Little Explorer

We spent last weekend in a huge farm house, kids full of adventure, exploring the world around them, hands dipped in ponds, feet squelched in mud, cushion dens built and demolished. We remarked how wonderful communal living was, especially for the kids. There was the occasional, ’Poo Poo head’ said. The odd bite. Generally the kids sorted themselves out, apologised, found compromise and carried on playing. It was quite idyllic. When we got home my own home seemed woefully small and my boys found each other totally inadequate as playmates. I got down to sorting out the washing and unpacking the case. They got down to irritating each other, screaming and general noisy unpleasantness... After a while my pleas of: ‘Be nice to your brother!’ ‘Can’t you share it?’ followed by my threats of, ‘If you want to watch Doctor Who later...’ ‘I will have to take a toy away...’ and ‘I’m counting to three...’ and all went quiet. Maybe I was tired from the weekend or my ‘Mum Senses’ were dulled a little I don’t know but all was quiet. All was quiet and I didn’t question it. All was quiet and I carried on unpacking. All was quiet and I didn’t even pop my head in. Later the two year came for a ‘duddle’ – his face was purple. ‘What’s that on your face?’ I questioned and picked him up for a cuddle, the faint smell of pine forest wafted over me. He looked a little sheepish. He did not answer. I shouted the five year old. ‘What’s this on your brother’s face?’ he looked... ‘It’s paint!’ he said. ‘From where?’ I said. The five year old took me downstairs to the kitchen where he got his paints out of the cupboard. ‘But darling, these paints are dry!’ I said and the mystery deepened. I asked my partner, hidden in his office, had he been using ink? We both examined his face. Deepest purple, finger trail marks at the edges. He lovely chubby face looked like a blueberry! I examined my make-up bag, nothing that would make the distinctive stain. We asked him again what it was. Nothing. Then I realised. It wasn’t purple, it was blue, actually it was bloo... My explorer of a baby son had spent the last hour dipping his finger in the toilet and patiently finger painting a toxic mix of bleach, colour and fragrance on his face. My little ‘Brave Heart’! I washed it off with a warm soapy flannel. Explained to him that the toilet was dirty and carried on with the unpacking!