Saturday, 29 January 2011
"The Trials and Tribulations of Being An Egg..."
It was pre-bed shower time when this was discovered, and a freak out of such proportions ensued that the husband and I were left quarrelling about who should trek back out to the beach and go on a hunt for the lost bear (which Egg said he thought he'd left on the sand 'somewhere'.)
I hadn't even gone out to dinner that night, so was arguably annoyed that the husband thought it my responsibility when in my opinion it was his fault for a) letting Egg take his bear out to dinner in the first place b) not ensuring Egg brought bring it back home again (esp. given Egg's predisposition to lose anything not tied onto himself or otherwise permanently affixed to his person).
The husband countered with the argument that his right foot was weepy and infected, and that it would cause him considerable discomfort to walk back out there.
We were at an impasse. Egg was inconsolable. However a sudden brainwave courtesy of the husband resulted in a cleverly executed phone call to the restaurant whereby we were informed that another little boy from Egg's school had found Bacon and taken him home for safekeeping.
Egg immediately calmed down. And Dumpie (who usually shows absolutely no interest in HIS teddy bear - hence it's usually found at the bottom of a heap of dirty laundry or discarded toys) came strutting by, proudly clutching his teddy and proclaiming, "I am sleeping with MY teddy tonight Eggie." Little rascal.
Then, a few days ago, Egg began furiously scratching his head. It would appear that after dodging the dreaded scourge of 'nits' for over six years (yes, I can proudly state that as a family, we have had a perfect record of having being 'nit-free', despite all those dreaded mimeographed sheets handed out by teachers informing us of yet another 'outbreak' in the school) we've tragically succumbed.
(Oh how fast and hard the proud and mighty fall...For years I would affix a kindly but hesitant grin on my face when hearing of how other mothers had found 'bugs' in their children's hair. The very thought disgusted me and I prayed I'd be able to get through the primary years unscathed. Wrong-o. Now it's my turn to feel all the other parents eyes on Egg and Dumps, watching each scratch with lowered lids and an accusatory glare...alas.)
To make matters worse, Egg has been anticipating the arrival of his beloved 'Grammitay' (my mum) and 'Auntie Ba' (my sis) with the same fervour and anticipation as many religious folk eagerly await 'The Second Coming'.
He has been counting down the number of 'sleeps' for the past fifteen days, and thus when two days ago we were informed that due to severe storms their flights had been cancelled, Egg went into a depressive meltdown. Not only that but their trip has been delayed by an extra two days.
At this point I don't think Egg actually still believes that they're coming. But coming they are. And now I have to figure out a way to get OUT of the promise I foolishly made to Egg a week ago saying that he and I could get up in the middle of the night and sit across the road and wait for their arrival.
Don't get me wrong: I love my family and I'm absolutely dying to see them. But the thought of fending off potentially rabid dogs in the pitch black pre-dawn with an over excited six year old repeatedly asking, "Are they coming yet? Why aren't they here? I'm cold...I'm hungry...Mama WHEN are they COMING?!" is so not my idea of a good time.
Perhaps I'll make it up to him by letting him take some time off school while they're here. I suppose it's not going to harm his chances too much of getting into Oxford one day if he misses the opportunity to fashion yet another finger puppet out of straw and cardboard or brush up on his meditative yoga chanting.
Though Egg has already pipped us to the post in that regard, having apparently informed his teacher and classmates several weeks ago that he shall cease attending school for good once his visitors arrive.
Maybe things are about to take a turn for the better for wee Egg (especially as I have it on good authority that some Reeces Peanut Butter Cups - his absolute fave - are winging their way towards us as we speak).
As for me? I am too heavily traumatised over this nit thing to be caring about much else at the moment. If I didn't think it would freak my mum and sis out so badly I'd be sorely tempted to pile the whole family onto the Enfield right now and head for the local barber and have us shorn en masse.