From 10 to 1 and back up again...

So, I’ve decided to start the New Year by introducing some more rigid boundaries for my children. I announced this proudly to a good friend the other day, who politely pointed out that as my eldest is four, perhaps four years ago would have been the time to start thinking of boundary introduction. A fair point.

Don’t get me wrong, I do have some. Like they’re not allowed to eat upstairs and they can only watch three episodes of Peppa Pig in a row in order to keep me out of a mental institution. But certain things have slipped of late, meaning that my son is frequently found snoring in between The Husband and I at 3.30am and my two year old daughter often addresses me like I’m a sista from her ghetto.

So this week I have dusted the naughty step, ready and waiting for tiny bottoms to perch on it.  Mwah ha ha….

Trouble is, my son is exceptionally laid back, reasonably bright and – it turns out - rather manipulative. And what happens is this:

ME: ‘If you don’t go and clean your teeth now I will take away your fire engine’.

HIM: (Nothing).

ME: ‘I’m going to count to 10’

(I know most kids get three, but he needs 10 – purely because it takes until I’ve got to three for him to even notice I’ve started to count).

HIM: A fixed look, right into my eyes of – I’m not even sure what – just chilling in da crib, boredom, exasperation, puzzlement and, above all, stubbornness.

At four, he knows exactly what’s going on here and he knows exactly what the consequences are.  He just doesn’t care. You can almost see his little brain through the backs of his eyes, working it all out and saying to itself ‘You know what? Fuck the fire engine’.

And when they genuinely don’t give a shit, it’s kind of hard to know where to go with the discipline isn’t it?

To add insult to injury, there was a fight in the bath last night as he wouldn't share the toys when asked nicely by his little sister. As I go to fetch a towel I hear a clumsy little toddler voice say ‘You do your told, I count to ten…one….two…three’. Brilliant, now my two year old daughter is taking the piss out of me.

And you know what? He bloody well did as he was told.

'Tis the Season to be Trollied

Lately I have been a BAD blogger. I have barely posted, I haven't replied to comments, I've not even acknowledged awards some kind people have given me. Please don't give up on me, thank you for sending lovely comments and emails and, come the New Year, I'll be back on it with both cylinders. Promise. Until then, I apologise for my bad blogging behaviour and consider myself well and truly put on the naughty step.

Truth is, despite having TWO of the X chromosomes, I seem to have lost my ability to multi-task. What with both our children's birthdays within a month of Christmas (bad family planning, we know), a change of childcare, a demanding freelance job, a zillion illnesses and the eldest coming into our bed every two minutes, my coping mechanism over the last few weeks has generally involved at least half a bottle of red per evening, with the occasional hot spicy cider thrown in for festive measure. Our recycling box is such an embarrassment in our well-heeled neighbourhood, The Husband has to take it out after dark and place it down gingerly to avoid the 'clink' factor. Last week we had more bottles than next door's flats put together. Oops.

All this does of course is result in 'duvet brain', more tiredness and a greater relaxing of parenting boundaries, because I'm too knackered to give a shit. I know supernanny would have me trotting my 4 year old back to his bed 15 times a night but frankly I'd rather spend that time trying to get back to the dream about me and Spencer from Made in Chelsea.

As The Husband has taken on a new 'stressful' job, I'm also in charge of all the Christmas shopping this year, which basically means wasting a great deal of my life saying the words 'Do you take American Express?' It was an idea of The Husband's that, since we were caning the credit cards, we might as well make money out of it, so he's switched us to some scheme where we clock up free air miles every time we chip and pin it. Last night he proudly announced we'd racked up enough to get us somewhere in Europe. I started mentally planning a Gite in the Loire Valley or a pretty yellow villa in Tuscany. Only to learn that apparently it's only enough for one. One way.

So it turns out The Husband is planning his quiet Christmas somewhere over the Channel, and I shall continue my wine-based meltdown towards the 25th, hoping I get there with enough brain cells still intact to play Cranium with my in-laws (or, God forbid, Trivial Pursuit...when will they bring out a celebrity gossip version?!) 


Merry Christmas fellow bloggers and faithful followers. See you on the other side x