Maybe i'm a masochist....

Thursday, 10 May 2012

You'd think I'd have learnt from the last time I attempted to entertain two of The Party of Five, well, evidently not.

Despite him happily entertaining himself pottering around, scaring me shitless by walking on window sills (just for the record, they're not terribly high and  what you can't see is the large tubs he uses as steps and as with most things the more we try and stop him, the more he will rebel at least if we just watch carefully he's calm, undistracted and quite mindful of himselfHopefully he'll get bored soon) irregardless of how often I implored him not to I got the Mummy Guilts as I'd, as usual, spent a rather large portion of the day on line (damn this rain!) Thing One was at The Grandparents and The Husband was out and Thing Two was pleading to do something rather complicated and strange with glue.  Having reminded her that no, he would not be using glue in her bedroom under any circumstances but i would however allow it in the kitchen which is all very well until I opened the craft cupboard of doom, narrowly avoided a) breaking my foot and b) concussion when things inevitably leaped out at me when I opened the door only to find the single lonely glue stick had dried up and I then had to proceed to throttle the bottle of the gloopy glue every which way but loose tying to extract some, hell, any glue before Thing Two withered away from disappointment.

I unearthed The Toddlers much treasured rainbow rice being careful not to make the mistake this time of a) expecting him to share and b) letting him loose.  Crash.  That didn't sound good, that didn't sound good at all.  The little sod has thrown, yes thrown, the entire tin of rainbow rice to the floor.  Wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt I conceded that it was quite possible that it could have been an accident so I thoughtfully swept it all up, plastered a strained smile on my face and chirruped 'here you go darling' and stupidly gave it back to him.  In a devastating performance of sheer gittishness the toddlerous cretin did it again.  This time I wasn't quite so charitable in my response and swept it up with much grumbling and muttered profanities and put the lid firmly on it much to the protests of The Toddler aka screaming tantrums and that brain scraping fog horn sound he does that consists of 'Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine' .  Tough titty buster.

He extended his spaghetti arms in a not so covert operation to steal his sisters paper so I got him some of his own and some crayons as he smiled sweetly and commenced the creation process of a masterpiece.  I let out that breath that I hadn't realised I'd been holding.  See?  he's not broken after all he can be nondestructive.  i bit down gently on a benign smile enjoying the three seconds of him and his sister being happily engrossed in their art.  Then he bloody went and threw the crayons all over the floor laughing manically, thoroughly chuffed with himself.  I think you can safely say I was far less chuffed. 
It was at this point that The Toddler decided he was going to spend the remainder of the day communicating with me only by screams.  Trust me, brain piercings are awful.

I then had a light bulb moment and wondered if perhaps he was hungry, yes that must be it because surely my darling charming little chap couldn't possibly be this vile, right?

I offered blueberries he agreed only to scream at me once I got them out.  So I lovingly cut him up an apple, he screamed and lobbed the whole flipping lot across the kitchen.  Right.  Not hungry then.  Just naturally vile.

I was dancing that fine line between exploding like an illegal firework and curling up and wibbling whilst speaking incoherencies in tongues.  

So, into the lounge I plonked him whilst I attempted to clear up some of Hurricane Toddler so that The Toddler actually had some lounge in which to play.  I know we have carpet somewhere beneath the debris.  He is intent on emptying out every single draw of toys, every tub, every container.  So as fast as I'm wading through and scooping it all up he's following me and emptying them all out again although emptying is rather a tame description of what he was doing, think more along the lines of hurling stuff.  He finished by lobbing the television remote, at my thumb.  ouch.  The final straw was when I'd finally satisfied my obsession with finding all the the tea set pieces, neatly placed them in their case only for The Toddler to pick it up, fix his stare on me with a grin on his lips, opened the case and twirled sending pieces flying in all directions. That. Is. It.

I sunk into the sofa gibbering in my head, counting to ten and breathing deeply and within seconds he's on me with the nursing manners of a sociopath wolverine, grabbing, screeching, pulling ferociously then attempting to tune in radio Luxembourg with my other nipple.

I'm trying to think of green pastures and iccle fluffy bunny wabbits, failing that intravenous sedatives

He wanders off only to return with a piece of apple off the floor that I'd missed yet before I could wrestle the offending item away from him he'd thrown that too, across the room.  Usually The Toddler is a delightful little fellow which only serves to make it all the harder when occasionally he isn't.

As soon as The Husband returned I left the beastly little fellow with him and hid in the kitchen with Thing Two.   What do you do in times of nervous breakdown when you have no cigarettes, alcohol or Valium? Bake. Obviously.

Double chocolate cookies make everything better. Almost.

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