Snapshots #3

So much to tell, so little time.

(Actually, scratch that. It's Day 6 of potty training Boy #2 - I'm going nowhere. Other than trips from one end of the flat to unload the washing machine and to the other to mop the floor behind Boy #2, I've got nothing but time...)

First up, it's Carnival Time again. Check out Single Parent Dad's blog for a long list of posts; if you can't find something you like in there then I think you may be a sandwich short of a picnic.


Secondly, the Potty Training (cue voice of Doom, scary Jaws music, and general drooping of shoulders). Boy #2 came home from nursery with two pairs of pants, socks and trousers in a bag today. He was, of course, spectacularly unconcerned by this - as he should be, it's not he who has to spoon the poo - but I was a little cowed. And whilst he did mount a couple of successful assaults on the potty at home this afternoon, I'm more than a little concerned that during dinner he - to borrow an expression from Bush Mummy - parked a fatty in his pants whilst assuring me he was doing nothing of the sort. He only admitted to his little indiscretion when he tried to sit down again (after rising to his feet to add emphasis to his denial, which by the way was quite unnecessary since I, his brother, and most of the neighbourhood around could tell what had happened from the pong), and was unable to, because it was just too damned uncomfortable.

It's funny now. Actually, it was funny then, too.


What else, what else...


My two boys have been yanking my chain something rotten this afternoon - quite aside from the potty situation. It's as if they like to see how far they can push before I explode. I know, I should let it all wash over me. I know that. But when your sons seem to be doing their utmost to make you lose it - well, that can make me lose it. As I said to Husband this evening, I am not a fxxking saint (bless him for his feigned suprise at this shocking news) and I can only remain calm, focused, and in control for so long. Sooner or later the constant stream of willfullness and critiscism will get to me.

For example, today, I made it through the Boy #1's school pick up and his subsequent outrage at the fact that I had not brought a snack for him with good grace. Once we got home, I rationally challenged his peromptery dismassal of me (and his subsequent screaming for help when he found he was unable to do it himself) when I offered to help with the popper on his trousers as he got changed out of his school uniform.

I weathered the storm as the Boys fought guerilla-style for control of the kitchen steps so they could help me break eggs to make fairy cakes (cupcakes for those of you from the US) for Boy #2 to take to school tomorrow, and mildly suggested that one of them might like to use the chair to stand on instead. Like they always do.

I even sailed placidly through the hurricane of getting them both unwillingly to the table to eat their dinner, with Boy #1 refusing his in disgust (he ate it, and even liked it once he tried it - eventually), and Boy #2 making detours every 5 minutes to pick up the trains and bus that he was repeatedly pushing off the table.

But for some reason, what finally got to me was the screaming in the bathroom when Boy #1 decided the water was too hot and his brother thought it was too cold. How can it be both? At the same time?

I knew they were winding me up, and what's worse, they knew it was working, so I took the only course of action that seemed reasonable. I sent their father into the bathroom to deal with the mayhem, and retired to the kitchen to put chocolate icing on Boy #2's birthday fairy cakes.

And then I ate the leftovers.