"Right, Here's The Plan...."

"I'm going to the loo, you two be good..."

......

"She's gone, quick, stop putting MegaBloks in her handbag and get over here and listen. Last night was pretty good, but I think we can do better."

"Last night was good, wasn't it? I especially like the way we lulled her into a false sense of security by being totally silent until 11pm."

"Yeah, I think she even came in and checked I was still breathing a couple of times."

"She still does that to me, aren't parents weird? Anyway, do you want to take the first shot tonight?"

"I'll do the first proper ambush, but I think you should do a bit of prep first. Dad will leave for work about 9.30, so once he's out of the way, why don't you have a few squawks every now and again?"

"Sounds like a plan. Shall I do it early, so she has to run up and down the stairs, or wait til she's in bed?"

"Try a bit of both, but save the best of it until she's upstairs, finished faffing around in the bathroom, and then just got herself all cozy in bed."

"Gotcha. Think I'll start with that thing where I shout "No no no!" a few times, and then immediately go quiet again, so she doesn't come in and see me, but also can't drop off to sleep because she's wondering if I'm going to do it again."

"That's brilliant. Then, just when she's decided you're happy and asleep, and is dozing off, I'll bring out the big guns. She'll probably try and fob me off with that dummy, and the rabbit, and all that head-stroking nonsense, but I'm not letting her hold out on me."

"And once you're settled and getting fed, and she's playing that stupid game on her phone, I'll start making noises again."

"Not too many though, I'm not really a fan of having my midnight snack interrupted."

"Oh get over it, she always puts you back on. Where is she, by the way? Shouldn't she be back by now?""

"I think she's making coffee. She's done that a LOT today."

"OK, so you're feeding, I'm making noises. I might mumble stuff about sandwiches or something, that always confuses her. Make sure you don't go straight back off to sleep once you've finished. Do that mad thrashing thing for a while."

"Oh yeah, that's well fun. And then I'll go to sleep..."

".. and it'll be my turn! I did water last night, shall I ask for a wee tonight?"

"That's a good idea. Make sure you wake right up once you get in the bathroom and tell her that it's dark outside."

"I always do. She might not know. That's probably taking us up to about 3am. Shall we sleep for a bit then? You can always do a random early-morning feed if you think she's getting too much."

"Yeah, I think I will. I like those, she can't be arsed to sit in the chair to feed me, so I get to go in the big bed and feed on and off for hours!"

"And I'll get up for the day not long after that. Must make sure I don't coincide it with Dad coming home though, that's a wasted opportunity. Speaking of Dad, make sure you screech a lot in the morning so he can't get any sleep either..... Quick, she's coming back! Look innocent. Stick your foot in your mouth."

........

"Are you OK?"

"Yes, Mammy. Want Beebies?"

"Fine, whatever."

Mortified.

Husband picked The Toddler up from nursery last week, and was told by the nursery staff that our delightful daughter doesn't help tidy up. Oh, the shame, the shame! I feel like I'm the naughty child being told off, and I wasn't even there. Thank goodness, I probably would have cried.

I know why she doesn't tidy up, it's because I'm so impatient, that I just tidy up for her, so that it's done in 30 seconds as opposed to an hour. She sweeps off up to bed, and then once she's asleep, I repair the damage sustained to my living room, and she comes down in the morning to find it shiny and new. Like the shoemaker and her elves. Or something.

So, cue lots of desperate attempts to teach her the necessity of tidying-up, so that I can show my face at nursery again. We're getting there. I hope.

The Crap Parent's Arsenal

My weapons are ineffective, but they're all I've got.

The Bare-Faced Lie: "Monster game's broken", "The cheese has all gone", "CBeebies doesn't work until later".

The Corner: As in "That was not very nice, go and sit in the corner/step". Not becuase you think they'll sit nicely and reflect upon what they've done, but because you need, just temporarily, to be somewhere they are not.

The Reckless Abandon: When faced with a throw-body-on-floor-and-refuse-to-move tantrum. "OK, I'll just leave you there then", walk away, and hope like mad they will get up and follow.

The Desperate Bluff: "If you don't do as you're told, we won't go to Grandma's". You have absolutely no intention of staying in the house with them for one more minute, so you hope the threat is sufficient, and you won't be exposed as the fraud you really are.

The Beebie Sitter: When you cannot have any more stickers stuck to you, when "That's Not My Lion" has completely lost any charm it once had, when all you want to do is sit down and have a cup of tea in relative peace, let Show Me Show Me, Waybuloo, and Mr Tumble do your child-rearing for you.

The Food Bribe: You swore you would never encourage an unhealthy relationship with food by linking it to behaviour, but the sentence "Alright! If you stop having a tantrum you can have a biscuit" still slips out.

The Reasonable Chat Charade: You come down to their level, and explain in kind but assertive tones why their behaviour is not acceptable. You know they're not listening, but don't want the people around you to hear you barking "Oh, just pack it in, will you?".

The Inappropriate Plaything: You know they shouldn't really be playing with that phone/pepper grinder/expensive ornament/bottle of hairspray, but it's guaranteed to buy a few minutes entranced quiet.

The Full-Body Lockdown: When no amount of bribing, cajoling, threatening, distracting, game-playing, or outright yelling will persuade them into their nappy/socks/coat/trousers, you take a deep breath, pray your neighbours won't look in through your window and call Social Services, and tackle....

Mammy, Wha'choo Doin?

I swear to God, child, if you ask me that one more time the answer is going to be "Braying my own head in with the nearest blunt instrument".

Curses, Foiled Again.

Last night, in readiness for this morning, I actually made a concerted attempt to be a nice wife. Husband was on nights, and normally I'm a bit crap at getting us all ready and out of the way quietly so he can have some sleep. But last night, I was good and got myself a bit organised. I picked out some clothes so I wouldn't have to fumble around in the semi-darkness looking for something that looked vaguely presentable. I went in the shower. I even straightened my hair. Everything was all in place so that I would have little more to do in the morning than throw on said clothes. Which would mean I could leave The Toddler playing in her room without her really noticing I've gone, because if she knows I'm going in the shower, she demands to watch Peppa Pig in our room., and is seemingly incapable of doing this quietly, preferring to jump around the bed, regardless of who else is in it.

The morning started quite well. The Toddler woke at 6.22am, which is less than ideal, but after a wee and a drink of water, she, to my complete surprise, capitulated to my usually-futile request to go back to bed for a bit. We got another hour's sleep (although I was rudely awoken by Husband coming home in the middle of that, hmph), yay. After breakfast, I was about to implement my "get ready efficiently and with considerate stealth" plan, picked up The Littl'un..... who threw up on me. All over my back (she somehow managed to be sick, not on my top, but actually down the back of it, which is quite impressive really), and all over the ends of my painstakingly straightened hair. I'm normally a bit scummy about going about my day covered in regurgitated milk, but this was too much even for me. Cue showering, noise, DVDs, Daddy-climbing, and all the other things I had hoped to avoid.

Ah well, as the late, great Solomon Burke once said (great in stature as well as in music, I know, I once sat on his throne. Not a euphemism.), "There's always tomorrow". 10.30am should see me meeting my mam in the Metro Centre, having got us all up and dressed without getting showered in sick or waking up Husband. Here's hoping.

Nappyless: Abort

My head is a bit bashed after two days of dealing with Toddler whinges (if I never hear the word "No" again, it will be too soon), so I will expand more later, but in brief, The Toddler is back in nappies. Fail.

Bleh.

I can't think of a proper title. Bleh will have to do.

So, had a bit of a funny few days. On the toilet front, more of the same. I have to remember to take The Toddler to the loo (and ignore her when she says she doesn't want to go) or we get "I done a wee wee on the ground". On the early bed-time for The Littl'un front, that's still going pretty well. She now sleeps like a log, because on Saturday I abruptly decided to put her in her own room. Which I feel bad about, because she's not 6 months old yet, and I have screams of "cotdeathcotdeatharrrrgggh!" that whizz round my head occasionally. But we were waking her up every time we moved, which was very often, given that Husband is incapable of getting ready for bed quietly, I am a ridiculously fidgety sleeper, and The Toddler usually has us up at least once. And she'd waking herself up getting her arms stuck between the bars of the really-too-small-for-her crib. And then snuffle for ages while she got herself back to sleep. So yes, she now sleeps much better. Unfortunately, only til about 3.30, when I then have to go and feed her. The words "shot" and "foot" keep trying to spring to mind.

Anyway, on Saturday, The Toddler all of a sudden developed a raspy, Marge Simpson voice, and woke up a few times in the night coughing. She was a bit grumpy on Sunday, which wasn't great, as I was taking her to a Hallowe'en party. She was meant to be dressed as a bat, but ended up looking more like an interpretative dancer, as she refused to keep her ears and wings on, so was just in black with a purple tutu. The Littl'un was meant to be a witch, but I had a bit of a fail with her dress (I tried to dye it black, but it was polyester, so it just went a bit dirty looking), and she had a tiny hat, but it fell of and she was sick on it. I myself managed to rustle up a half-arsed pirates costume, complete with a sword that was made out of the side of a boots.com delivery box, which I gave to The Toddler to take to the car for me, then never saw again. Once at the party, signs started to emerge that The Toddler was really not herself. She kept wanting to sit on my knee and cuddle, and which is always nice because I don't normally get them, but also unnerving, because I don't normally get them. Also, and this is how I knew for certain that she was quite poorly, I put some food on a plate for her, and the plate included grapes, biscuits and cheese, and SHE DID NOT EAT IT. The Toddler REFUSED CHEESE. This is like the DFS sale ending - a concept my brain just can't get to grips with. That night, she turned into a baby seal. Or at least, that's what it sounded like. Actually, it's the cough that goes with croup. And it would be funny to hear your child barking like a seal, if it wasn't so freaky and so obviously uncomfortable. A rough night was had by all. Except for The Littl'un, who slumbered on regardless, got fed, and then had more sleep. Alright for some.

Decided The Toddler should go to the doctors. Phoned them expecting to be told to come in at 3.30 and then sit for hours until someone could see her, which is what usually happens. Oh no, can we come at 8.30? It was 8.05 and all three of us were still in pyjamas, and two of us were covered in baby sick. But I managed it, and, typically, The Toddler was struck down with Washing Machine Repairman Syndrome, and perked up immeasurably. The doctor confirmed she had croup and told me there was nothing she could have for it, but to keep an eye on her. By late afternoon, I was beyond sick of flicking through the channels to find something an increasing grumpy little madam would deign to watch, and said madam's breathing was starting to sound worse, so I phoned the doctor, who told me to take her to the children's unit at the hospital (not because it was deathly serious, I don't think but because it was nearly 5pm and he probably wanted to go home). So we got to check out the lovely shiny and sparkly emergency children's care unit. It has funky orange and green chairs, and lots of toys. 'Tis very nice. The Toddler was given some steroids, and perked up almost instantly and started haring around the room and trying to jump on the beds in a marked contrast to the crying baby in Assessment Room 1 and the boy dressed as a skeleton in the waiting room, who was bleeding from his ear.

And now she is asleep (although I wrote that on Facebook before, and she instantly woke up crying, so I hope I don't break it again). The magic steroids appear to be doing their thing, and she seems much less seal-like than last night. So far. I don't like having a poorly little girl. At least it got us out of the house, so we didn't have to answer the door to teenagers who think that putting on a mask from the newsagents entitles them to my chocolate. We did try putting some sweets outside for kids to help themselves to. Someone stole the tub. Not just all the sweets, the actual plastic Celebrations tub they were in. My street's a classy place.

Happy Hallowe'en everyone!