We not only lost an hour, we lost our sanity

An hour, one measly hour has caused havoc with bedtime.

Before the clocks went forward all was well …

Bath, bedtime story, snuggle, goodnight kiss.
All asleep by 7.45.
Glass of vino, feet up, watch TV.

Now?

Bath, bedtime story, snuggle, goodnight kiss.

Then at intervals to suit they get out of bed and hover at the top of the stairs shouting the following;

4 year old – “Mummy, I need to tell you a joke”

10 mins …
3 year old – “Mummy, I need a wee”

5 mins …
4 year old – “Mummy, I have an itch”

5 mins …
3 year old – “Mummy, Ratty is on the floor”

10 mins …
4 year old – “Mummy, he keeps tapping on my wall”

5 mins …
3 year old – “Mummy, pre-school tomorrow?”

10 mins …
4 year old – “Mummy, I accidentally fell out of bed”

10 mins …
3 year old – “Mummy, I need a poo”

5 mins …
4 year old – “Mummy, I've spilt water on my bed”

Then … silence.

That’s an hour of up and down, up and down, up and down. The same amount of time that was unpleasantly stolen last Sunday.

The morning after the night before I am greeted by yawning, grumpy children.

They argue about which cereal to have, which chair to sit on, who will look at the milk carton, who should get the fairy dust out of the bottom of the cereal packet, who is the more accomplished whistler ... and so on and so forth.

It takes three times as long to do anything. I feel like one of those women in the cartoons who is jumping up and down, bright red in the face with steam coming out of her ears.

I set off for school with the 4 year old who tells me she doesn't want to go to school because it's 'absolooooooootely boring'.

I want to beat her with my handbag, but I refrain.

The Princess of 'Dilly Dally'

I'm waiting for 4 year old to pick a bedtime story. She runs her finger along all 50 of the Mr Men & Mrs spines then starts on her other books. Slowly. She runs her finger back looking thoughtful. Slower still. Then she starts on the Mr Men & Mrs books again.

Tick tock tick tock.

All the while I am lying on her bed watching, thinking that if I were to lie here another five minutes I would fall asleep.

The 2 year old is shouting from the room next door "Socks, socks, Mummy, socks, Mummy". Not only is he unable to sleep without socks but now they have to be odd socks.

When I return from sock duty I say to her "Come on now, just pick one, it's getting late"

She looks at me like I'm mad and continues the selection process, this time getting five books out on the rug and 'umming' and 'aaahing'. She puts them back and picks another five.

Tick tock tick tock.

Enough is enough. "Right, I am counting to five, if you haven't picked a book I will pick one for you .......... 1 .......... 2 .......... 3 .......... 3 and a half .........." I say to her.

She gets up from kneeling in front of her shelves and says to me "Mum. You are giving my life away!"

I think "Actually, where have the last 4 and a half years gone?"

I am giving her life away to the time bandits minute by minute, hour by hour.

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It is also my little big sisters birthday today.

She is eleven years older than me and shorter than me.

My sister K is smaller than me
I can lift her up quite easily
She can't lift me
she's tried and tried
I must have something heavy inside

Happy birthday little big sister! I love you.

Fishfingers, Fireworks and Fate

We are driving home from teacher friend, mother of three’s fishfinger and firework extravaganza. The 4 year old is grumbling about having to leave the fun to go home to bed. The grumbling quickly escalates into a rant with tears and she is given a warning that if she continues she’ll lose a bedtime story. Low and behold … she continues.

“One bedtime story gone” I say.

She stops crying and with an air of injustice says “Mummy, if you are not nice to me I won’t be your child anymore” adding a huff on the end for effect.

I have never heard of social services intervention due to bedtime story withdrawal so I confidently deliver the news that we are stuck with each other forever.

Accepting her doom, she points at the 2 year old who, sensing the unrest has taken to his favourite pastime of raspberry blowing “Will he always be my brother?”

“Yes” I reply “We are stuck with him too”.