‘Blood, sweat and tears’ does not cover even half of it in the average day of a stay at home Mum, particular with pre-schoolers. As well as having my own menstrual melt downs, I have, so far, been wetted with urine, cleaned up a bloody toe, dealt with several potties and nappies of wee and poo and finally mopped up a load of sick, not to mention placating a few tantrums, refereeing between two 2 year olds, two school runs – with bikes and scooters, helping with three lots of reading, spelling practice and maths homework, found in the school bag at bedtime. But all in all it was a fairly uneventful day really.
It started badly when Rachel peed her pants on the walk back from taking the older ones to school. She had insisted that she need not wear a nappy and since she had been sat on the potty a good few minutes before we left with no result, she convinced me we could probably risk the 20 minute school round trip commando, as she didn’t need to go. Oh the fool I was! Yes, sometimes it is worth the argument. The basis for this belief, I should explain, is the fact she was pretty much potty trained before the summer holidays, day and night. I prematurely rejoiced in the end of an era (nearly 10 years) of nappies, but then it all started to go horribly wrong, and in the chaos of four children at home, the dog sitting, the neighbourhood fish and cat feeding in various houses in the street, plus the picnic making and social arrangements of the holidays, I admitted defeat and temporarily brought back the pull-ups.
I blame the dog. We offered to have our neighbours’ lovable cocker spaniel Roscoe for them whilst their family went on holiday to France. He is a great dog, but quite an old man in terms of his medication, ear drops twice a day, eye drops twice and a concoction of tablets wrapped in ham morning and evening, an hour before food. The kids loved him and it gave them the experience of having a dog without us actually having to own one. I have a theory that children’s memories of childhood are very selective – they’ll see a couple of photos, have a few recollections of dog walking and whammo, they’ll grow up believing they had a dog and will never complain they were deprived.
Anyway, the very worst part about dog ownership these days is the picking up of the poo. It is gross, but necessary, but here is where my daughter’s confusion came about. Roscoe literally taught my child to shit in the garden, and in the woods, and on the path. You could see how her mind worked –hang on a minute – this is easier – the dog comes along has a wee and a crap wherever it pleases and in the case of a number two, Mummy just comes along with her pink plastic bag and pops it in – job done. The dog doesn’t get shouted at or reprimanded in any way at all – I’m giving that a go! I am not exaggerating when I say Rachel not only went in the garden, in the wendy house etc but would happily whip off pants or pull up and squat down on a woodland path while we were out walking. Later she did not even bother removing pants – after all the dog doesn’t have to.
I digress, back to my day. So, there’s Rachel, with a huge sopping wet patch in the crotch and all down the legs of her pink shorts, which she has to wear home, as taking the decision to chance it, I have come out completely unprepared with just my keys, phone and her scooter. Full speed ahead home and with my help, I might add, she hits her scooter on a stone and spectacularly catapults herself into the gutter. Loud wails ensue and she clings her wee drenched body to mine in search of comfort and sympathy and won’t be put down. I then have to carry her and the scooter practically all the way home for a change of outfit for both her and me.
It is now 11pm and we are ending the day with even more changes of clothes required and the washing machine whirring loudly beside me. Rachel is in her third set of pyjamas as despite the bowl and towels laid out to protect the bedcovers and carpets she has still managed to spray the sheets and herself with vomit. The first puke managed to include the carpet and books in the bookcase too. It may be a long night!
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