Look after the pennies...

Have just been reading (and admiring the nerve of) Dulwich Mum's blog, and it put me in mind of a very different conversation I had with Husband on the way home from our regular Friday night date (the only way that he and I get to spend time together awake and chat unencumbered with nappy changes, shouting toddler and pre-schooler, and distractions like picking crusty bits of Ready Brek out of the place-mats).

Whilst checking that we had enough cash to pay our babysitter, my beloved pronounced himself horrified that I wasn't sure if her rate was £8 or £8.50 per hour, and that I should make sure we weren't overpaying her as we are spending money like water at the moment. (Yes, it's school fee time for us too). I bridled at the suggestion that over-paying by a total of £2 was extravagent and countered by a) asking how much his new bespoke tailored jacket that he was wearing with such pride cost - to which he answered shamefacedly 'a lot', and b) by pointing out that we currently pay our cleaner more per hour than we do our baby sitter, which surely is not the right way round. At this point we parleyed and changed the subject...

But the best form defence is attack, and I have to admit that he may have had a point on my not knowing the babysitter's rate. Must try harder on the house-hold accounts...

Anyway, babysitting aside, here is Husband's second - and final - contribution to the Potty diaries (although don't worry, I do have plenty more of my own. Hurrah, I hear you cry...)


August 20th, 2006

Don't know how she does it (Husband here by the way).

Just when you think you have things under control with the one, the other starts crying for attention. I may soon have to concede that the weaker sex is superior in the multitasking arena.

Boy #1 is wearing his normal pants. Bit concerned as he has not done a pooh yet, and whilst at the time I was unaware of his earlier doing-the-business-direct-in-pants-experience, I understand the risks here clearly. He now dutifully asks to sit on his new potty and whilst I feel he is taking the Mickey when he after 5 times (each without any result, of course) asks again, naturally just as I sit down to give Boy #2 his bottle (probably because), I swiftly install him on his throne in the bathroom.

After nestling back on the sofa with my other son slurping on my lap I suddenly wake up (yes, I may have dozed off for a moment) as a potty - not the throne but an old one - is held under my nose by beaming Boy #1 exclaiming: 'dunna pooh, dunna pooh'. And so he had, quite an impressive one at that. Of course this result was all down to Papa parenting. So when PM returned, and I had the washing up done, bottles sterilised, flat cleared up (well in my definition anyway) I could detect her uttering a silent 'typical, here I am, toiling away every day and Boy #1 does this whilst I'm out'. Life just isn't fair.