So Grace had her first day at school. I can't really believe it. I still remember writing her first blog post, when she was two weeks old . Now she is a school girl.
How time flies - except nine weeks of summer holidays with three children-under-five however... that does does not fly at all.
I am not sure why it's called a holiday.. It's more like a sick experiment to push the very limits of my sanity. In the last two months Bliss started walking/running and Daisy decided it was time to stop wearing nappies...
I am not good at toilet training. Having honed my body to function like a camel (saves time).. I rarely need to wee. My girls are not like camels however. They are more like teapots. Tip them up and it all pours out.
I took them to Tring stuffed animal museum a few weeks ago, and then to a cafe for a nice cup of tea.. It was only 2pm. I did not know to look out for the 5pm poo...
I thought it was a croissant on the floor till I looked closer.
I had to clamp one hand over Grace's mouth to silence her "LOOK MUM, SHE JUST POOED ON THE FLOOR" and grab the (surprisingly hot) poo in a (thin) napkin with the other (before Bliss stomped on it).
Sound like a holiday yet?
Let's add in the fact that Grace stopped doing anything I asked about five weeks ago. She only responds to my exorcist impression, and even that is with much eye-rolling.
I know she is listening to what I am saying though because I hear her screeching "PACK IT IN. DO AS YOU'RE TOLD. I AM IN CHARGE, NOT YOU, ARE YOU TRYING TO SEND ME INSANE?!" to her sisters.. whilst holding them in a headlock (that bit is nothing to do with me... honest)
James was equally excited as he had begun to fear coming home, knowing he'd only get it in the ear about his "easy" day at work.
He argued that commuting to London in the middle of summer, trapped on the underground, under someones sweaty armpit, in a sweaty suit is hardly a holiday. I would snort derisively.
"Did you have to pick a warm poo up off the floor?"
"Did you have to walk round with one in your briefcase as there was no bin near you?"
"Did you have to clean poo from in between your toes where you slipped on it, and rode it across the floor?"
"Well then, your day sounds pretty fan-bloody-tastic to me."
Daisy fell in love over the summer. You may have heard of him. His name is Mr Tumble..
He has made my life so much easier I almost fancy him myself. Shame all his songs are so crap and he dresses up as a woman half the time.
Daisy did not enjoy any of the trips to the seaside over the summer. She was scared of the sea and howled when she, or any of us, went near it. She kept demanding we go back to the car and have a cup of tea.
Her love of charlie cloth remains. Bliss scales it to get on the sofa like that chap did with Rapunzel's hair. When she finally manages to get herself up, Daisy pushes her off again.
Bliss does not want to be 11-and-a-half months old. She wants to be four going on five. She has no time for rattles and dummies. She wants to climb up slides and run down hills and dance to Taylor Swift singing "We are never, ever ever getting back together" with her sisters.
Grace thinks she looks all that and a bag of pom bears in her school uniform. Her and Bliss push each other out the way to admire themselves in the mirror. Daisy is not bothered what she looks like. She and I share the same laisez-faire attitude to our hair and appearance.
Grace seems to be settling into school well. I know this because I hid in a bush and spied on her. I was delighted to see her having fun doing hula-hooping with her friends.
I was slightly less delighted when she ignored the teacher calling them all to line up... and then blowing a whistle at her, for a long time. I even shouted at her from my secret hiding place (made it slightly less secret) but she was so busy having fun she did not hear me either. In the end she had to be frogmarched over to the line. I slunk off before the teacher spotted me....
The main thing is she is having a good time, waving me off each day with a painfully (for me) casual "Yeah, bye mum" .....
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