Saturday, 11 March 2017

Parental Adventures, and what I'm crap at.

See, here's the thing. Kids don't come with an instruction manual. 
There are a million and one books about parenting, including, ironically, a book called 'The Instruction Manual for Kids'.
But let's be honest here. They're all useless.
Every child is different. 
What works for one, will not work for another.
Case in point. 
I am a mother of two daughters, born exactly 15 months, 3 days and around 12 hours apart.
For those of you new to my blog, the eldest was 3 in January. The youngest is 2 in April, and I'm not even remotely ashamed to admit that I really don't know what the hell I'm doing.
I wing it, every day.

Before I had children, I had this very naive idea that yeah, it wouldn't be easy, but I'd just read a book and gradually get used to it.
I'd learn as we went along and I'd just figure it out.

Just off the top of my head, here are a few things I'm still not used too, haven't learnt, and haven't figured out over the last 3 years.

- Being woken up at 6 am.
Nah, scrap that.
Being repeatedly woken up, any number of times at any time in the middle of the night, from about 3am onward.
I am a lazy, selfish person. This is not a secret.
I like my sleep, so I massively struggle with being woken up early. It doesn't happen all the time, but when it does, it knocks me for six.
I am definitely not used to it yet. Nor have I learnt how to cope with it, or figured out how to prevent it. The parenting books were utterly useless.
Imagine that.

- My daughters' ability to escape ANY SITUATION whatsoever.
In case you think I might be exaggerating, this is a photo of me on my wedding day.
Chasing after my escaping daughter, while trying to hold up my dress, hold in my boobs, and not fall flat on my face.

I had turned away and let go of her hand for a second, to fix my dress.
A second, to make sure I didn't expose myself to the photographer while my boobs attempted to escape.
Rayne saw her chance and legged it.

Where is the other daughter, you ask?
Gone. Being adopted by a seagull. 
Floating away into the breeze. Who knows!
Your guess is as good as mine.

- Multitasking.
But! I hear you say. Surely as a mum you have to multitask, or you'd never get anything done?
Yes. Yes, that is correct. And I can multitask. Sort of.
However, there is one aspect of multitasking that I am absolutely dreadful at. And that, my darlings, is controlling my child.
Nah, scrap that. Children. Plural.
An example?
A few weeks ago I took about 4 microseconds to pee. By myself. A rare luxury. 

Just as a side note, do you know what a luxury urinating by yourself actually is? Are you aware of this? Being able to sit down and pee without little hands flushing the toilet on you, or trying to help you wipe your ass.
Well, you do now.

So, as I was taking my 4 microseconds of ABSOLUTE LUXURY, I was aware of a sudden silence.
Silence, when you have conscious children, is an awful, awful sign.
It means that you are in serious danger. That something is very, very wrong.
I was immediately nervous, and THOUGHT that I was thinking the worst.
Ha. HA.

Until recently, I was under the very incorrect impression that the worst thing a child could get hold of in the kitchen would be something like a hot cup. Or, you know, the kettle.
Rayne proved me wrong.
In the time it had taken me to pee, Rayne had gotten up onto the kitchen counter and got hold of the easy squeezy tube of honey.
I don't know if anyone not faced with this situation before could really understand the true gravity of the situation.
I didn't. Do you know what destruction honey can create in the hands of a three year old?
Absolutely traumatizing.

I have a phobia of sticky things. 
As does Rayne.
When she realized that every surface she could possibly touch was covered in sticky goo, she panicked and began to scream. I panicked and began to pray that it would all go away, while at the same time accepting that my life was pretty much over.
Harli, my youngest, thought that this was the best thing ever, and Nova, one of our dogs immediately took advantage of the situation by licking the cupboard doors.

I still haven't learnt the trick to peeing by myself without unleashing destruction on our house.

She does that a lot, by the way. Proves me wrong. 
Pretty much everything I assumed about raising children, Rayne goes out of her way to convince me that I may as well just not bother assuming anything.
So lesson learnt. That's what I do.

While taking 5 minutes out of my day to write this blog post, I allowed Rayne to stand at the sink and 'wash' a few spare dishes. 
Multitasking at it's finest. My brain thought it was an absolute genius.
What could possibly go wrong? 
I get to sit down for a few minutes and Rayne learns a valuable life skill.
(We don't have a dishwasher. Well, actually we do, his name is Barry but he's currently on strike.)

It might result in a bit of water on the floor, maybe and some extra dishes to go over. 
No big deal. I could cope with that.
Obviously, I am a moron.
What could possibly go wrong?
Ha. Ha. Ha.

Rayne - being the absolutely delightful, helpful wee Bean that she is, spied the two flower pots full of soil and seeds and clearly thought I was trying to get out of washing them as well.

As I'm sure you can imagine, my kitchen now resembles a muddy swamp. 
I also have a LOT more dishes to do, as anything on the draining board got an extra wee scrub by my dutiful daughter with the soil-covered dish brush.

So with that, I will say goodbye, and ask you to send me your cleaning power.
I have an extremely dirty kitchen full of extremely dirty dishes to clean, and Rayne has decided she doesn't want to do dishes anymore.
"Something else, Mama. I want to do something else."
I'm going to tell myself she isn't eyeing up the fridge.... like the time she got hold of the eggs...

Bye for now!

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