So what he does is sneak into the fridge, pour himself a huge, almost overflowing cup of grape juice (and one for Eggie while he's at it), then wobble unsteadily past, up the stairs, giggling as he catches my horrified expression. Then, in a scenario much like talking down a suicide jumper, I have to try and coax him into CAREFULLY putting down the juice or handing it over before it spills onto the carpets, further reducing the value of this home.
Dumpie knows that in this particular situation he wields ALL THE POWER and boy does he love it. He'll cock his head, pretend to think about obeying my plaintive pleas and outright bribes of 'Nannie's' (sweeties) later on, but then, predictably, he'll suddenly turn and run squealing into the front room, spraying and spilling huge great splotches of purple juice everywhere, leaving me screaming in his wake and Eggie looking on bemused.
Even worse, Dumpie sometimes fills his little cheeks to bursting with the grape juice, then runs up to me willing me to make him laugh. "Dumpie swallow, swallow!" I'll beg, but it's to no avail. No matter what my reaction, it is a given that he'll splutter and explode and the juice will come spraying out of his mouth, soaking both of us and irretrievably ruining our outfits...forever (sigh).
So much of the past three days has been spent on hands and knees trying in vain to remove the stains which now look like giant purple polka dots on our beige carpet. I even went out and bought an expensive and as it turns out utterly pointless box of shampoo carpet stuff - which predictably turned out to be an absolute disaster and complete waste of time.
The instructions were in Greek or something, so I could only guess what to do by the few crudely drawn pictures on the side of the box. Guess I guessed wrong, because hours later I was still trying to remove great chunks of ground-in white powder from the carpet which I had in hindsight I think mistakenly mixed with water, resulting in something with a paper-mache-like consistency and absolutely no stain-removal power. Urghhh....it really has been one of those weeks.
On a positive note, Eggie learned how to ride a bike on the weekend. His round little face shone and his eyes gleamed as he quickly and easily mastered a tw0-wheeler - tearing around the park triumphantly and shouting, "Look Mama, look Dada, I'm doing it all by myself!"
(Of course there was the small matter of the steering/inability to stop issue which at one point led him to ride right into a rasta dude who happened to be chilling out on his blanket, lying there on his back reading a book, oblivious to the overexcited littl'un careening straight towards him at top speed. Oops.)
Dumpie continues to train himself with regards to the potty. It is simply a matter of will at this point and like the little despot that he is, he is cleverly using his stinky 'poo bags' to lord it over us these days (a great term my husband coined and one which perfectly describes the hanging mass of fecal matter and overpriced absorbent material which swings heavily between his legs on occasion).
He even changes himself sometimes. He'll come running downstairs, naked from the waist down and be carrying a new nappie. Upstairs i'll find a nappy bag full of wet wipes which he has used to clean himself, ready to dispose of. I'm sure if he could suss how to nappy himself up he'd be set to continue on like this till early puberty.
However it must be said that he does take himself off to do 'wee's' in his little red potty. I'm not entirely sure how he does it, for I rarely catch him in the act, but he'll race up to me and grab my hand to show me the 'wee wee' then promptly demand a 'treat' for it. As I cough up exactly three 'Reeces Pieces' (don't know how this came to be but there is a silent understanding between us that this is what each spontaneous tinkle is worth in confectionary terms) he toddles off, mightily pleased with himself, leaving me perplexed about how he managed to wee and yet still has his nappy on....?
I wouldn't be surprised if he were simply filling up his potty with water and tricking me, but by golly it's yellow liquid and even Dumps isn't clever enough to get food coloring down from my baking shelf. (But then again, who is to say that he isn't going around collecting wee from the toilet after Eggie has been, then dumping it into his own? Everyone knows Egg isn't a big fan of flushing - or lifting the lid for that matter - so it wouldn't be hard...)
Oh listen to me...a bitter and twisted Mama if ever there was one. I have clearly spent too much time this week indoors - a situation not much helped by the fact that this week is a school holiday for Eggie and it's mostly been raining.
That's it. We're going out now. Better a muddy park, lots of spills on bike and scooter and filthy, wet boys, than three stir-crazy mentalists plotting the next hijinks on each other.
Do stop and say hello if you find yourself in our neck of the woods. I shall be the forlorn looking woman sitting hunched over on the bench on the common clutching on for dear life to a sodden paper cappuccino cup. I shall be staring strangely into the distance, dreaming of other lives and ignoring the screaming little monsters circling me like greedy sharks.