Sorry

My two year is cute. He’s definitely got the ‘Ahh’ factor, the cheeky smile, the big blue eyes, the twinkle of a shoulder shrug. You’ve all seen Puss in Boots, you get the idea! Even when he’s grumpy it doesn’t last long and his ‘goblin on his lip’ face is so cute it makes everyone smile. My beautiful niece, who is a bit of a giddy giggle pants anyway, can’t stop laughing at anything he does. ‘Tee he, he, he, Look! He’s walking /sitting / eating!!!!’ – or any number of mundane not particularly cute activities. One of his latest things is apologising. Cute apologising He thinks it is an enchanted incantation that takes away any trouble. I think he might be right.# Sometimes, he utters the magic phrase, ‘Dorry!- A ded dorry!!!’ after biting / hitting / scratching my five year old, and it is all I can do to smother the smile through the wailing of the big boy to continue to tell him off – he probably knows this! It took me a long time to realise the power of an apology. When I was a child I was more like my five year old – stubborn and a little unappealing - not being blessed with the cute factor and as the eldest child burdened with a responsibility beyond my years. It made life harder. I’d spend hours, evenings and sometimes days in my room (no T.V. in those days, only a ‘taped from radio’ version of the top 40 to keep me entertained!) banished from family life until I apologised for some misdemeanour or other usually something I’d said. I had a harsh tongue in those days and a mouth full of ‘I hate you’s!’ and a stubborn personality a little too much like my mothers – fuel and fire! My little brother was the opposite he would do or say anything to put it right and have everything back to normal again ( – not with me I might add) Sometimes to the point of begging my mum for forgiveness and cuddles. Weird thing is now, he almost never apologises. He never really thinks of himself as wrong, but that’s a different issue! I on the other hand, have finally learnt my lesson and apologies fall easily from my lips. Life is too short to stay angry. Anyone important to me gets an abundance of apologies for even the slightest slight. Now just got to work on the sulky five year old who screams his apologies in temper or is struck dumb at the thought, too embarrassed about whatever he’s done to speak, awkward at the attention. ‘Apologise when you need to, sincerely and without condition - life is easiest this way, son.’ falls on deaf ears....

Soft Toy Softie!

So today, we passed a load of baby stuff onto my cousin, him indoors is adamant that there will be no more pitter patter of tiny feet in our house and anyway there is only so much stuff you can cram in a loft before the ceiling caves in...

There was a real joy in sorting and tidying and having a nice big pile of stuff waiting in the hall to go off to another little baby. A relief that some of that bulky, brightly coloured plastic infection was finally leaving the building...

I did panic a little once I’d put it all together in one place, (there seemed an awful lot of it) would they have room in their boot? Would they sort through it there and say,

’ Thanks but we already have a copy of Hairy McClary from Donaldson’s Dairy... a pair of frog patterned wellies ... a mass of drinking cups... a packet of safety plugs... numerous building blocks?’

Would all my sorting be in vain as it seeped back into general use?

But no, they appeared grateful for the gear, maybe politeness or maybe it’s true that one mum’s junk is another mum’s treasure!

Earlier in the week I had some difficulty with some of the younger members of the family searching through the stuff and playing with it, things they hadn’t played with for years, things they had definitely forgotten about, things they were happy to pass on to another baby but just wanted one last play with.

That was O.K. it just meant another search under the bed after they had finished and re-collecting the scattered hoard.

Annoyingly, some things disappeared completely like one of the pegs from the hammering bench, argh! But much as it pained me to send it on incomplete I did, knowing that if it turned up I could pass it on but that very probably once baby was mobile the rest would be scattered to the four corners of their new home too!

I was much more surprised to see peeping out of my partner’s wardrobe, freshly laundered, in anticipation of his new home a sheepish looking Iggle Piggle!
‘What’s this doing here?’ I asked.

My partner instantly in defence mode,

‘ You can’t give that away! He loved it!’

‘I know’ I said ‘But he doesn’t play with it now – he’s nearly six and anyway it’s not his long term favourite, I could never get rid of Monkey, Monkey or Ted but that one can go, surely!’

I thought of his bed covered in tumbling teddies and mountains of soft toys. It depressed me.

Iggle Piggle was special, he was taken everywhere for a while. He went with us to Greece when the eldest was a toddler and the youngest was just a hope!

He was thrown up in the air and landed in the sea on a dark, still moon lit night... the eldest was distraught. Tears, tears, tears and real sadness.

One phone call to Nannie and Grandad later (a quick rush out to the local supermarket for them!) and he happily realised Iggle Piggle had managed to swim all the way home to Manchester.

When we arrived home a week later there he was sat on the sofa. (New tags on but no questions asked!)

He did love him...

But I’m not keeping him! If I let him stay I’ll have to let Upsy Daisy and Makka Pakka stay too and I fear I would never see the carpet again... and if that makes me the bad guy then minwah wah wah to the lot of you softies!

Night Off

After a busy week at work, serious irritability brought on by him indoors, sinus infection and conjunctivitis the last thing I felt like doing on Saturday night was going out.

So six o’clock and my hair in rollers and the little one constantly wanting to be lifted, ‘duddle, duddle duddle!’ he takes his baby brush and bashes me on the head in his attempt to help me look beautiful! I manage to shove them in the bath before I start my make up.... fortunate as a two year old applying my mascara and lipstick would definitely give me away as batty old woman (a look I live in fear of - coloured tights? Funky addition or crazy old hag?) and not young thing on the town!

The boys are constantly fighting and teasing each other, snatching toys, chasing, screaming the usual chaos.

I get dressed - knickers big enough to hide an army (should it be necessary!) some concern that the dress just looks tight but my friend assures me it’s bootylicious – (that’s what friends are for!) so we knock back a homemade cocktail...

Just as we leave my partner tries to read The Hungry Caterpillar to the little one with the five year old downstairs, I hear an argument about him being left alone (they can’t go to bed at the same time, the laws of physics don’t allow it...)

“But the t.v. is NOT A PERSON!!!!”

I hear the five year old scream authoritively up the stairs!!!
I close the door and run as fast as my painful high heels will let me (a short stop at Morrison’s for a pair of party feet and I’m off!)
We drink and chat and discuss how smelly bars have got now there’s no smoke to hide the human stench. We talk about impending holiday romance. We laugh. The worries of the week disappear...

When we get into town we refuse to feel old... but we are wise, we quickly secure a sofa to view the world with and even when we want to dance we manage a strange burlesque like wiggle that incorporates the sofa we know we’d be crazy to give up this spot and the youngsters that try and muscle in by sitting on the arm or shuffling chairs near it are just too inexperienced to battle with the likes of us and slope off to snog in less comfy corners!

I get a text to say the two year old has fallen out of bed twice and the five year got sleepily lost on the way to the bathroom and peed on the landing.

I text back, hope all ok now and get another round in!

We spend a good half hour taking special effects photos of ourselves and find it hilarious when we have blue teeth or red faces or angular noses, it doesn’t knock our confidence we feel good.

When we get home we have a nice cup of tea and toasted pancakes.

When I wake up in the morning full make up still in place, hair grips in and jewellery on a little hung over but nothing a diet coke, omelette and two paracetamol can’t fix I feel alive and I feel like the old me again not just the mum me again.