At around 2.30 this afternoon, I seriously began to think that the boys would embed Brio trains in to each others eye sockets if I didn't take action, pronto. We've done our best over the past two weeks, but entertaining two small boys for 12+ hours a day, when you have severe sniffle snuffles, is no joke. They've had more than their fair share of screen time and I've felt like an accomplished parent if they've eaten something not sourced from Birdseye. So, I persuaded Ben, aged 3 and easily cajouled into most things, and forced Thomas, aged 5 and determined to do the opposite of what's required at all times, to head out for a walk.
Ben happily wore his wellies, but Thomas insisted on wearing his muddy garden trainers (far too porous for the current weather). We tramped round the corner to the footpath and upon seeing the awesome range of deep, muddy puddles available, Thomas demanded to return home to change into wellies. Obviously I refused. He swiftly lumbered into the closest trench and looked at me as if his sodden shoes and socks were entirely my fault. I am after all evil and love nothing more than to be inconvenienced at all times. Bless. So, we jogged home in an inefficient fashion and Thomas changed into his wellies. I took a deep breath, rolled my eyes and swore when he wasn't looking - standard parenting.
Getting back to the footpath was a little irksome. Ben decided to do pigeon steps, examining each and every stone, worm and blade of grass en route, while Thomas took the opportunity to do his Usain Bolt impression along the busy road. After doing my hurry up/slow down nagging routine, we made it back to where we began. The next 10 minutes were little boy/Peppa Pig heaven. Jumping over, into and wading through, rain filled potholes, while I watched on, with my sinuses throbbing in the light drizzle. Oh, happy days!
After their joggers had had a thorough soaking and they'd ensured that there was as much muddy water inside their wellies as out, we continued. The next little boy cliche to occur (after throwing rocks at a signpost and climbing into a hedge) was making mud pies. This involved locating a muddy stick, crouching with their faces very close to the mud and scraping it in to oozing piles. I let them get on with this joyfully feral boy stuff for about 5 minutes as the rain poured down, until Thomas announced he could smell dog poo.
And that was the end of that. A swift traipse home, via the sheep dip and Dettol, ensued.
I often recount tales (to others and in my head) of what I get up to with the boys and I'm amazed that so much happens in such a short space of time. A hundred daft things can happen in one day when you have little children. And do you know what? You would never believe before children how it could be possible to unconditionally adore someone who loves nothing more than scraping mud (and possibly dog poo) in to a pile.
Love my boys. Happy New year!
Getting back to the footpath was a little irksome. Ben decided to do pigeon steps, examining each and every stone, worm and blade of grass en route, while Thomas took the opportunity to do his Usain Bolt impression along the busy road. After doing my hurry up/slow down nagging routine, we made it back to where we began. The next 10 minutes were little boy/Peppa Pig heaven. Jumping over, into and wading through, rain filled potholes, while I watched on, with my sinuses throbbing in the light drizzle. Oh, happy days!
After their joggers had had a thorough soaking and they'd ensured that there was as much muddy water inside their wellies as out, we continued. The next little boy cliche to occur (after throwing rocks at a signpost and climbing into a hedge) was making mud pies. This involved locating a muddy stick, crouching with their faces very close to the mud and scraping it in to oozing piles. I let them get on with this joyfully feral boy stuff for about 5 minutes as the rain poured down, until Thomas announced he could smell dog poo.
And that was the end of that. A swift traipse home, via the sheep dip and Dettol, ensued.
I often recount tales (to others and in my head) of what I get up to with the boys and I'm amazed that so much happens in such a short space of time. A hundred daft things can happen in one day when you have little children. And do you know what? You would never believe before children how it could be possible to unconditionally adore someone who loves nothing more than scraping mud (and possibly dog poo) in to a pile.
Love my boys. Happy New year!
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