Star, that's what they call you....

Yesterday was a reasonable day.

If you discount Thomas doing such a toxic poo that his bottom came out in hives and his trousers nearly disintegrated.  It was like a nuclear meltdown. 

I’m discounting it.  In fact I’m trying to wipe it from my memory.  Which is difficult bearing in mind that the sight of him subsequently running around at soft play trying to hold his brother’s stripy, 1-2 month all-in-one suit up round his waist is pretty much branded indelibly upon my memory.

I’m just going to file it under “Parenting Fails”.

There have been a fair few of those recently.  Including my complete failure to get out of the house this morning, leading to Thomas being an hour late for nursery.  Although, in my defence, this wasn’t entirely my fault as Thomas and Ben were clearly working in carefully co-ordinated tandem to ensure that my morning devolved into chaos.

Ben woke up at 7 for a feed.  Thomas was already up and had decided on “bashing stuff” as the game of choice.  Ben’s morning feed therefore took place against a backdrop of “mummymummymummybashbashbashBASH”.

Ben fell asleep. 

I got up, located Thomas in the bathroom which he had chosen as the most salubrious location to bash a big yellow tipper truck with a wooden spanner.  I gave put toothpaste on his toothbrush, ignored the indignant “not that toothpaste” remark, and started to get ready.

Ben woke up.  Ben wailed.

I returned to bed and fed Ben, leaving Thomas to clean his teeth.  Thomas wandered in and demanded his breakfast.  I asked him to wait.  He wailed.

Ben fell asleep.

I got up, made Thomas breakfast and began to make a cup of tea.

Ben woke up.  Ben wailed.

I returned to bed and fed Ben.  The sound of Thomas-screaming floated up the stairs. 

Ben fell asleep.

I went downstairs and enquired politely as to the cause of the screaming.  He apparently “broke my branflakes”.  I suggested that this might not be a tragedy on a level with the tribulations of Hamlet or King Lear.  He wailed louder.  I made another attempt at tea, and this time got as far as placing my cup of tea and the last slice of toast on the table.

Ben woke up.  Ben wailed.

Further feeding ensued.

Ben fell asleep.

I went back downstairs and Thomas had eaten my breakfast.

While I jumped up and down screaming explained that this was unacceptable, Thomas announced that he was wearing swimming pants.  I thought this highly unlikely, given that he was still in his pyjamas, and I said so.

He removed his pyjama bottoms and demonstrated that he was, in fact, wearing swimming pants.  Two hours later and I still haven’t found what happened to his nappy.  It’s probably inhabiting the same twilight zone as the missing driver-card from my sewing machine or the two dozen odd socks.

It has occurred to me that there is way too much shouting and waving of arms going on in our house.  Super Nanny would Not Approve. 

I have therefore come up with a solution – the Parenting Star-Chart.  I am going to monitor my progress by giving myself stars for successful parenting and take them away for parenting fails.  I think it is important not to become discouraged so I am going to award myself some retrospective stars in order to avoid being in star-debt by the end of day one.

·         Yesterday I organised Wholesome Fun.  We just went for a two hour walk down some of the little paths through the woods and fields around the village.  We looked at things and had educational discussions about sheep’s wool and wildflowers.  We sat on a stile and played “I spy” which Thomas didn’t quite get – “I spy a tree.  There!  There!”  This was a Worthy Activity.  Star for me.

·         I also commenced a Craft Project.  Thomas will like it.  Watch this space for details.  In the meantime, star for me.

·         Both children were in bed by 8pm.  Wine star for me.

So I am starting on three stars.  Aim for the day – four stars!