This week has been the first full week back of school/nursery/work. Raff has been learning about the letter ‘S’ in nursery, Bear has been doing some fairly high end maths involving three numbers at a time, and Edie has been working hard on the pronunciation of ‘NO!’ ‘SIT DOWN!’ and ‘NO!’
Don’t like to boast or anything but there have been moments of breath-taking efficiency. On Monday, for example, I’d finished my writing work, fed and bathed the kids and washed the dishes by the time Andrew came back at 6.30pm.
By Thursday, however, we were no longer flying quite so 1950’s. After a week of getting up at 5.30am, school runs, work and the selfishness of my husband going out to work every day, I was knackered. I realised my mental state wasn’t quite right when some underpants for Raff arrived in the post, underpants which I’d confidently bought for my two year old. Who is actually three, and has been since January.
Later that afternoon I had to look after Raff and Edie whilst doing a phone interview. Raff was plonked in front of the telly. Edie was wandering over the kitchen table that I was also using to write notes on. And although she insisted on scribbling all over my notes as I wrote them, then stamped on them and scrunched them into a ball, it sort of went alright.
Then I finished the call and realised that while I’d be all ya ya ya Brexit, ya ya ya Millenials on the phone, she’d been shitting on the kitchen table.
Raff came in. Partly to divert his attention from the fact that his little sister had taken a dump in the place where his plate usually goes, partly because my brain was so fried with trying to combine work and children, I blurted out ‘look Raff, it’s the letter S! Like in nursery!’
‘No it’s not. It’s a poo.’
Thank god someone’s thinking straight round here.