On a pin and a prayer

I was rudely awakened at 6am this morning by a whinging 5 year old wanting his confiscated DS.

On and on and on it went. Normally I would just give in but he had been such a little sh*t the day before that my resolve was holding firm.

'Go downstairs and watch Netflix' I muttered from under the duvet.

*WAIL* 'But I want the DS! Why can't I have the DS?! You're a mean mummy'

'I'll be a lot meaner if you don't stop whinging and go downstairs now'

To my disbelief he actually went. Whinging and thumping all the way down.

Over the next half hour I could hear extended periods of wailing, followed by silence, followed by even louder wailing.

I wouldn't recommend it as an alarm call.

A little while later he arrived exasperated by my bedside.

'Urgh! Netflix needs a pin number and you're not coming, so I had to do lots of boring PRAYING instead!'

*Flops down in holy exhaustion*

Worst day EVER

'Baxter put your jumper on before you go outside'

'It's not cold. I don't want to'

'Put it on.'

'I don't want to'

'Put it on or you're not going outside'

'I DON'T WANT TO! Urgh! This is the worst day EVER!'

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'Mum! Can I take the ladder out of the shed?'

'No Marley. It needs to stay there'

'But I need the shed for my den...'

'I said no Marley'.

'I hate you! This is the worst day EVER!'

Later.....

'Can I play the playstation?'

'No Marley, the others are watching telly'

'It's so not fair! I'm never allowed to play Playstation. This is the worst day EVER!'

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'No Baxter you can't take the marbles to Playschool'

'But Mummy....'

'I said no Baxter'

'Urgh! This is the worst day EVER!'

Later....

'So how was playschool today Baxter'

'It was ok. What's for my snack?'

'Well I bought you a doughnut'

'Yay! A doughnut! This is the best day EVER!'



And you thought parenting was a thankless task.

Bad language

'Ha ha! I've got a big, big dick' I heard my four year old call from downstairs.

I waited a moment to see what was coming next.

'I've got a big dick and I'm going to hit you with it!'

'Muuum! He's trying to attack me.' his brother shouted 'and he has a weapon!'

I plod down the stairs and hold out my hand. 'Hand over the stick boy'.

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'What's for dinner?' one of them asks peering round my legs.

'Spicy chicken legs and broccoli' I reply waiting for the moans.

'Oh broomsticks!' he says looking at the chicken 'I love them!'


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Baking. The buns are almost finished.

'I want the bowl!' shouts one.

'I want the spoon' shouts another.

'The whiskers are mine then' says the last.

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Later I'm sitting on the floor with the little terror who is trying to escape my kisses.

'Come on - give your Mum a big smacker'

Seconds later his fist hits my face.

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I know it's bad mothering, but I do love their own little language.