A Day in With the Kids

A full day at home with the kids is something that I attack with the best intentions. I’ll plan to play a number of different games with them throughout the day; role playing activities like ‘House’, ‘Princesses’ and ‘School’, old classics like ‘Hide & Seek’ as well as a favourite of theirs: ‘run, run as fast as you can.’ The latter involves me running around our kitchen island, pretending to be the Big Bad Wolf, gobbling up the gingerbread girls as I catch them (unless the eldest says “freeze”, which happens a lot when I'm gaining on her).  

The day will start off so well (hide and seek to begin). I’ll commence counting until they’re out of earshot, and then when I’m set, I’ll shout the known phrase “ready or not…” They’ll both still be giggling as I make my way towards their room, at which point my littlest girl will jump out and shout “peek-a-boo!” I’ll then pretend to search several other spots, before ‘stumbling’ upon my little girl in her hiding spot. This will be followed by the aforementioned chase around, and it’s not long before all hell breaks loose.

A full day indoors is often a bit too much for the terrible twosome. They’ll begin to act like caged lions with tempting meat sitting on the other side of the bars, by early afternoon. They’ll be near complete lunatics; akin to little monkeys jumping around and swinging off lampshades or grizzly bears grabbing at everything in sight (my littlest girl loves to throw the couch cushions halfway across the room!), while they'll always find themselves in (and making a mess of) a princess dress or two through the day. Like many, I always said I would not be the type to just throw my children a tablet, but there’s nothing that composes them better.

The tablets also give me chance to have a ten-minute chill, to tidy up, or a bit of space to cook dinner. For their food, my little girl will tend to make her choice, then swear blind she’s ordered something completely different when it appears in front of her, while my littlest girl will push a plate of food away, even though I know darn well that she likes the child-friendly fare (it’s like there’s a secret language for kids!). Albeit, the youngest will go back to her plate when she’s good and ready, while her elder sister will whinge and moan as she picks at the meekest of morsels in front of her, irritatingly slowly; before deciding that the rest of it is too cold. At which point I’ll tell her to eat a certain amount before she can have any form of treat (I know, soft touch).

Dinner will be followed by the inevitable cleanup: of the plates and the table, off the floor and the couches, off the chimney at the top of the house (only joking, we don’t have a chimney). I’ll be constantly pulled away from this task by the terrible twosome, mithering for all of the goodies they have yet to shovel down their throats, and this will not stop until they get at least two (one, at the very least, has to be a healthy snack, like fruit). Here is where the negotiation starts, but it's cut and dry, one small treat plus the fruit. It will take three or four attempts, but eventually the floor will be clean (or, at least, offering little or no invitation to the local rats!), before I have to clean up their afters.

Once tidy up is complete and I fall back on to the couch, I suddenly remember that I have two children under six to occupy; so I go back through the catalogue of games in my brain. They’ll have their own ideas though, which will usually make the biggest mess possible: like building a pillow fort and scattering teddies around their bedroom, or covering themselves with kids beauty products. I try to talk them out of it, but it’s all to no avail; and I’ll soon find myself pulling a quilt between their beds or sat on the beauticians chair with multicoloured nails! I’ll endeavour to have a small break, only to be asked to pour them a drink at this exact moment.

More treats will be requested now, and how much will power I have left (or how much sleep I'd had the night before) will be the main determiner as to whether this will be accepted or rejected. If the latter is the case, they’ll soon be screaming, as my littlest girl has wolfed hers down and stolen the one that her elder sister holds, forcing me to provide a replenishment (usually two, as the theft resulted in the youngest also having two), but with a warning that my little girl must eat them away from her sister (I have enough authority to demand this, at least). There’ll be more screaming shortly after too, as little sister is playing the game, the rules of which are situated solely in the five-year old’s head, completely wrong.  

At the speed of a snail dragging along a ball and chain, dinner time turns to teatime. There will be much in between, but I’ll find that it’s all a blur by the end of the day; a big, small blur. I’ll be wondering what we’ve done with the day and how I suddenly feel like I’ve aged a decade when it’s only 4:30 that afternoon. Anyway, at this point, they simply do not want to stop what they’re doing (Here I’ll give them the classic empty threat as I tell them I will throw whatever they’re playing with in the bin). Of course, they see through it and continue, which leaves only bargaining. It’s still a hardship to stop them, but eventually I do.

Now I’ll be praying for bedtime, but the worst is yet to come; the nightmare that is bath time. Yes it is a necessity, and yes it gives them a chance to play in a confined space, but I just find it to be the most monotonous of activities (it’s something I get my wife to do if at all possible). They have toys, they pour from jugs, they role play, they make a complete mess with the bath paints or crayons (if we have some); it’s all so cute, for about 20 seconds. Before long the splash will come, and then the tidal wave; drenching the bathroom. This is my cue to pull my littlest girl out of the bath (presuming she’s already washed  her hair) and to carry her into the bedroom. This is my little girl’s time to wade around in what is left of the bobbles, wearing goggles and bobbing her head in the dirty, soap-filled water; acting like a master scuba diver.

Following all of that mayhem, my littlest girl expels more energy (mainly mine) escaping me. From the hairdryer, from the toothbrush and from her pyjamas (she’ll instead want to dress in one of her princess dresses); then she’ll cry as I inevitably catch her and work on her teeth and hair. Bedtime is often more of a hassle when we stay in, too. The boundless energy of the three-year-old and curious mind of the five-year old (plus the insatiable thirst she’ll suddenly develop when she’s meant to lie down) will be in full flow. I’ll say “OK, last question” a number of times as I almost simultaneously shout “Head on your pillow!” (more on bed time later, though). Eventually, they’ll be asleep and the humongous clean up job downstairs can begin.

By Calum Dewsbury