Toddler tactics

Gah – it’s been one of those toddler days.

 A never-ending establishing of boundaries only to have them toppled again seconds later. This afternoon I sat on the floor wrestling her away from a bar stool in the leisure centre café. We nearly toppled a woman off it. Angrily she lifted her bag off the stool next to her. “Have I taken your seats?” she snaps, justifiably annoyed. Ida refuses to relinquish her iron grip on the leg, “Mine! MINE!” she howls. “No no” I say weakly. She retorts “It’s not a problem” (clearly it is, she’s tight-lipped) “No – I mean, she wants ALL the stools and probably your shoes and handbag too. Tomorrow she’ll invade Poland” She thaws – and laughs – I must look thoroughly brow beaten, sprawled on the floor. Zeph’s been out of swimming for at least two minutes. He’ll be standing by the doors dripping and furious, awaiting his towel.

Like a goddess the woman relents and proves the sisterhood rule and some  experienced toddler tactical knowledge. Pointing she trills “Ohhhh – MY towel!” Ida hurriedly wriggles out from under the stool and dashes to lay claim to it. My newfound lifesaver adds, “I’ll race you to the pool” to Ida’s back as she sprints off trailing the towel behind her.

I mouth a dishevelled “Thank you” and follow with the pushchair. As I turn the corner I can hear Zeph wailing, “No! – it’s my toweeeeeel- I neeeed it!”

It’s been a long evening.

and now I have to try to piece a lining to my patchwork skirt. I’ve already gathered it. I know it’s not going to work but have bodged myself into a corner. Again – Gah.

I desperately need to knit some ravelled sleeves of care – see – I’m gibbering. And seeing double, or is that just where I’ve sewn the skirt, lining and all to the leg of my jeans?


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