It's A Mystery

Reality has settled back in again. Like a well-worn and ratty jumper it settles comfortably but unflatteringly around my weary shoulders and looks set to stay. Having been back in London a few days now, today feels like one of those 'today is the first day of the rest of your life' days....but not in a good way. Though it's high summer, London has yet to hear about it, with slightly overcast skies, a wee chill to the air, and fully lacking that delicious warmth which propels you to the nearest park to sink in lush grass.
No, a London summer is at best short, uncomfortable (either too hot or too cold), a tease, and tourist-ridden. I suppose if I were writing this from the comfort of my seaside home or country cottage, I would have an entirely different view. There is nothing like a lovely country garden, sipping Pimm's, hearing the birds tweet and flies buzz, and smelling the lovely flowers and dozing off in a comfy chair to the distant sound of the radio....but i digress.

It looks and smells like rain today, and I've had to stop writing this twice in order to keep Dumpie from swallowing little toy pieces, and stop Egg from administering discipline to a supposedly 'naughty' Dumps. The jealousy looks here to stay for some time at least, and the lovely Egg is torn between giggling and playing with him and wanting to throw him down the stairs. We've re-installed the stairgates and put Mama (that would be me) on high alert for any suspicious behaviour.

Today however I have my cloths, cleaning fluid and a bad temper on hand to deal with the advent of 'Toilet Training Attempt No. 7'. As Jay was ironing his shirt for work this morning we realised that in only six weeks there shall be a home visit from Egg's prospective nursury school, and in that home meeting we shall be forced to reveal the status of Egg's toilet habits, and in so doing either ensure he begins on 1st October with all the other children, or indeed waits until the next term (after Christmas!) until he is potty-trained. Therefore it is with renewed vigour that we attempt yet again the daunting task of training this strong-willed little fella in the joys of cleanliness and hygiene.

Already this morning we've had an incident whereby I was making Dumpies breakfast and Egg stood before me defiantly and just pee'd on the kitchen floor. For no apparant reason. Not the best of ways to start the day...but not nearly as petrifying as the looming noon hour when a little someone is prone to bowel movements and is resolutely insisting that 'NO WAY' will he go on the toilet. He's probably right. I've got nothing but tears lined up I imagine.

Ollie Dumpie on the otherhand is an adorable bundle of soft, squishy cuteness and cleverness and I could spend all day everyday cuddling him and making him laugh. He's currently taking advantage of Egg's absentmindedness and playing with Egg's baby mop, swinging it round like a baton and trying to balance a plastic bowl on the end. Circus protege perhaps? Why do I feel like Dumps will be wearing big boy pants before Egg?

Whoops - gotta go. Egg has now taken back his mop and is running to the bathroom to wet it so that he can 'clean Dumps'. Best nip this one in the bud.