My children have gone feral. They’ve been living in the garden for so long that they have turned into wild animals. And Halloween hasn’t helped, either.
As she descended the ladder this morning, Mini Seymour was grumpy. This in itself is not unusual. She wanted to watch television. I said no. She turned it on anyway. I turned it off. She turned it back on.I turned it off. She hit it. I told her off. Then she declared, “I don’t want to go to bloody school”.
At this, Boy Seymour roused himself instantly from sleep, and his booming voice penetrated the shed air: “She said bloody. Mum!!!! She said bloody.”
He wobbled, robot-like, down the ladder the wrong way, in a rush to witness me tell his sister off, and thence decided he needed the toilet IMMEDIATELY.
Of course, Number One was on the toilet. There’s no bursting in on her – not unless you want to unleash The Kraken. A slanging match ensued. Obvs.
Meanwhile… at the table, Mini Seymour was still in her pyjamas, but as she was looking at a book, I ignored her. She was muttering something about not wanting to go to school again, but as that is old news, I carried on looking for my socks.
Enter Little Seymour Number Two. The quiet one. The one everyone thinks is easy… unless you ask her to do her homework. She sat staring into space as usual until her brain woke up.
The toilet debacle passed as Number One stomped out of it, bemoaning her lot. She does that regularly. Last night, someone moved her devil horns, and by golly! Did we know she was upset! “I hate this! I just want my own room!!!!” she yelled. “People always move stuff!” Well, it’s true, they do. And it’s not right. But it happens! And we live in the developed world where “people moving your stuff” is a problem we are lucky to have. So there.
Back to Mini Seymour… she didn’t want to get dressed. I helped her, and tried to appease her terrible mood. I got so far, until she decided to unearth all her sweetie loot from last night onto the table to “sort it out”.
No, I said. Not now. Well, the world ended afresh. At which point she didn’t fancy anything I offered her for breakfast (“I only like white bread and there isn’t any white bread! Wail Wail! Boo! Boo!”- more First World problems). I offered her the dregs of the Kellogg’s Selection pack – two mini boxes of Rice Crispies and two of Multigrain Shapes. She hated those, too. They were disgusting.
Twenty minutes and a cuddle later, she was merrily chomping her way through a box of the “disgusting” cereal, having tucked into two pieces of brown toast beforehand. She calmed down and was civil again, until… we had to brush her teeth.
Boy Seymour went to school today in trousers that look like they’ve been worn for three solid weeks without a wash (not the case), all because he does not like the new ones I have got him. They’re too long, apparently. And they make his bum look big.
Before we left this morning, I had to inform Little Seymour Number Two that the remains of last night’s scary cat grin tattoo were still very much in evidence on her face, making it look like she had a five o’clock shadow. I shoved some cotton wool in her direction and hoped for the best.
I keep wondering if all of this “friction” will ease if and when we move into The Funny Little Bungalow. Or is it just the norm? Let’s face it, we are not The Waltons. So maybe, I am expecting too much from Four Little Seymours who are all getting quite big now, actually, and have their own likes, dislikes, opinions and outbursts. I just hope that deep down, they know a First World problem when they encounter one, and are able to put things into perspective. I believe they are studying The Holocaust at school currently – that should help. :-0
0 Comments