I'm not much better as a mother. This morning I told Bea I didn't really want to go in to help out at her school. She was making the point that lots of mums go in to listen to the children reading or to help with baking or even to accompany them on a school trip (horrific). I don't even take cakes in for the cake sale (SHHHHHHH - I do buy them though and that must count for something) anyway, she asked why. I made the Ted excuse. She said Harini's mum does. I said maybe Harini's mum doesn't have lots of children. She said yes she does Harini has four brothers and a sister. I was stuck - and slightly amazed as six children is a lot. She said, well when Ted is older can you. I still said no. I know that at this point I should have just said yes to shut her up but I thought I'd nip this in the bud. She said why. I said, because I don't care about other people's children. And there is the simple truth of it. I just don't. I mean I don't want to appear mean I am a huge lover of children and all, it's just that obviously mine are the best. If it was just Bea I was going in to help I would make it my priority but it isn't - there are 29 others and I feel no love for them so I couldn't really care less how they are doing or if they need help with anything. I cannot be alone in this - it's not like I have no feelings for other children - there a quite a number of whom I am particularly fond but let's be honest, Other People's Children are mostly annoying, they don't smell right and the stories about them are on the whole, quite dull. Anyway, in the end I conceded the point and agreed that Harini's mum was just a better mother than me. Bea agreed and then, with just the right comedy timing (as she is mine she is perfect and amusing and you must love hearing about her) she said - 'but at least she doesn't have style.' I know the sentence wasn't formed correctly but in essence she meant I was a better dresser. I was immensely proud. Of myself for having style and of course of her for realising these things are what really matter. (I later found out in the park that Harini is, in fact, an only child - I am less proud of the lying but I think it shows determination. It is just plain old lying in OP'sC.)
It must be different for other people because I can only assume that they love my children and find them totally adorable because of course they are just that. Also I now have a genius - I haven't had one before and had become quite used to revelling in their lack of academic prowess - but Ted is now a bone fide genius. An evil one which will be problematic as he grows but a genius nonetheless. Not only can he point at his nose and say, nose, he can say 'three' if you say one and two. SEE. You are amazed. And, and, and, he can wee on a potty when asked. COME ON - he isn't yet two. I know you are gobsmacked. Don't worry about your own inferior children, I'm sure they'll catch up eventually.
One more child-related tale for this Friday night. On Wednesday I took Bea out of school at lunch time for an Optician’s appointment. (The teacher suggested we go as Bea is having trouble with her writing – I think she just isn’t particularly good at it but I thought I ought to rule it out just in case) When I made the appointment I had no idea the sheer level of excitement it would bring about for Bea. She literally couldn’t wait for Wednesday to roll around and awoke at 5.30am with the anticipation. (I could sort of understand the excitement over visiting the Doctor at the private hospital ‘up west’ but an Optician down the road? Mystified) I picked her up and tried to curb her enthusiasm on the walk down. By the time we got there it became apparent that she needed the loo. I asked the receptionist if she could use theirs. ‘No’, she said ‘it would be far too dangerous’. My mind boggles wondering what hazards the receptionist and the optician were able to overcome several times a day in order relieve themselves but which could be potentially life threatening for my daughter. I didn’t argue the point, I left the receptionist with a sleeping Ted in the buggy and ran down to the pub with B and G. I went in to the adjacent cubicle to G and experimented with the lock – I then repeated to G that he just needed to lift the lock up. He kept trying but to no avail, even though he assured me in a panicked tone that he was ‘twying with all his might' (again his inability to say 'r' is adorable as he is mine - that isn't necessarily true of OP'sC). He tried to get out under the door but his head was too big. I was seriously panicking at this point. Then we tried again, with me pushing his head down and pulling at the same time - this time it worked, he got out without a scratch. Relief. Then I felt bad about leaving a locked, empty stall in a nice pub in which I had spent no money. So I sent Bea in, back under the gap (might have scratched her a bit) and she got in, pushed the lock down (this stall was evidently different to the other three) and we were free to leave to get back to her sight test. Crisis averted.
Turns out she did indeed love the opticians and all the sight tests and as we left, pronounced it to be 'the most fun ever'. I am seriously never going to take them to Legoland. It would blow her mind and she might never be that excited again about mundane health appointments. Oh, and her sight needs testing again in six months as there is some issue with her not seeing the very small letters. She is thrilled.
Take away here - I have to go. K is losing patience.
Bon appetit x
(Stupid computer yet again lost half of the text when I posted it. ARGGGHHHHH. If you clicked on it when it was first posted there was a large chunk missing. Apologies)