You know those days when everything falls to the floor? You feel like joining the cups, the cereal, the milk and just lie down and rock in the mess? Only you know there is no bludy point because you will have to clean it up anyway? A circle of frustration.
Yesterday morning we decided to have a go toilet training Gigi. She is 2 and a half. If it didn’t work, we would give it another while.
How rational I was! How calm. How foolish.
Morning saw a cross little girl. She was just not fully herself, not wanting to do much and only interested in Dora the Explorer. I had chats with her. Sat by her waiting. Took her to the the loo. Found little wet patches in various places. All to be expected I suppose.
As I did this, I noticed the floors needed cleaning.
When would that happen?
Time was gathering.
When would I cook dinner?
Gigi loved the sticker rewards and the new clothes for toilet training. However she just wasn’t really into it overall. Clearly not ready. After she accidentally spilled a drink of water on the couch (my fault as I had not given her a non spill cup), and towels were running out, I began to feel we needed a new tactic. Do something different. We hoovered as a group effort. Betsy in the walker getting dangerously caught up in the flex. Gigi ‘helping’. We then baked. I would then bring her in and out again to the toilet. Fresh. Big accident though in the kitchen in the midst of cake mix and flour, meat frying in the pan, baby screeching and the dog yowling. The dog was howling at another dog in a jeep. Baby Betsy knew something was going down and was demanding her attention quota. Fair enough. It just seemed to be a soundtrack to chaos. Barking. Squealing. Frying. Mess. Wee.
Gigi didn’t notice. She was licking the batter spoon.
I gave her a nappy pull up. Enough was enough. It was one of those days. Definitely not the day to start this kind of job.
I hoovered more. Made a stab at a dinner.
The girls ate. Attempted naps.
Betsy went after a mini battle. Gigi seemed to be asleep. Morning having attempted to crush my spirit, I needed sustenance. I filled a large glass of cold sparkling water with orange. I laid out my pasta. I sat -no sank- down. On the sopping cushions covered with a blanket. For the moment. I reached out for the much needed drink.
You can see where this is headed.
Of course, my finger acted as if it wasn’t attached to my body, jabbed the pint glass spilling every drop. Coffee table soaked. All down the sides. Over and under the baby ABC floor tiles. I didn’t shout. I didn’t scream. I just cleaned.
I ate a few bites of tepid pasta. Couldn’t face making fresh orange. Made a coffee. Cut some of the cherry cake we had made. (All cherries at the bottom of the cake. Sorry Mary Berry).
Heard a yell. ‘MAMMY!’. Gig was wide awake. She had no intention of sleeping.
Coffee and cake sat there until the coffee was as good as iced. Uncool. Paradoxically.
Betsy was up instantly on the rooster cry that is Gigi. It was two pm. Naps had been bypassed.
Gigi had some cake. In the sittingroom. Kitchen. Hall. Every room you can imagine. Cherry cake is very crumby. I walked through thinking possibly Hansel and Gretel were leaving me a trail. Hopefully I wasn’t the witch in question.
So much for hoovering.
We played games. Colouring in. Playing with Snoopy toys. Peek a boo. Both girls wanted to be on my lap. Both happy but agitated. Just that type of day.
I had potato slices on to boil as part of our tea later after Mr Paper got home. I was planning to roast them as a fakeway, (weight watchers)-like chips but healthier. Of course I didn’t get back on time to the kitchen to turn them down to simmer.
They boiled over. Spectacularly. Had I even put that much water in the pan? It was everywhere.
It was around now that my head went into meltdown. I can usually get through the insanity. I wanted to run away on this occasion. Instead I had a silent scream with a spatula in the utility room.
I got out for an hour with Gigi to the shop. Air helps. Bought orange. Drank it. You know the one made out of clouds? That one. Orange that exaggerates.
The day passed.
Evening time. Girls slept. We had fake chips. Two hours watching Tony Soprano being a complex protagonist that you find yourself loving despite his obvious flaws and it was bedtime. Eggshells!followed. Successfully passed.
The day ended.
Some days spilled everything is not a problem. Somedays it is a catastrophe. Every day ends.
Time to rest. Tomorrow I need to buy a spatula.
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