Yesterday I found myself pulling out this line:
When your Daddy gets home he is going to be very cross if you haven’t eaten your dinner!
Along the scale of desperation, how desperate do you have to be to resort to that one…?
Needless to say, it didn’t have any effect whatsoever.
I am a firm believer that it is not just the children who have a witching hour at 5pm. Adults are most certainly included! In my house anyway.
At 5pm I am spent. I’m over it. I’m tired, I’m hot, I’m usually covered in some sort of sticky substance and generally feeling just a bit damp. I don’t want to read books or tell stories or play doctors or wave rainbow scarves in the air. I want to stamp my feet then curl up in amongst the mess and have someone stroke my forehead. Or even just sing to me. In a soft voice.
As it happens, Birdie wants it all at 5pm. Our conversations become fruitless, and we start to push each others’ buttons.
Last night our conversation sounded a bit like this: Sit up for dinner please // No, I said sit up. // But I want to give the doggie a tweat // Well it’s not time for the doggie to have a treat. Come on, I mean it. // Why // Because I said so // Why // Because it’s dinner time // But I’m not hungwy // Well, you will be later if you don’t eat // Why Mum… Can I have a cupcake? // No darl it’s time for some real food // But it is weal food… Can the bears have some? // Yes, ok feed the [imaginary] bears some from your seat and then you eat some // Ok… But they only like honey! They want honey! … // When your Daddy gets home he is going to be very cross if you haven’t eaten your dinner! // What will my Daddy say? // Where’s my Daddy? // Is my Daddy coming home yet? //
I want my Dad not you!
This was staggered with many glances out the window to see if Prince Charming was rolling in on his bike. Imagining him out in the fresh air pedalling home from work, the breeze in his face and a smile on his lips, high-fiving the passers by and singing Oh What A Lovely Day. He assures me this is not his side of the story, but I think he’s holding back.
This morning, we are all roses and sunshine again. Hugs and double-cuddles and good mornings.
Do you sometimes think that if bedtime was just one hour earlier you’d make it through alive?