We've had a really, really great half term. We've been to the beach, to castles (Dover and Deal - both great but Dover is just amazing), to the ruins of two different abbeys (Bayham Old Abbey is a new favourite), and to parks; we've eaten fish and chips, ice creams aplenty, an unhealthy amount of Haribo and we've hung out with our favourite people. Generally, we've had a jolly good time.
That doesn't mean they haven't driven me mad at points though (mainly when we're in the house. My children are not house-dwellers. They need to be outside, in large open spaces where no-one can hear their/my bellowing and where they can't break the TV for the 49th time.) In no particular order, here are the things from half term that I no longer have any patience to deal with.
1) Tissue and wipes everywhere. They love tissues. They love wipes. They fold them, they screw them up into balls, they shred them, they wrap crap in them, they wrestle over them (the wrestling is not specific to tissues/wipes to be fair - they will wrestle over anything. Anything.) In some ways, this is great - it's a super cheap and easy way to entertain them: "Here you go kiddo, have a kitchen roll. Knock yourself out." In other ways though, it's super fricking annoying. I am so bored of walking into a room and finding it's been turned into a hamster's cage, with a sea of shredded tissue everywhere. I am also fed up of having no wipes or tissue left when I need it (like, when they've knocked their drink over for the gazzilionth time). Kids, please stop playing with tissues (and you know, maybe play with one of your many, many toys that take up a significant chunk of the living room).
2) Half eaten food on the floor. This is usually a biscuit, but it can be any food. My children specialise in eating half of whatever they've asked for then casually throwing the other half onto the floor. Because that's where unwanted food goes. I'm not just bored of this, I'm also bored of telling them to pick it up. And I'm bored of them asking for another one of whatever has been discarded on the floor, minutes later. Eat your food. All of it. And if you don't want it, put it in the goddamn bin (but not the bin in the living room because mummy doesn't empty that very often and it will just rot in there and smell bad, and mummy will spend ages trying to figure out if someone's done a shit somewhere before she realises that actually someone has put food in the bin we are not supposed to use because mummy can't be arsed to empty it).
3) Repeating the same question over and over and over again. Oh sweet Jesus. How is anyone meant to make it through parenthood sane when there is a never-ending stream of constant questions that you are not given even a millisecond to answer? It goes like this: "Mummy, can I have a drink?" "Yes bab-" "Mummy, can I have a drink, a drink mummy, I want a drink." " Yep, I'll-" "Mummy, I want a drink, can I have a drink mummy, I want a drink." "I'm making you-" "MummycanIhaveadrinkmummyIwantadrinkcanihaveonemummycanI?" "I AM MAKING YOU A DRINK. STOP BELLOWING AT ME." And then I get pissed off because I've just shouted at them to stop shouting at me which I try really hard not to do, but sometimes it's the only way to be heard!
4) Loud, unnecessary noises. This is a new thing. They make this godawful grunty/shrieky noise - much like, I imagine, a pig would make if you were to shove something up its arse; low and grunty at first, followed by shrill and shrieky) - either to make each other laugh or to drown me out when I'm telling them off. The first I can just about bear, the second is not the dream. Looking for the silver lining, at least it's better than them shouting obscenities ("Ooh that bloody door!" mimicked Zachary gleefully the other day. Must stop swearing in front of the children. Must stop swearing in front of the effing jeffing buggering children.) but really, I'd rather my children didn't swear or make horrendous noises. I need to lower those expectations, I know.
5) There is always crap in the way of whatever I'm trying to do. Particularly in the bathroom. Our bathroom is small and L-shaped. All three of us being in there is the stuff of nightmares. I went in to brush my teeth this morning. First, I'm greeted by two potties, one with a wee in. I empty that and then navigate my way around the two steps that, in theory, allow them to get on the loo themselves (in practice, they bellow for me to lift them onto the loo, and use the steps to reach the sink and throw water everywhere.) By this stage, I've been joined by my two adorable yet slightly feral sidekicks, who commence wrestling over one of the steps. They ignore my attempts to give them the other step so they can have one each (where would the fun be in that?) so I give up and decide to clean my teeth while they fight around my ankles. Of course though, the sink is full of crap - two flannels, a hairbrush, two different yet equally ineffectual bottles of detangling spray, a razor, half a biscuit and - of course - a fork. How I long for an empty sink to clean my teeth in. (This girl dreams BIG!)
I think I'm really lucky to be a teacher and get all of the lovely holidays with the kids, I really do. But there definitely comes a point where we're all ready for a bit of structure in our lives and a bit of time away from each other. Kids, it's been a blast - let's do it all over again in the summer holidays (although can you please at least have relinquished the tissue obsession by then).
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