1. New Floor - Part I:
My floors have been sanded so the downstairs of my house now actual resembles a house and not a cowshed.
The process left me marooned upstairs, waiting for the floor-oil to dry but the phone downstairs rang and, fearing an emergency, I answered it. This caused me to stay still for too long on the newly oiled floor and the soles of my feet became somewhat adhered but, a deep breath and a painful ripping sensation later, I was free (if somewhat lame).
Although I can't deny that being glued to my own floor would have been mighty good blog-fodder I am somewhat relieved I didn't have to call 999 and inform the emergency services that I was being held by invisible forces to my hallway floor, my kids were upstairs but I was otherwise alone and, no, I couldn't open the door for the paramedics/fire brigade, they'd have to break in but, whilst doing so could they take their boots off and try to keep footfall to the minimum? I've waited a long to time to have a normal floor and I won't give it up without a fight.
2. NEW FLOOR - PART II
On the floor front I also have a new carpet in my front room. Gone is the battered pink shagpile (yum yum!) encrusted with peanut butter (and let's face it, things that would make 6 month old peanut butter actually look appetising) and in its place is something neutral, non-shaggy and peanut-butter free. And it's my ambition that it shall remain as such.
My eldest son is less convinced:
Son 1: Mummy?
Me: Yes.
Son 1: How long do we have to be nice to the new carpet for?
Me: Be nice? What you mean not cover it in foul matter and dig holes in it with those long bits of Lego?
Son 1: Yes.
Me: Oh a very long time.
Son 1: What? Like as long as the big holiday all summer! (Said in aghast horror).
Me: No (pause for effect) - FOREVER.
Son 1: WHAT!? WHAT!? Forever!?
Me: Yes. Forever.
Son 1: What until we DIE?
Me: (slightly shocked) Errr yeah - that long.
Son 1 firmly addresses his younger brother: Did you hear that toddler? We have to keep the carpet clean UNTIL WE DIE and have to go and live with Jesus (at the word Jesus he collapses into a state of 5 year old boy hilarity which is normally reserved for phrases involving poo and/or boobies).
The Todder: I. AM. NOT. A. TODDLER!
Me: That changes nothing - respect the carpet or you shall feel my wrath.
Son 1: Mummy what is your wrath?
Me: I'll show you later......
3. BYE BYE NAPPIES
The toddler (who is not a toddler) has decided to totally toilet train himself with no guidance or assistance from me whatsoever. This could possibly sound smug if it wasn't for the fact that his 5 year old brother is still a 'work in progress' when it comes to these matters and I've had 3 angst filled years which have involved everything from laxatives to Jaffa Cakes to beating him with a small stick (only joking - but there have been times when I have had small fantasies on this theme - don't judge me until you've spent many many years cleaning up poo in public places. People keep asking me if I'm going to get a dog. What? WHAT!? Just so I can pick up poo and carry it round in a small plastic bag FOREVER!? No. Thank you for thinking of me but NO).
However I think the root of the toddler's willingness is less 'desire to please' as 'desire to feel hugely powerful and shoot stuff out of my body at will - my wee is my weapon and I feel it makes me hugely powerful'.
When he wees on the toilet he wees so powerfully that is usually shoots straight over the top and hits an adjoining wall. I can cope with this but it's more awkward at other people's houses......
Then there's the outdoor weeing. He's good at keeping cats off my patio but the downside is it's less 'rose scented waft of summer', more 'men's public urinals after a good Saturday night'. I keep glancing out my window to see him jetting piss onto foxgloves/fences/my rhubarb. Every time I turn my back, down come his shorts and off he goes - giving everything a good hosing.
This has reached the point where my OH has renamed him 'The Mannequin Pis':
That is actally a scarily accurate representation of him - only he's of a lighter skin tone, sports less of a six-pack and tends to have his feet planted in a pair of Iggle Piggle socks.
Until Friday I was taking the view that 'at the end of the day he's listening to his body and not weeing in his pants - where is the problem with his outdoor weeing?'.
Then it was Friday morning and we were in the school playground.
The toddler had run off in hot pursuit of his brother and all the other children who like to pretend he's a monster and run away from him screaming (it's tough being the youngest isn't it?) when suddenly all the other children came running back with a look of sheer joy/shock/horror/amazement on their faces.
A little girl ran up to me and said 'oh my word, you little boy has just pulled down his pants and weed on the Headmaster's door!'.
And he had.
The playground emptied as children flocked to gaze upon the scene of the crime. Small boys tried to push each other into the lake of wee. Small girls shrieked and giggled. The Headmaster's door swung open. I hoiked up the toddler's pants, flashed his my best smile and quickly retreated. The toddler chuckled. He never was one for authority.
Looking on the bright side - at least it wasn't my new carpet......
Brilliant as usual and I fee like I've just had a session with a psychologist, (cheque's in the post,) as I never could reason why I was more a cat person than a dog person. You've hit the nail on the head; the bag of poo. Been there, dun it, no more poo handbags please. Cats figure it out all by their lonesomes, (even if it is still disgusting and is left in the flower bed!)
ReplyDeleteThank you Doctor, I feel much better.
... Mind your boy doesn't sting his thingy on the nettles... my 5yo did!
Glad to be of service!
ReplyDeleteIt's only a matter of time before his thingy and the nettles meet! He's ALWAYS in the nettles. My mum introduced him to the power of 'Waspeze' spray which deadens the pain and he now seems to throw himself in nettle beds with gay abandon only to emerge laughing 'SPRAY ME! SPRAY ME!'. He's a very odd child. His older brother has been stung by a nettle ONCE and it's his life's work to avoid all danger and never be re-stung so he find the whole thing baffling to say the least!
Eldest daughter when in Reception once took herself off for a wee in the bit of garden right outside the head teacher's office and said it was OK because that is what Mummy did.
ReplyDeleteYes.
On long walks in the country where there isn't a toilet for MILES....
Family legend had it that as a child my father was involved in a competition at school to see who could pee highest up the wall ( 1940's school with outside toilets). Jack won when he managed to pee right over the wall and peed on the headmasters hat! Who would be a headmaster?
ReplyDeleteROFL! Another classic!
ReplyDeleteAh toilet training, there's no other experience like it....One day I was wondering round Tesco's putting all my shoppping in the basket under the pushchair Maddie was in. When I got it out onto the conveyor belt it was a bit wet and I apologiesd to the checkout woman that something must have leaked. Then I realised Maddie had weed and it had gone through the pushchair seat onto the shopping. I hastily packed my bags, paid and left...
ReplyDeleteha ha I love you! can you send your son here please, male urie is supposed to deter foxes (away from my chooks) I was hoping this would please my garden peeing son, but he has suddenly gone all coy on the matter
ReplyDeleteI thought I had the champion outside wee boys (yes plural). Public places with pants round ankles so the norm. Smallest still getting away with stepping out of pants and running off wild and free. Shame we don't have a Headmaster to wee on. Have had to ban them from the back door step tho - it does waft doesn't it. Very jealous of your new floor. I'm just planning to move house totally. Can never tarry too long picking up Lego from my living room carpet. Intensive wee aroma can cause dizziness. Cannot operate heavy machinery for at least 6 hours......
ReplyDeleteDaughter had her birthday recently and we dragged and arranged the scrubbed up garden chairs and table in the flattest spot to present the fine nibbles on offer. Then half my leg disappeared down a very deep hole - 'WTF is that f***ing hole?' Small boy explains - 'That's our outside toilet' and demonstrates - filled it up actually. 'Hello Happy Birthday! Hope we're not late. What a lovely garden. Ooh -popcorn! ** WHUMF!!!** WTF is that f***ing hole?'
Haha! Re the poo thing - don't you just HATE it when a dog owner comes towards you, airily twirling a bag of dog shit round their finger? GO AWAY, I DON'T want to talk to you while you're waving THAT at me!
ReplyDeleteHaha! It's not all about having a willy though! Small Girl is often disappearing into the bushes and leaving contributions to help the plants grow. I have to keep her away from bushes in the park. She also Christened my new wool neutral stain-free living room carpet within days of its arrival. Then gave her Sid James cackle.
ReplyDeleteJust thought I'd clarify that I it's the weeing boys I have had to ban from my back door step - not headmasters.
ReplyDeleteBut if I did get any LEA inspectors tipping up here.................
You, lady, have just cheered me up after a terrible week (yes, it's only wednesday - that's how bad it's been)
ReplyDeleteI love you, i love your blog. And, assuming that you don't now up sticks and run away after a complete stranger professes her love for you, i shall subscribe and be back for more.
I shall never worry about my eldest weeing in the garden again!
ReplyDelete