Over the past week or two I have been feeling increasingly ground down by the antics of my littlies. Twin2 has been crying most for most of her waking hours over the last four weeks. The belligerence from the lad is astonishing. This morning he yelled "I'm in charge" at me as he ate scrambled eggs. The complexity of the night time musical bed routine is impressive. Two nights ago 4am saw me getting up to retrieve a screaming twin1 from her cot. I crept back down the corridor with her to the lad's room where I had been squashed in the corner with twin1 since 1am. At midnight the lad had been scared and wanted to cuddle up to his Daddy in our bed and there started the relocation program.
The following day twin2 excavated the lumpy contents of the toilet (the lad tends not to flush). Leaving bubbling pots and pans on the cooker I thought I'd run a quick head count. The lad and twin1 were watching Peppa Pig in the living room. Nice. Twin2 was armpit deep in the toilet bowl, flicking the water and other more substantial items around the room with a brown flecked toilet brush. The pool of liquid about her feet was seeping into her socks. She smiled as she saw me, dropped the brush and started to raise her hand to put her fingers into her mouth. Not quite as nice.
And then a slamming great ray of sunshine beamed down upon me in the form of a few hours with my daughter. Each Tuesday afternoon, the lad has fun at kindergarten with his chums and the girls take it in turns to go to daycare. This week it was twin 2's turn to potter about with her ma. We took our lunch down to the boardwalk by the beach. As we walked together, we held hands and she smiled with her mouth open in delight as we watched little birds hop across our path and surfers whip their boards across the huge waves. We sat down on a bench underneath a tree and ate vegemite and avocado sandwiches. It was just so perfect. My sweet little girl.