Earlier today I took my children to the supermarket on one of our tri-weekly visits for one or two groceries. Of course, it never quite works out that way. One overloaded shopping basket and one abused debit card are testament to that. But I had to laugh at my four year-old daughter. One of the items on my shopping list was a multipack of crisps (or potato chips to my American friends). I chose a 24-pack because it was on special offer and therefore works out more economically for a family of four who love to snack. My daughter promptly threw a tantrum in the supermarket aisle, because she wanted the smaller 6-pack of crisps. They were exactly the same brand and flavour. Sigh!
This is just one of many tantrums and quarrels I deal with on a daily basis. Ah, the joys of being a parent! I had to wrestle my toddler into her coat twice today, and each time she fought viciously in her attempts to evade me. I resorted to plonking her into the pushchair where she was (sort of) restrained, while I yanked her arms in all directions and practically sat on her legs to stop her from kicking me while I dressed her. Then came the trauma of actually fastening her into the pushchair, because she has a tendency to climb or lean forward until she falls out of places where she could do damage. Like her high chair. Or the stairs. Or the changing table. Or, well, anywhere, really.
As I write this post I am gulping a mug of coffee that is, surprisingly, fairly warm. Perhaps this is because my daughters are elsewhere in the house, no doubt plotting some other massive tantrum because I have already uttered the dreaded phrase, “It’s nearly time for bed, children!” Both my daughters seem absolutely dead set against bedtime, no matter how long they have been awake, or how tired they really are. In fact, as I have mentioned before, my toddler simply does not believe in sleep. I mean, just this morning she was wide awake at 3am singing and shouting, and then again at 5am, where she proceeded to assist her daddy while he got ready for work.
Where do I find the strength? I dare not turn around and survey the state of my living room. My eldest daughter took it upon herself to empty her toy basket in search of her Mummy Pig toy that we lost about a week ago. Apparently, it is imperative that we find Mummy Pig today. My eyes are heavy. I am tired. I need to write. My manuscript is calling out for attention. So is my bed… and then there is the novel I started reading that is intense and deep and powerful, and I really must go and read another chapter right now… but I can’t. First, I must wrangle the children into their pyjamas, and into bed. Then tidy up the carnage in my living/dining room. And eat chocolate. It is my one solace after a long, hard day of work. That, and wine. See you later folks!
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