When i was a little girl, there was a memorable commercial about a harried housewife who, when she had reached her limit of domestic stress, would slip away into her luxurious bathroom, sink into a warm tub of bubbles and sigh, "Calgon, take me away...." As a young girl, i don't think i was sure why she needed to de-stress exactly, but this fondly remembered commercial certainly rings a few bells these days.
Currently Egg is at the kitchen table on his second hour of 'dj'ing' loud kiddie songs on one of his child music mixers which a well-meaning friend gifted him with (his ma and pa being musicians, this was no doubt seen as 'the perfect gift'). As with all his loud musical toys, Egg insists on the volume knob being cranked to the limit. It doesn't matter if we have to yell back and forth to communicate - he is more than happy to accommodate. If i take it away from him and hide it (mean mama) he'll only find another, equally obnoxious toy to sound pollute the invironment with, so i just have to grin and bear it until the batteries wear out (mental note to self: next time buy the cheap ones).
To set the scene for you, Noah is to my right bouncing manically in his doorframe swing and starting to whine (is there a limit to how long i can stuff him in one of those before it constitutes child cruelty?). The poor baby is sporting a reddish welt on his forehead from where Egg whipped a rattle at him earlier. I'm afraid little Ollie Dumpie has become a punching bag of sorts as of late, as out of the blue, big brother has become a wee bit jealous and likes to display brotherly love by slapping him on the head, stealing his toys and smothering him in blankets. I literally cannot let them out of my sight, even for a minute. So when the doorbell rings, like earlier today with our postman, I had to cart big Dumpie down on my hip, Egg at my heels, and pray that Egg wouldn't slam the door behind us and leave us locked out and barefoot in our front hall like he did to Jay the other day.
This morning Egg jumped in bed with me, glared at Noah who was feeding, and earnestly suggested that I return Dumpie back to my tummy as he didn't want him here anymore. Noah of course is oblivious to this lack of goodwill and smiles gamely at Egg whenever he catches sight of him ...waves of adulation emmanating from his beautiful blue eyes. Bless him, he'll even stare lovingly and unblinkingly at Jake when his face is mere inches away and he is partaking of his latest game of yelling nonsense words at the top of his lungs like a demented Dr. Seuss.
I must confess that I am desperate for the loo at the moment and I have two options. I can either run quickly down the hall, endangering the life of my secondborn son.....or I can try and hold it back, risking bladder control issues later in life and take the open package of butter off Egg who currently wielding it aloft, ready to smear it on the fridge. I suppose there is a third option come to think of it, which is to place Noah down on the carpet, give him a wooden spoon with which to fend off Egg, while distracting Egg with a giant bar of chocolate in the other room, then slip on my Converse, grab my sunglasses and go running out the door never to return. Hmmmm....
I am jolted back to reality now with the sound of Jake opening the garbage bin behind me and depositing an armload of rubbish. Wait a minute - it's not rubbish - it's some of Jay's cherished antique 45's for his wind-up grammaphone. They are splintered into pieces and the little monkey has escaped my grasp and tore off into the front room to get some more. Noah looks up mournfully from the kitchen floor where he has yet again escaped his baby rocker. He has no answers. Neither do i. Maybe this calls for a double-strength skinny cappucino??