A petrol station, a carwash and a non magical bottom ...

Yesterday after school we got in the car and I said in my jolliest voice "Who wants to come and get some petrol?" … funnily enough there was silence.

Our local petrol station was rammed and judging by the faces of my passengers they wouldn't take kindly to waiting for 15 minutes on the forecourt.

"It's OK" I said "Let's go to the other one".

"This is boring" said the 4 year old, "I'm hungry" said the 3 year old

Got to 'other one' to find it being demolished.

"Don't worry, let's go to the next one" I said, slightly less jolly.

"This is sooo boooooring" said the 4 year old, "I want crisps" said the 3 year old.

Five miles later and some crying from the 3 year old who was both mortified and mystified that I could not produce a snack out of my arse whilst driving we arrived at the petrol station … which was rammed.

I agreed that if they stop being grumpy I'd purchase a snack from the petrol station and then we'd go through the car wash. A bit of food based bribery never hurt anyone. The carwash was just a bonus in my eyes.

"This is really b …" the 4 year old stopped herself as the word 'snack' registered in her head. "I want big crisps ... please" the 3 year old said with a big smile.

Their only experience of car cleaning has been with the husband, he uses the handwash people who give the personal touch with a chamois leather. They may not have a working Visa but when they've finished you can see your face in the bonnet and that's all that matters.

Petrol pumped, snack purchased and off we went into the carwash tunnel. I tapped in the code, the children ate cookies.

Off it went, I was super excited "Oooooh look at that" I said as foam covered the car, then the big brushes started up, "Wow, look at the big brush rollers" I said .... "Check out the car blow dryer, isn't it good?".

They looked disinterested with a hint of fear. The 3 year old had his fingers in his ears.

When the carwash had finished, I got out to admire the gleam. It was a bit patchy, but still, better than before.

When I got back in the car I turned round and said "Wasn't that fun?!"

The 4 year old handed me her cookie wrapper. The 3 year old didn't respond either, he still had his fingers in his ears

"Can we just go home now and watch TV?" said the 4 year old, "Juice please" said the 3 year old.

The 4 year old turned to her brother and said "Mummy can't magic juice out of her bottom you know!"

Just another morning ...

It is half term. The kids are staying at home today with daddy. No rushing to school, stay in jamas as long as you like, steady away.

I have been awake since 5.30. I was rudely awoken by the 3 year old who crawled into bed and clamped his cold feet to my toasty warm body. I was momentarily bitter, well, for a few moments actually.

I read Snow White & the Seven Dwarves 14 times. The 3 year old is particularly taken by the evil queen who he refers to as the ‘nice fairy’.

I have drunk three cups of tea, it is only 7am.

I start breakfast proceedings. The 4 year old appears all sleepy, but instantly bossy. I ask them what they want; Cheerios for the 4 year old, Boulders and Crispies for the 3 year old. He’s a cereal mixer just like Gramps and Mummy.

After breakfast I bung some washing in the dryer and put a new load in the washer. The never ending cycle. I constantly have two baskets of ironing on standby. Standing by for a time when I have three days spare to do the lot in one go. Never. Gonna. Happen.

The chilren are playing one of their chase, growl and laugh, chase, growl and cry games together.

I tell them I’m going to get ready for work; No playing with knives, ringing Australia on my mobile or ordering porn on Sky. I’m joking right?

All is well. I am able to shower, get dressed, apply make-up and, shock horror, brush my hair. I worry that my work colleagues may not recognise me if I am not sporting my ‘dragged through a hedge’ look.

I come back downstairs and busy myself with packing my handbag with enough sugary snacks to last till lunchtime. I can hear the children playing. This is a good sign. Silence is bad, screaming is bad, good old chuntering and playing is excellent. The only problem being I can’t locate them!

I follow their hushed tones to the downstairs toilet. I panic a little, my heart isn’t ready for another episode of poo clearing, wee on the wall or a towel induced sink flood or … well they could be up to anything to be fair.

I open the door anxiously to find, in a room the size of an average toilet cubicle, the 3 year old, a pillow, a drum, some plastic food, a small suitcase and the 4 year olds duvet which is … moving.

I remove the duvet to find the dog, a rather large Labrador, who looks at me with pleading eyes. If she could speak she would be screaming ‘PLEASE TAKE ME AWAY FROM THESE PEOPLE’.

After a discussion about toilets and bedding not mixing, the dog liking her own space and the perils of playing games in the vicinity of the toilet bowl I go to work …

… for a rest.