If it aint broke, don't fix it

I was in the midst of a good old rambling post, The Husband and Thing One had gone on an expedition and I'd promised Thing Two that we could bake.  She was looking quite forlorn as I happily typed away so in a moment of good ole Mummy guilt I saved as a draft and went into the kitchen to find the Jammie Dodgers recipe that we have baked many a time and love.  I have this habit of scrawling recipes on the backs of random envelopes and scraps of paper, without titles, and bunging them in the baking cupboard, I glanced through every last one and the recipe wasn't there.  Not to worry, I have it bookmarked online.  I should have took this as an Omen really and just left them to happily watch TV but no, onwards I went only to find dear Virgin has let me down, there was no Internet.  yes, no Internet. Oh. My God. Cue palpitations.  I swear there's more Internet then blood in my veins.  I kept pressing refresh like some maniac, I fiddled with the modem, I closed and reopened my browser and even rebooted the computer.  No Internet at all. Gah!.

Meanwhile, The Toddler is practising his latest 'game' of opening the door, escaping through the gap in the gate, going up the stairs at full speed, legging it to the bathroom and slamming the door.  This happened about ten times, I kid you not.  I'm dreaming of a cigarette, I haven't had one in nearly 9 years.

Plan two.  It's one thing doing sod all but quite another when you promised to do something.  So in a moment of what I can only describe as sheer madness when I lost all sense of judgement I emptied a large book tub and filled it with water, bubbles and red food dye.  I placed said tub on towels in the kitchen and dumped some toys in it then let in the kinders.  In another senile moment I thought I'd raid the skanky wheel barrow in the garden for the sand/water toys that had been festering there over the Winter, only to find The Toddler had opened the back door and was dancing on the pavement behind me.  The garden isn't child friendly at the moment so I grabbed him, tucked him under my arm and continued poking through the infestation of rank toys with him having a full blown tantrum under my arm.  I'm dreaming of Vodka, a bottle of, I haven't had alcohol in 2years and 9 months.

Once inside I lock the back door and place the toddler down.  Thing Two is in seventh heaven with the water play, has stripped half her kit off and is playing wondrously.  The Toddler decides to be an absolute pain in the arse and attempts to go through all the kitchen cupboards, mess around with the washing machine, put MaCabre on the stereo and commence headbanging whilst clambering up and down a chair with wet feet. ARGH.  Occasionally he'd wander to the water and have a play and then back to feats of amazing danger again.  Eventually I had to out my middle name of 'Kill Joy' and put an end to it before he skidded across the floor and cracked his head open.

I felt a tad guilty.  Thing Two had been having fun.  So yet another bad idea, I empty and dry the tub and dump all of The Toddlers rainbow rice in there, something he absolutely adores and spends ages entranced by it.  Apparently that is reserved for when he's a) on his own b) secured in his high chair with the rice in a tin on the table in front of him.  Once again, Thing Two is ecstatic and playing happily yet The Toddler inbetween screaming at her for daring to play with his rice, decides to fill the tub with dinosaurs so Thing One can't get to the rice and to top it off attempts a tug of war with me with the full intention of emptying rainbow rice all over the lounge. Don't think so buddy. I remove the rice and in retaliation The Toddler removes his nappy. His favourite thing at the moment is weeing, specifically weeing on things, purposefully.  So I hear the shrill call of Thing Two to tell me that The Toddler is peeing on her blanket. Great.  No really, fanbloodytastic.  He looks incredibly pleased, me? Not so pleased.

It doesn't stop here.  Thing Two goes up to the loo only she didn't quite make it and despite being dry for several years she wee's her knickers as she walks up the stairs.  This wasn't no puddle, this was a full on 10 gallon flood all the way up the stairs.  So whilst reassuring her it's no biggee, accidents happen I ask her to simply put some dry knicks on and get The Toddler a nappy, whilst I set about scrubbing the stairs.  I'm wondering how much of my Zoloft I have left.

Then a huge meltdown tantrum ensues as I dare to attempt to put  nappy and then trousers (to prevent him taking said nappy off) on him.

Finally, I take him to the sofa, snuggle up and he feeds (and feeds and feeds and feeds) and calm is eventually restored.

For now.

I'm now dreaming of an asylum stay.

The moral of this story? If the kids are happy pottering about, playing with toys and watching the TV, don't ever ever ever try and change that. Ever.

Oh and that blog entry I saved earlier? didn't actually save. 

Is it tomorrow yet?