A nest of little vipers

So the party is over, literally. I can finally get my life back and not have to spend every spare moment writing, checking, re-checking, losing and re-writing lists. Oh, the joy of children's birthday parties! But it all went well; 21 (yes, I kid you not - I must be mad) 4 year-old cherubs were entertained, fed and watered without incident yesterday afternoon. Mini-beasts were collected (earwigs and worms to you and me), flora and fauna admired (who knew that there were toads living in Holland Park under logs?), and snakes stroked. No, really. Royal Pythons, to be precise. I hadn't realised that snake charming was an option when I organised the party in the Ecology Centre, but in fact that turned out to be the best bit for lots of them. Clearly, most of the mums were cowering shaking at the back of the room at the time; smiling encouragement whilst trying not scream and thinking 'Do as I say, not as I do...'

As a reward for all my planning, baking and fretting, in the evening Dad came to stay and offered to babysit. I did not need to be asked twice, and hot-footed it off to meet up with a couple of (single and unencumbered with children) girlfriends who still have spontaneity on their agendas. It comes with not having kids, apparently…

I was expecting an evening of girly gossip and reminiscing about our disgraceful behaviour from years gone by, and did get some of that, but also found out that Friend #1’s father is dying and that Friend #2 is about to be made redundant because her department is being moved the US and she doesn’t want to go. Hmmm… it makes ‘fun with potty training’ seem like a walk in the park, doesn’t it? Have seldom been as conscious of my good fortune. We did – thankfully – get a little more cheerful though in a conversation regarding minah birds being quite useful to talk to in the evenings if you are newly single – as Friend #1 is.

Think about it;
1. They don’t go out, get drunk, and come back reeking of curry and beer and making declarations of undying love as they fall out their pants onto the bedroom floor
2. They don’t spend too much money on useless gadgets that only get used once
3. And can’t work the remote control (‘nuff said).

Mind you;
1. You do have to put up with their incessant chatter
2. They would probably cramp your style if you had visitors by shouting out inappropriate comments
3. And they need to have their cage cleaned out once a week – so maybe not so different from a lover after all.

Or is that just me..? Anyway, potty training reminiscences...


August 21st 2006

So apparently no self-respecting 3 year-old makes do with only 1 potty nowadays. Boy #1 uses the throne (wees), the small potty (poohs – probably something to do with positioning although have to be honest, thought that sort of thing didn’t happen until you reach your dotage), and the conversion seat on the loo (for when he wants to be a grown-up and for general time wasting – as he has yet to perform on this one). However, am not complaining as we have now had a completely dry day, no accidents, no extra washing, and no nasty niffs (to coin a phrase)… other than those he had established already, anyway.

The only fly in the ointment was when we were in the garden this afternoon, and I looked up to see that he, unable to wait to go back inside, was weeing al fresco – in plain sight. Thank god it’s August and am not at risk of being drummed out of the garden square by irate pensioners as they are all on their yachts in the south of France. Or Wittering. Mind you, come to think of it, they should be used to it given the high number of French families that live on the gardens…(or am I confusing them with the Belgians?). At any rate, Boy #1’s little intermezzo ran the risk of turning into tragi-comedy when one of the dogs that lives on the garden decided to run up and give him a shock mid-delivery. It nearly got very messy; only my presence of mind saved the day - and my trousers…