There's only one thing worse than a mattress the thickness of a Ryvita. A mattress the thickness of a Ryvita which has been thoroughly soaked in urine during the night.
No, the husband has not turned into the local beach drunk (yet) and soiled the matrimonial bed. Rather, Dumpie has resumed his nocturnal visits and sometime last night, after crawling between the "M.D.U." (Mama Dada Unit) he chose to relieve himself while horizontal. Unfortunately his little winks must have been pointing due West (it's always me who he cuddles up to in bed, flinging one leg over my thigh so as to get the tightest possible fit) as when I got out of bed in the morning my knickers were damp.
We're currently in the 'can we be bothered' final phase of toilet training. As a compromise, we've put a plastic sheet under the boys mattress. But what with night time musical beds, it's about as useful as a tanning salon in India.
You know that show 'How Clean Is Your House?', where two apron clad ladies come round with bacteria testers and microscopes and suss out just how filthy and minging your home is? Well, I reckon they'd go running for the jungle behind our home if they inspected our mattress too closely. I simply don't want to know what lies (lives?) beneath the surface. I just don't. I figure that if I keep getting our sheets laundered and spray them with the little lavender scented linen spray I brought (yes...I actually packed some - you can mock but it's a godsend...seriously), then I shall be protected from whichever microscopic vermin or possible disease ridden bacteria have set up house there.
Aside from night time water sports, another evening ritual is to put on a dvd for the boys. I have lost track of how many times we've watched Star Wars, but it's Dumpies first choice time and again.
Now the thing about Dumps, although he is obsessed with Star Wars, it's actually the opening 'Da-da-da-da-da-daaaah' of the 20th Century Fox bit that he adores. He's forever begging, "Peeese Mama, me watch 'Dadadadadadaaah'! Peeeeeese?!"
(Auntie Ba cottoned onto this revelation some time ago and has kindly sent us the link to the opening credits so we can appease our youngest with a minimum of frustration...thanks Auntie Ba)
I'll be a bit sad when Dumps starts conversing normally, as he's currently sporting some classics, which the husband and I can't help but find endearing. "Tookie" (cookie) and 'Kepper' (ketchup) are firmly ensconced on the top five list, but it's liable to change daily as he begins to voice all manner of new phrases.
He still continues to berate me, "You stupid woman look what you make me do!" anytime he gets really frustrated or embarrassed. I don't even have to be in the same room to get the blame! But if he's just generally pissed off he'll stomp ominously towards me, eyes squinted and glaring, and spit out, "You stupid stinky poo poo pants dirty boy!" It's his greatest insult. But to be fair the blame lies with us as when previously frustrated by his refusal to use the potty we often called him a 'stinky poo pants'. Oooops.)
When uttered in public I don't think onlookers quite know what to make of our rude little rugrat. Being so tiny but so spirited he usually illicits bemused smirks, but we've really got to nip that one in the bud. Any older and if still sporting such behaviour, we'll have no choice but to whisk him off to a trailer park somewhere deep in Alabama or some other backward enclave in the "U.S. of F-ing A". where he'll fit right in speaking to the womenfolk this way. But as for our distinctly middle class hub in South West London, methinks it might not go down so well...
Dumpie is ultra aware when being patronised and as such, any precious moments between the husband and I - even if it's just a shared look of amusement - is met with scorn and derision as Dumps shouts, "You no laugh at me! You no smile at me!" Ummm...okay Dumps. We'll try and respect the mammoth sized ego squeezed into such a little pint-sized despot.
At any rate, he and Eggie are proper little Goan school boys now. Every morning Dumpie stands in our open plan kitchen, hands on hips, barking orders pertaining to which snacks he'd like me to fill his little school bag with. In a perfect world he'd just pocket the whole jar of peanut butter in his little bag, but it's getting embarrassing being the only mother sending her child to school with biscuits and the odd bunch of grapes, when the other little ones come with little tiffin boxes of savoury meals and snacks.
Eggie returned from HIS first day of school (the one which favours the 'Steiner' approach), announcing that it was too easy and he didn't learn a single thing.
He told us that his teacher said he could move from Class One (5-7 year olds) into Class Two (8-10 year olds), after he was caught answering sums aloud from the maths lesson next door. However when I broached the subject with his teacher I realised this was mere wishful thinking on his part as she firmly believes children his age shouldn't worry about maths and handwriting so young and there is no way he is moving out of his proper age-related class. Okey Dokey then :)
The only concession which has been grudgingly made is to allow Eggie, on occasion, to read aloud to his class once in awhile. And we've explained that he can use school as a social vehicle and we'll teach him the hard stuff at home. I do wonder how that might affect his popularity at school, but he doesn't seem to be bothered - his self-confidence at an all-time high given that he's the only one who appears to know what 142 minus 97 equals.
As for Dumps, apparently his German songstress of a teacher is worried that he's not joining in at 'circle singing time' with all the other children. Again, probably also our fault as I just couldn't bring myself to attend those mother/baby singsong groups when he was younger. Therefore she's given me a songbook of all their little ditties so we can practice at home and hopefully teach him the words and accompanying actions. Ummm...yeah...okay.
Dumps has told told me that the songs are 'stupid' and he won't sing. I actually don't blame him. I remember as a child refusing to sing aloud in class for the same reason.
The kid is cool. I get it. He's a little dude and singing "I'm a little teapot" is insulting to both his intelligence and his sense of self.
Now if only peeing on his mater fell under that self-same blanket of distaste....(sigh)