Tuesday 12th February – Crossing Off The Days…

Another day of half term over with.  I am so lucky.  I feel rather like a prisoner in his cell scratching the days off on the wall.  All the children are alive and well, and so far the naughty step is free of small bottoms.  I have not gone mad and been allocated a space in the nearest asylum either.  This is an unexpected bonus.  How long this will last is anyone’s guess, but let’s face it, two days down without altercation is a bit of a miracle, so I should just count my blessings and try not to worry too much.

The main reason for this rash of decent behaviour was undoubtedly the number of promised treats available for the week ahead and the fact that I have made it quite clear that I am just as happy to incarcerate them in their room with some dry bread and water if they don’t shape up and get with the programme.  It’s rather like training Pavlov’s dogs.  As long as it doesn’t turn into the Izzardesque catastrophe of Pavlov’s cats we should be fine (i.e. ‘cat rings bell, I eat food.’) 

Tallulah did threaten to put me on the naughty step earlier.  I pleaded for her to send me to bed but she is now wise to this and announced: ‘No! This is a PUNISHMENT MAMA, and YOU, LIKE, GOING, TO, BED!’ Dammit, she has caught me red handed.  I have to sit on the step for thirty five minutes.  Apparently she thought I was enjoying that a little bit too much as well, so I was allowed to get off.  I do not know what evil crime I was supposed to have committed.  I felt rather like K in Kafka’s The Trial, but it was quite nice, the ten minutes I got alone.  I fear it will never be repeated.

The main draw of the week, apart from going to granny’s house, was the fact that I’ve promised that I will take them to the cinema on Friday while Oscar is at nursery.  Their dad usually takes them to the cinema at least once a week when he is around.  This is good because Oscar is too small and shouty to go to the cinema, so taking them is a military style operation from which I usually emerge frazzled and shell shocked.  At the moment because Jamie is endurance skiing in Canada, and has been for the last five weeks, the girls are feeling deprived of their cinematic rights.  I am getting many brownie points by proming them this trip.

I am deeply worried about what I will end up going to see, and am praying that it will be something wonderful and uplifting, and not something with Spongebob Squarepants in.  I have been too much of a coward to look on the internet.  I am committed now.  Unless they commit a heinous crime we have to go, so there is no point in torturing myself.  I am hoping it will be a nice surprise.  It’s unlikely, but I did enjoy Stardust and Pirates of the Caribbean, so it’s not beyond the realms of possibility.

The last time I took them on my own I ended up having the great misfortune to have to sit through two hours of The Travelling Thornburys, which nearly killed me.  It didn’t help that we were faced with the sight of a boy having a full on tantrum on the foyer floor for twenty minutes before we went in, and then some kid in front of us decided that he couldn’t possibly sit in the same seat for more than three minutes at any given time for the entire duration of the film.  Seeing a film with small children is fraught with danger.  Thank God they don’t let animals in as well…

Another low point was the first time Zoe and I ever ventured to take Tallulah to the cinema and we ended up seeing the newly revamped Magic Roundabout.  I was in tears at the end.  It was hard to tell whether they were tears of boredom or rage at the fact that they had mutilated and generally Disneyfied what used to be a fantastically anarchic piece of television history.  To add insult to injury, Tallulah feel asleep half way through and snored like a pig.  I would have been quite happy to leave at this stage, but Tilly informed me that it was so brilliant that she had to stay, and so our punishment continued to the bitter end.  Thank God for pick ‘n’ mix is all I can say.

We spent the day at the magnificent granny’s house today.  This is good.  She feels guilty that she has been running around the country being her own woman recently (she has to feel guilty about such things, she is a product of the nineteen fifties), so she was very eager to see us, and feeling very charitable towards us all.  This meant that I got lots of cups of tea, the children got vast quantities of sweetie times (to which I turned a judicious blind eye), and many chicken nuggets were consumed (to which I also turned a blind eye).  Unlike last time when we visited, and she said to me: ‘Do you fancy prawn risotto for tea?’ to which I announced; ‘Yes, I do.’ and she then handed me all the ingredients to make it, I even got waited upon too.  Hoorah!

Grandad was also very excited.  He got The Simpsons movie on DVD for christmas and nobody wants to watch it with him, so he commandeered the children, ushered them into the lounge and they all sat quietly for two hours watching the film while mum and I looked at her latest stash of treasure and failed to do the Telegraph crossword.  We were all happy, although I am not over delighted by the revival of the ’spider pig’ song to the top of the children’s hit parade.  I must remind myself that it was a small price to pay for two hours of peace and quiet.

I have managed to do a small amount of work on my essay.  This is more than I was hoping for, once I realised that I had inadvertently pencilled myself in to do such an intellectually rigorous task over half term, and realised I was being a fool unto myself.  It’s impossible to do anything without four hundred interruptions per nanosecond, even on the days where they don’t want to tear each other limb from limb and bathe in the blood.  I must set my schedule back by a week and hang on in there by my fingernails.

I also managed to buy the children some new clothes.  Nothing very exciting as our restricted budget doesn’t permit my usual extravagance.  I like to shop in Monsoon and Gap.  Budget and Jason he say no.  Instead, we turned away from the bright lights and sequins and went to Asda and bought quantities of clothing in the sale.  It wasn’t too bad really, as long as you aren’t desperate to recreate a boho chic look.  We went more for cheap and cheerful.  Thankfully the girls don’t care one way or the other, and Oscar was more interested in devouring a stick of French bread in the back of the trolley.

I have to say that their need was desperate.  Both girls have put on a growth spurt recently and are wandering round flashing their ankles at everyone because their trousers are too short and look rather ‘Star Trekish’, and their dresses are just indecent.  We bought many things, most of which will fall apart fairly rapidly no doubt, but will last until we get back from our holiday.

Canada is quite rugged, and we have a large garden with the house we are renting, an orchard, a vineyard and some woodland.  The beach is a five minute walk through the woods. It sounds idyllic, and it no doubt will be, but the weather in spring is very changeable and I am planning on at least two to three changes of clothes per day per child as they will invariably fall in the water, get covered in mud, and sap, and raccoon pooh several times a day at the least.  I am expecting to go with suitcases bulging and come home with them possessing only the clothes they stand up in, as the others will have been worn to mud bedraggled shreds and will be fit only for the dustbin.  I have also invested in sturdy new wellingtons.  I just hope that the washing machine in the house is up to it.  It better be of industrial design and strength or I will be spending my holidays beating the clothes on a rock by the river.  Rustic charm it aint.