Wednesday, 21 May 2008

It's going to be one of those days

You know the sound of a fire alarm that changes tone roughly every 30 seconds - nah nah nah nah, wee wee wee, whoop whoop whoop... you get the idea. All at ear splitting volume so that it somehow gets inside your body and makes your insides vibrate. And you know how desperate you are to turn that noise off as you rush around the house trying to find the disarming code? Your blood pressure rises, your breathe comes faster and faster, your heart races - you just want the noise to stop.

Well replace fire alarm with my two year old and you'll get a clear picture of my morning. He has not stopped making loud wailing, screeching, screaming, crying noises since 7am. I've yet to fathom what the problem is. I do know I made the foolish mistake of cutting his toast in half when he wanted it left whole (and then apparently he wanted it cut into star shapes) but besides that small indiscretion, I can't quite figure out what the problem is.

Eventually, while attempting to have a shower with the wailing continuing, I turned into my mother and yelled: If you don't stop shouting I will give you something to shout about. Cue increased volume level. Why I thought today would be a good day to shave my legs I don't know. I'm sure the strip of unshaven hair won't be noticed. Much.

While getting dressed, my 4 year old decided to make a loud hailer using a loo roll (which was readily available as the 2 year old kindly unrolled all the paper off it). Very inventive. He then proceeded to yell at top volume: Porker the pig. Porker the pig. I have to assume that he was talking about the plastic animal his younger brother was forcing down the loo rather than his mother's figure.

Part of the reason today is not going to be a good day - besides all the joy that's already taken place - is that it's Wednesday. Wednesdays are my one day a week when I have no childcare. It's meant to be my day to enjoy my children. What that actually means is wondering how I'll entertain them for a full 12 hours while taking calls from clients who seem perfectly happy to chat over the volume of screaming children in the background. They however, are not the ones gesticulating wildly trying to stop small boys from scattering paper clips all over the study, emptying the bin or examining the beads on my necklace by pulling them off one by one.

Must dash...they're playing 'If you're happy and you know it, stick your finger up your bum' which I just know isn't going to end well.

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