War, what is it good for? Getting your mother to move in with nuns

It is cleaning day today. And errands day. And trying to sort out my diary/life day.

Which is how come I ended up taking Oscar to school in my pyjamas with Jason’s coat layered over the top and my Lenny Kravitz scarf to cover the evidence. I bet this is the sort of thing Alan Sugar does all the time.

Ho hum.

I am getting there, slowly. I have yet to pluck up the courage to book my looming smear test, but I have paid off some of the Christmas excess on the credit card, sorted out five birthday presents, and Valentines presents, booked a grocery order and eaten some cold shepherd’s pie, so the day is not a total dead loss.

In the midst of all this organisational chaos, out of which will hopefully come a sweet smelling house, an organised diary and a marvellously vacuumed cervix, the two smaller children are waging a brutal civil war against each other. Their loathing of each other knows no bounds this week.

They go through phases like this, where they detest the sight of each other, and wouldn’t hesitate to push each other under the wheels of an oncoming bus. Then just as you decide that you will have to divorce them and go and live with nuns, they decide that they absolutely adore each other again, and your faith in humanity is restored.

I am hoping this arrives swiftly, as I have very little patience for their ridiculous arguments. Last night they started a small battle about who had eaten whose tiny, weeny square of Cadbury’s chocolate, which rapidly escalated into: ‘Well. You owe me ten pence anyway.’ ‘No I don’t.’ ‘You do. Anyway I hate you because once you stole one of my shoe laces.’ ‘Well. I hate you because you look weird.’ etc.

This morning it was all about a toothbrush. The whole thing culminated in Oscar, who is normally a fairly placid child, losing his rag completely, and shoving Tallulah out of the bathroom, whereupon he barricaded the door so that she could not get back in, and started shouting at her through the keyhole.

Tallulah is mutinous. Her lips are pursed. Her eyes are slitted. She hates the world. Oscar is just exploding with annoyance. He sounds like an engine starting he gets so angry.

The only thing that worked was me shouting at the both of them in tandem and using the word ‘frankly’ far, far too much, and threatening them with the immediate removal of all party going privileges if they didn’t get their mutual/individual acts sorted out pronto.

Now they are at least united in their hatred of me, which gives them something they can bond over. It may be all they can bond over if things continue in this vein.

I’m just going to ring the nuns and see if there’s a spare room in the convent.

4 responses to “War, what is it good for? Getting your mother to move in with nuns

  1. Ah, frankly and his best mate, appalling, lived here for many, many, years. I’m very pleased he has found a good home.

  2. watchingthewheels

    Oh yes the smear test thingy, don’t you just love the name of it? Doesn’t it sound inviting? Smeeeeeeear.. My GP’s are ridiculously proactive about the whole thing and FRANKLY it’s making it difficult to ignore – next thing there will be nurses leaping out of the bushes waving their speculums and shouting “Spreadim!”

  3. I love that image

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