Today I’ve been a bit of a cow. Ranging from greedy cow to angry cow.
For a start the biscuit tin is full of Custard creams and bourbons, I want malted milks (cow biscuits) and chocolate digestives. None of this cream filled junk that donks apart at one end when dipped.
I suspect I am blowing up my problems to the size of a cow. What a tune that was/is!
I’m currently swinging back towards greedy cow. The boys are asleep, lets get the tin down! After boy bedtime it’s adult tea and biscuit time, I abstain during the day usually, looking forward to this evening ritual keeps me going when I have an angry cow moment. But tonight there’s Rolo ‘yogurts’ as well, what joy. Greedy cow.
I got angry today, angry with my poor, sweet, tiny, innocent and thoroughly deserving two year old. It was a series of typical toddler minor misdemeanours, pushing past each other a bit too roughly, being too loud, being aimless and unfocused but not responding to anything to instigate an activity, asking to be carried when they can walk, asking for another cow biscuit when there AREN’T ANY! All of these I ignored where possible. The basic parenting rule, ignore the negative (unless it’s life endangering) and praise the positive. But as I was sat on the toilet this afternoon, I was 3rd in line after Eddie, then Ruru, I looked out the door and saw Eddie about to push Ruru down the stairs. I was genuinely frightened and I SHOUTED. Not just to stop him, which it did, but I cashed in and I think I used this moment to let out all the other annoyances I’d ignored, “EDDIE DON’T YOU DAAAAARE, YOU WILL HURT HIM, THAT WAS INCREDIBLY DANGEROUS, YOU HORRIBLE BOY!” I quickly pulled my knickers up, without wiping, I had frightened the wrong child. Ruru was a mess laying face down as close to the floor as possible with his hands tightly underneath him. The poor mite was terrified. As quickly as I’d raised my voice I was soothing mother extraordinaire, I scooped him up and held him tight, I reassured him, I stroked him, I kissed him and I calmed him. In doing so I calmed myself. Ruru soon understood the situation, and managed to reiterate a few hundred times “Mummy bit frightened, No Eedie, Ruru get pushed hurt” then finally “Mummy all better, Mummy need wipe, Mummy need wipe, Mummy need wipe mummyneedwipemummyneedwipe?” In all the commotion my dear child had noticed my unsanitary act and called me on it. So yes, I pulled my leggings and knickers back down and wiped.
Good God. There must be some Malted Milk in the cupboard somewhere!?!