How to get your mum's attention when you're 4 years old

Master Class Lesson #1500


Boy #2: "I need the LOO!"

Me (answering e-mails): "OK - off you go then."

Boy #2: "But I need a POO!"

Me: "Well, off you go - you know where it is."

Pause.

Boy #2: Actually, too late. I done a poo already. In my pants."

Me: "What? Come on then, let's sort it out."

Boy #2 "But I want new PANTS! I WANT NEW PANTS!"

Me: "Don't worry, we'll get them. Let's just get you cleaned up first."

Silence whilst we bustle to the bathroom. Then...

Me: "I thought you said you had done a poo, Boy #2. There's nothing here."

Boy #2: "Really? Can you read me a story now?"

British Mummy Blogger of the Week

Boy #1: "Mummy, have you got the songs?" (Trans; please put The Jungle Book on YouTube)

Me: "No, no I haven't."

Boy #1: "Can you get them?"

Me: "Well, not right now. I'm doing something. (trying to write the British Mummy Blogger of the Week post, if you must know). Maybe later."

(30 seconds pass. Overcome with guilt at my neglectful parenting, I cave. Foolish girl).

Me: "5 minutes, OK?"

Boy #1: "OK."

He stands behind me, breathing heavily in my ear.

Boy #1: "I'm just going to stand here and watch you do that."

Me: "What, type?"

Boy #1: "Yes."

Silence, apart from me tapping away.

Boy #1: "I won't talk."

I tap away.

Boy #1: "I'll just watch you."

Boy #2 appears around the edge of the door: "What are you doing?"

Oh, for pete's sake... Let's just get on with it.


This week's British Mummy Blogger of the week, Not Waving But Ironing writes of her blog:

'It's about what on earth I'm going to do with the rest of my life now the kids are finally at school. I've already made an inventory of the contents of my chest freezer. I've cleaned the grouting in the shower with an old toothbrush. I'd love other mums in a similar situation to visit my blog and share their time-wasting, existence-justifying ideas with me.'

And if you're wondering what the signs of having let yourself go are, click here. But be warned - whatever you do, don't look at your hands afterwards....

To check out the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but Dads can be members too.

And THAT is why I write blog posts and not books...

I had a post all planned for this morning about party bags. It was a wonderful post, if I do say so myself. I had written it in my head as I battled Boy #2 unwillingly into his clothes, explained to Boy #1 why - despite the fact that it was indeed a wonderful den he had created out of the sofa cushions - that he needed to tidy to it up before he went to school, gave them both breakfast, and arranged an estate agent's viewing for later this morning.

Then I sat down and tapped my Pulitzer-winning post out pdq in the space of a couple of minutes. It was short, concise, touched on the various forms of entertainement the Boys have been treated to in the 50 or so birthday parties I've accompanied them to during the last few years, self-deprecating, and funny (or at least, I like to think so).

I was just about to put in the last sentence.

The phone rang.

I answered it.

Wrong number.


And by the time I came back to the computer to hit save and publish, Boy #2 had switched it off.


Oh well. I suppose the world can live without my pronouncements on party bags, after all. And honestly? I think this makes a better post...

Yuck!

Poo in the bath.

(Not mine, obviously).

(Or Husband's).

(Or even Boy #2's).

That's all I'm saying. Am now off to gag at the memory - and to buy more bleach. For some reason, we're running out...