Monday, 2 March 2015

The show must go on..

Angel and Delight, having completed a full day at school are now whining in stereo at the injustice of having to do homework. I won’t back down and like an evil tiger mum I insist they get it done so that they can relax. 

Much huffing and puffing later and they reluctantly sit down and start.  Today I particularly want it out of the way because I have a kitchen designer coming round to tell me that I cannot afford to do anything to my kitchen. The designer arrives and Angel and Delight promptly decide that this is not an opportunity to be missed, they must put on an acrobatic show.  This mainly involves arms and legs flailing in all directions and the occasional leap over the sofa.  Kitchen designer is impressed.  I feel a slight pang of pride which is short lived when I realise that I have to collect Poppet from Nursery.  I usher everyone out and direct them to the car, I then redirect the kitchen designer to his own car and apologise profusely.

Having collected Poppet we make it home just in time to take our coats off when the builder arrives.  He has come to tell me that I cannot afford to do anything to my house. As we walk into the kitchen I am greeted with a rather large puddle and it seems to be growing.  On closer inspection we discover that it is coming from the washing machine.  Builder very kindly offers to “take a look” and proceeds to pull out the fridge and washing machine, the puddle is now a flood and so he switches off the washing machine and not letting go of Poppet I grab a mop.  At this moment I am made aware by some rather inappropriate lyrics that Angel and Delight have decided to perform an evening performance of their earlier matinee.  I peek through our serving hatch (yes we really have one, I feel like my nan every time I pop my head through) I am horrified to see the girls “Bwerking” (baby twerking) to a music channel or song they have managed to raise on You Tube called “Gay Hoe”.    I am stuck.  Stood in a flooding kitchen, baby in one hand and mop in the other, my poor builder on the floor trying to help and politely ignore my children accessing adult dance sites and getting drenched in the process. “Turn it off right now” I yell, trying to hold back the laughter and battling with myself because the mum in me is horrified and the teenager in me finds it hilarious, that and their ability to navigate their way round You tube and the speed at which they can find something totally inappropriate for their age.  It’s all too much.

Right on cue Poppet starts to wriggle and scream, her baby spidey senses have obviously told her that I need her to chill.  Builder tells me that it’s probably the drum and I should leave the washing machine switched off, “but it’s got their School Uniforms in it!” I shriek,   I know it is only Tuesday and this morning their clothes were beautifully clean but apparently rolling in mud and decorating oneself with ketchup and other substances I don’t think I wish to know about is now on the curriculum, hence the daily wash.  Only one set? I hear you cry, again I have good reason as Delight has taken to eating her uniform, that’s right it’s not a typo, she has a jolly good nibble and I have refused to buy any more until she stops.

 Finally I get everyone into bed.  Not the builder, or the kitchen designer! I have mopped up the floor, soothed Poppet and promised Angel and Delight that mummy will be discussing parental locks on the TV with daddy that very evening!  That night as I eventually get upstairs ready to flop into my bed, there they are, my little Angel and Delight, exhausted and fast asleep, snuggled up like sprawling starfish across the entire mattress softly breathing and dribbling on my sheets. I look at them in wonder, my gorgeous and growing little Bwerkers!

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