and find I am now in my ‘mumdom’. So, about Esmie and the alarm call, well basically chocolate and biscuits is all she ever seems to ask for in the mornings, persistent, as she has never been given into ever. Really, never. Well, maybe there was that once…
I am looking forward to the weekend, outdoor activities, and trying to stop our as-yet-unspayed-tom-cat spraying uncontrollably (men… *tuts, rolls eyes*), and crying out like he’s in torturous pain due to the depth of his love for the first lady cat that comes by to check him out and compliment him on his spraying techniques. True love. And then a day of indoor activities on the rainy Sunday. I hope you have a fantabulous weekend, and I’ll see you all soon.