Wednesday, 13 April 2011

Nostrils flared like a dragon on steroids.

‘They’re mating’ I reply to Monty’s request as to what the ‘gendarm' beetles (no idea what the English is, don’t think we have them) are doing with their 'bums stuck against each other’. Here’s the enevitable ‘what’s mating?’ 

me: ‘well, it’s how they make babies’ 
Monty: ‘with their bums stuck against each other?’ 
me: ‘yep, exactly that, cuppa?’

I still think at 7 he’s a bit young to fully comprehend the intricate ins and the outs of the birds and the beeses. When I was little, my birds and bees talk was communicated to me predominantly through a book. A book, as I can remember it, which I was told to read, then ask questions about to mummy and daddy after. It was no Mills and Boon. Oh, no. far, far, far worse, traumatising. It was like ‘R2D2’s’ version of love-making, all nuts and bolts, and very confusing at the age of 8. There was this one male robot, at least I assume with the giant spring he was brandishing between his legs, it was a male robot, and a lady one, which she was obviously so, when I tell you that she had a giant box for a front bottom. I watched as the giant spring did it’s thing in the giant box, and have never had sex as a result. All mine were found underneath the vegetable patch, damned gardening fetish of mine. So you see my dilemma? Short of pulling out a similar book, and awaiting question time after, which probably, and forgivably would go a bit like this: ‘WTF was that about mum?’.  My verdict is; he’s too young. What do you reckon?

'show me some luuuuurve, baby'
Some American/Australian friends pointed out to us the other day, as to whether or not we would go outside to drink our tea. ‘Is it raining, raining?’ I ask Alex, ‘or just raining’ the fact we were prepared to go out in rain full stop, let alone rain, rain, was a very British idea! But I did it again today. We have been dished up rain, rain, and more rain for the start of the hols, which I am not grateful for. My one main goal of any given day, they all blur into one these kid days…is to tire the four Duracelled-up kids out. My energy is never any match for theirs, and so ‘art and craft’ activities serve a purpose, but don’t wear them out in the physical way they need. Papier maché does not require a ‘pause for breath’ break, no matter how slap happily you are approaching it. So this morning, we are up and out, walking the dog down to the recycling bin station at the bottom of the hill. Now down hill is one thing in the drizzle. Drizzle always feels like an insult on your skin-extremities poking out the rain mac.  It gets you so very proper wet. And then just as you’ve reached the bottom, your 4 and a half-year-old is moaning about her dead legs, thus I end up with two in the buggy for the uphill retreat (it was a retreat, I, nor the kids, could face it any longer).  So I commence heave up the hill, taking no prisoners, or moaning kids.  Arms outstretched with big fore arms pumping, (for explanation, see legs taking the strain, the wrestling girls would have been proud! Nostrils flared like a dragon on steroids, I set about the uphill struggle, did I mention it was in the rain? Well, it was. I finally make it, and undress, bath and redress four kids. Esmie is confused as to why it was then ‘lunchtime’ not ‘bedtime’. And this takes some explaining.

The weather brightened up later on this afternoon, so I am hoping to outdoor activity it tomorrow…but you never know, well, with me, you probably do! Night all!

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