It’s 6:40pm on a rainy, cold March evening here in London, and I’m listening to Annie Lennox ’Why’, allowing it to drown out the screams behind me. Egg is trying to play with his play-doh and keep Dumpie from eating it (something he’s not too successful at given that I spot a large dayglo chunk of green in his mouth right now). I’ve just fished out Dumpie’s sippy cup and various baking implements from our large dirty bin for the fifteenth time....this hour...and I’m so exhausted that I’m contemplating a quick nap on the floor by the oven.
Now lest you think i embellish these little anecdotes, let me just say that as we speak Dumpie is dragging the toilet brush all around my kitchen and has just deposited ANOTHER new roll of toilet paper in the toilet bowl...the whole thing (sigh). So much for having a bathroom on every level - i thought it was supposed to be a good thing, not a curse. How was I supposed to know how enticing a toilet brush is to a 16 month old??
Today I picked up Egg from nursery at 3:30 pm as usual - only it was raining and I was early (for once)...in fact I was the first one there. Shortly after I arrived, my favourite fellow ’mom’ arrived to cart home her FOUR toddler boys. I refer to her as ’Nice Mom’. How does she do it? I’m sure she’s blissed out on happy pills because everytime I see her she has a perpetual grin lighting up her face and looks utterly chilled. We haven’t yet broken the ice and spoken to each other, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. We do the smile, nod and ’hi’ though, so that’s something. Mom politics...wonder if i’ll ever get the hang of it - or the inclination to get the hang of it.
Shortly after ’nice mom’ my nemesis arrived "short, fat, mean French mom’. She is a nasty piece of work. For the past two months she’s looked as though she should be in hospital stirrups not on the school run, as she is a short, toady looking thing who is just as wide around as she is tall. Sporting rimless frames and always with a severe look on her face, she has taken a great dislike to Egg and I. You could blame this on the hormones or the fact that one day, many weeks ago, Egg accidentally took her daughters spot at the ’painting’ table - illiciting a tantrum of which I haven’t seen the like before, from her very spoiled, very annoying blond little girl. Of course with my luck, she and Egg will grow to become best friends and ’Mean French Mom’ and I will have to glare our way through birthday parties and school functions....urghhhh
Anyway, Dumpie is yanking on my jeans demanding another cup of juice and Egg is insisting I try his play-doh pie. I wish I drank scotch or had a valium prescription. Or both.