Waiting for the Cooker
I have 45 minutes to write something while waiting for the cooker to do it's thing. My eldest daughter and I have shepherds pie for dinner (minced beef and gravy, topped with mashed potato), and the younger ones have ravioli on toasttheir choice, before you raise an eyebrow.
Today has been pretty unremarkable. Got up a little before 9amshockingly late for this householdbefore asking the younger children if they might like to go into town for breakfast. This was met with an instant cheer, and a rush to turn the TV off in the lounge before thundering up stairs in search of clothes. Three quarters of an hour later we had still not left the houseI had sent both of them back to get halfway-sensible clothes, then both of them to brush their teeth, then Miss 11 back to wash her face. After leaving the house we marched back yet againthis time to forceably brush Miss 11's hair while she stood and remonstrated that she HAD brushed it.
I didn't even bother trying to rouse our eldest daughter. She has turned into the older sister in Zathura over the last year or sorarely rising before lunchtime if not a school day, and throwing her weight around at any and every opportunity. A couple of evenings ago she stormed off because “everybody else” went to places overseas on holidaywe “never” doshe didn't speak to us for 24 hours after that one, and it's rapidly becoming “the norm”.
AnywayWe eventually arrived in the high-street closer to lunchtime than breakfast time, but it didn't really matter. The girls had chicken nuggets and chipsI had a fried breakfast. “Breakfast in town” was really a ruse to get our youngest to the shoe shop. She has somehow worn the bottoms of her school shoes through after half a term. We sat quietly in the children's shoe shop for about half an hour before we were served, surrounded by “just so” families. You knowthe kind of families who's children look like they just walked off a magazine photo shoot. I have to say thoughwhile ours might not be wearing the Littlewoods Fall Collection, at least they bloody behaveone snotty little shit ran riot around the shop while his label bedecked Dad seemingly refused to do anything about it other than chase after him.
We were eventually served, and went with the first option the assistant trieda shoe with a velcro strap (our youngest had laces last time, and hated them). Two minutes later we had paid, and were on our way outpassing the nightmare family from hell that had been trying shoes when we first walked in. I felt quite sorry for the other families that had walked in after usthey were facing quite a wait.
Next stop was the supermarketto buy the aforementioned food. I guess we're lucky in that the children are still young enough that they will happily tag along to go food shopping, and all the other chores that might cause older ones to kick off. I seem to spent 90% of my life doing things for other people purely to avoid them having any ammunition. If I do what they want, maybe they will leave me alone.
After another couple of stops (one to spend pocket money on novelty stationary), we wandered the mile-or-so home, and I made soup and crusty bread for everybody. The day was going disturbingly wellwell enough that you wonder when the rug will be pulled out from under you. The rug got pulled spectacularly.
The kids had promised to tidy their bedroom upthey share a bedroomafter lunch. I reminded them, and said that it would only take ten minutes if they got on with it. Of course they couldn't get on with it. They fought for two hoursscreaming, crashing, crying, kicking, punching, threatening, and doing some pretty horrible things to each other. I drew the line when Miss 10 shut Miss 11's fingers in the wardrobe door on purpose, and marched up the stairs to lay the law down.
The bedroom was worse on arrival than it had been two hours earlier. I have no idea what they had actually been doing (besides fighting like cat and dog), and layed into both of themthrowing soft toys, clothes, and books in all directions in order to at least clear the floor. As I worked my way around the room, I questioned them”who does this belong to? and this? and this? Why are the Wii controllers thrown across the floor? Why is this Gamecube game out of it's box? Why are these books on the floor? Why is this school uniform jammed down the side of the bed?“They both started crying, and said they wanted their Mum.“No. You're going to tidy up the mess that YOU MADE, WITHOUT FIGHTING otherwise you're grounded.“I can't remember being so furious with them for quite some time. As I stomped back off down the stairs I heard them both start threatening each other again, and did an about face. Standing in the door way, they both pointed at each other”She said”, “But she” “STOP IT!”. The threat of no television, no going out, and no computer seemed to sink in, and they quietly started putting things away.
While writing this they are in the lounge, having got three different board games out. I imagine there will be another argument over that”she had the last go!“, “I didn't want to play itshe made me!”, “we have never seen the board game before”, “we don't know who got it out” I imagine I'll explode again.