Tea time, bath time & bed time are always stressful, particularly on a work day, and even more so when - like today - you were awoken at 5am. On the train home this afternoon, I promised myself I was going to be calm & kind. Calm & kind was going to be my mantra and I was going to let the small stuff go.
It started well. I put tea in the oven, took the effing jeffing bins out and we all sat on the sofa and had a cuddle while we watched Mister Maker, the current fav in our house. I'm terrible for being on my phone so I also put my phone in the kitchen so I wouldn't be distracted. It was lovely.
Then we had tea. They were a bit annoying and shouty but I let it slide. I just ignored the bad and praised the good. It was not lovely (is tea time ever lovely?) but I didn't get visibly cross at any point (I flicked them the finger a lot, but only in my head. On my face a smile was plastered). It took seventeen fucking lifetimes so I decided not to bath them. I told them to go into the living room and take their clothes off while I tidied up the dinner stuff.
It's here where things took a turn for the worse. A naked Zachary ran into the kitchen and declared 'I need a wee mummy!' 'Quick!' I replied 'toilet!' 'No mummy. No wee in the toilet!' He said. I assumed he didn't need a wee, carried on cleaning up & he trotted off.
Five seconds later he shouted from the living room 'I DONE A WEE MUMMY!'
I walked into the living room and the little shit had peed on the carpet. At this point I could just about still remember my calm & kind mantra. 'Never mind!' I gaily trilled through gritted teeth, 'mummy will clean it up!'
Off I trudged to get kitchen roll and a cloth and cleaner. I cleaned up the wee and went back to tidying the kitchen.
I had approximately thirty seconds of peace before Daisy came running in, clutching a bright pink clay fish she made a few weeks ago at the childminders and happily informed me 'Zacchy has been Very Naughty mummy!'
Heart sinking, I went into the living room and saw bright pink swirled over the patch of wee. On my carpet that is exactly ten months old.
I still didn't lose it. I did calm but ever so disappointed. I went back to the kitchen, got the cloth and the carpet cleaner (which is some super grade industrial cleaner stuff) and tried to get the bright pink off my once (for about one week) cream carpet.
The point at which I lost it was when, after putting the carpet cleaner back in the kitchen, I returned to find Zachary rubbing his naked arse on the wee/pink clay/industrial carpet cleaner mess while Daisy tore a tissue up and threw it at him, like fucking wedding confetti, in some weird twin bonding ritual. Then, I lost it. Calm and kind went out the window. 'FOR CHRIST'S SAKE. GET OFF THAT AND GET ON THE SOFA RIGHT NOW! NOW! YOU DO NOT RUB YOURSELF ON CLEANING STUFF! WHY? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? GET ON THE SOFA NOW!'
Daisy wept, I felt awful and Zachary sat on the sofa, stroking his - presumably - a bit burny bottom. I took a deep breath and tried to claw it back. We all had a cuddle, I said sorry for shouting and rinsed Zachary off in the shower.
Everyone has a breaking point. Turns out mine is my son rubbing his arse on carpet cleaner.
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