Peacocks, Potatoes, Pretending and Ponies

Most days I sort of coast by as far as parenting goes. We might do an educational activity for five minutes, but we’re very probably going to spend a lot more time than that watching My Little Pony. We might go on a nature walk, but will come back three minutes later, owing either to a Spiteful Psychic Car Poo, or generalised moaning. Once we had a full-on meltdown because the peacocks at the farm park “had stretchy eyes”. When I say “we”, I am being generous. I was involved at best tangentially in the peacock-based meltdown.

Yesterday though, I did full-on Proper Parenting. In the morning, EldestGirl had two friends round for a playdate. Two of them! They – ironically – played going on a nature trail. Their pretend game did not have nearly as much moaning as our actual attempts at taking them for a walk. Next time EldestGirl insists we do something, I might just suggest we pretend to do it instead. I will let you know how this goes.

For lunch – at EldestGirl’s request – I had made a sweet potato soup, “just like we have at nursery”. Apparently mine was rubbish though, and was rejected almost immediately for being “not sweet enough”, and generally “just yuckier” than the one she gets at nursery. YoungestGirl was craftier in her rejection, and would take great happy mouthfuls, before blowing it back in my face like an angry dragon.

After hosing down both children to an acceptable level of dirtiness, it was EldestGirl’s gym class. The achievement this week was YoungestGirl did not hit her face on the floor in the waiting area, bleed profusely and need the assistance of a (handily-available) parent who happened to be an A&E nurse. I think I would probably consider the no-face-hitting the highlight of yesterday.

Straight from gym class to the doctor for YoungestGirl’s MMR and associated jabs. One in each limb like a baby-shaped Voodoo doll. Somehow EldestGirl managed to blag herself a chocolate from the nurse for “being helpful” even though it was YoungestGirl who was being the human pincushion. Perks of being the eldest, I guess.

Time for a quick swing in the playground before it got dark.

Back home, to have dinner proclaimed, “It’s not horrid. Nine thumbs up.” As she had proclaimed the apparently-inedible lunch “ten thumbs up”, I am yet to fathom her rating scale. I suspect she makes it deliberately opaque to keep me on my toes.

Finally, at 5 p.m. the TV went on.

Honestly, it’s a lot less effort for a greater reward to stick them in front of the TV all day and give them McDonalds. This might be my plan for Thursday.