Shit parenting volume 4 (or it could be more. I've lost count)

twin 1

At the end of a meeting a colleague asked me how my children were.  Having had my professional hat on for the the last half hour my veneer slipped and I spoke as a mother on the edge.

"I have got no idea why, but the twins just cry so bloody much.  At everything.  As often as they can.  Every morning is a screamfest over getting dressed to go to kindy.  Twin1 steadfastly refuses to wear anything but a tiny little sun dress.  It's 10 degrees outside"

"Pick your battles." My colleague said.  "Don't fight over clothes, just let her wear what she wants.  She probably only makes a fuss with you, I bet she lets the kindy staff put jumpers and trousers on her.  It won't kill her to be cold for a short while."

And so it has been over the last two weeks that I have allowed the tiny little soul to go to kindy with barely a scrap of clothing on.  It's bloody freezing and I ask her if she'd like a jumper but the answer's always the same.  Yesterday I was told that a few parents have expressed concern over her clothes.  The last thing any parent needs is another parent's judgemental crap.  So to all those who give me the 'you're a shit parent' glance when they see twin1 dancing around gaily in her sundress and sparkly shoes while the rain sheets down in icy needles I gather myself to my full height, raise my head snootily in the air, muster as much dignity as possible and shout 'FUCK OFF.'

Please leave a message

Long chats on the phone are my specialist subject. I can settle into an hour plus of chin wagging with pretty much anyone: my Dad, an old school chum in the UK, a friend who lives a few roads away and I see pretty much daily or someone I have never met and am supposed to be interviewing for a magazine article. I thoroughly enjoy the downing of tools and immersing myself into a conversation. This luxury is being somewhat curtailed by my littlies. The lad sometimes answers the phone himself, loses interest, chucks it on the sofa and doesn't tell me someone is patiently asking 'is your mummy there?'

If I get to the phone first I immediately commence a continuous lap of the garden and house as I try to shake the twins off. They trot behind me wailing to pick them up/get them some milk/put on their sparkly shoes for the duration of my phone call. I try doubling back on them, locking myself in toilets, going out into the road and shutting them inside our garden and any manner of anti-tailing techniques which spring to mind. They are impressively dogged in their pursuit and I often succumb to their insistent bawling by irritably hanging up and allowing them to swarm over me like ants.

My clever friend http://www.mareewilkinson.con/ took this pic of twin1

I think we might need to section Mummy

For some time now, perhaps 400 days or so (give or take) the twins have been bawling their little eyes out and clinging to me as one would to the last dry mast on a sinking ship. That is until 10 days ago (exactly). I took them to a friend's house a week last Sunday afternoon so we could chin wag and drink cold Coronas. Imagine my staggered, mildly suspicious surprise to see them totter from the car to her front door and play with the toys, giggle at the older children and generally enjoy themselves in a way that makes parents pleased to be parents of such well behaved children. My chum noticed the lack of histrionics too. I barely dared to breathe of the change to anyone else in case I cursed it. Two other friends have remarked upon the uncharacteristic calmness of the girls this week too.

I'd like to say their turn in behaviour was down to the suggestion my sister in law made some time ago when I was looking for an au pair. She wondered if they wouldn't benefit more from daycare rather than reinforcing the clingy behaviour by bringing another mother figure in. The lightbulb popped in my head at the obvious genius of her suggestion and I bustled them off to our local preschool. The first few weeks at dropping off and picking up time the girls managed to give the soundtrack to 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre' a run for it's money but of late they toddle in and out quite happily, used to their new routine.

More likely the reason is this. The twins have watched in beady fascination as they pushed me to the raw, ragged limits of patience and just as I tipped, spinning eyed and gnashing over the edge of the abyss they decided they were bored of that game and started to behave like gorgeous little angels.

As far as developments go, this one's a whopper. To celebrate, the husband and I are going bowling this evening.

Cry Me A River

The little twins are 19 months old. At birth they rated about average on the crying scale. They have progressed to having some of the most frequently used tear ducts in the southern hemisphere. For the first 7 or 8 months I could let the sound of dual screaming wash over me whilst plodding on the with the required tasks in the correct order (make food, shovel food in, wipe up excess, undress screamers, soak in bath, lather in 'no tears' shampoo, laugh at the irony, notice that my laughter is drowned out by warbling twins and so on and so forth). At 15 months old my patience was starting to be stretched. At 19 months I can barely string a coherent thought together. Sometimes I feel like my brain merely functions to be irritated by the sounds of crying or try to stay calm despite the crying. Soon the very last shred of patience will dissolve into my own screaming.

I'm writing this on a Friday night, drinking a glass of wine and watching old episodes of Sex And The City. The silence is gorgeous.