Monday, September 22, 2008

two wondersuits good, two wondersuits bad








'May you live in interesting times', goes the Chinese curse. OK, I'm cursed. Life gets more interesting by the minute.

Let me tell you a tale of two days this week.

Teddy slept most of Sunday, waking up only to feed and be cute in short bursts. Ivy was full of fun; playing her favourite games like 'Does This Go On My Head?', 'Go to Sleep, Dodo' and 'Did Somebody Say Rubbies?' Sometime I'll outline the rules of these - lets just say they all crack her up sideways and never get old.

In the morning we went to the shops where I bought pretty clothes and strangers admired our offspring. At lunch we read the paper and all slept, then Keith and I sorted the house out, doing bad little dances to Amy Winehouse and the Keating soundtrack. I made Ivy some yoghurt paint. She ate most of it and then helped bake banana bread. Keith stained his bookshelves out on the sunny front deck.

Happy happiness!

In the night, a sneaky demon came in through the window and subtly buggered our biorhythms, altered our ectoplasm and messed with our mojo.

Things began to go wrong early on Monday, and spiralled downwards until the afternoon ended like this:

The evil demon suggested to me that today was a good day to clean and sort out the pantry. Little Ted was ratty and Ivy was only happy when I sang 'The Wheels on The Bus' in an endless, mind-melting loop. Eventually I set her up on the kitchen floor with some bowls, spoons, cups and a big container of Puffed Wheat. She played away merrily , and I felt pretty pleased with my fine Montessori self. Then Teddy began to wail. He just wanted to be held (again - great day to clean out the pantry, non?)

I went to give him cuddles. 'Milk?' asked Ivy. 'Of course, little one,' I said. 'Have a big cup. What a good job you're doing there.'

As I changed the baby's nappy on the floor, Ivy pressed a brimming spoon to my lips. 'Eat?' she insisted. I wondered why there was milk in the spoon when the penny dropped.

The kitchen floor was a soggy, squelchy cereal river. Damn you, Maria Montessori, and damn your fancy ways.

It might give you some idea of how the afternoon progressed from there if I tell you that the floor didn't get cleaned up for another two hours. Two hours of a screaming toddler, a baby who would only lie on my neck and every inch of kitchen counter covered with old wheatgerm boxes and out-of-date packs of gummi bears.

Tuesday better, Wednesday great, Thursday magic.

Roll on Friday.

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Thanks for talking to me. I don't got cooties. Oh, except for when I got cooties.