There was a massive tantrum on the way to school yesterday morning. I'm tempted play the martyr and describe how much I suffered with my six-year-old's transformation from cherub to fiend, but the truth is that I deserved it. My son M and the fostie didn't, but I did. Technically, I guess you could say that I'm the person responsible for instigating the riot, but I blame Roald Dahl. After all, it was him who wrote "The Twits".
The previous evening, in true supermum fashion, I was reading to C at bedtime. We've graduated to chapter books now - one chapter a night is just right. Of course C has been skipping ahead to see what happens next but like most kids, she loves having it read out loud. Being a somewhat eccentric person (that's what the title of my blog says), I've thrown myself into the characters: voices, expressions, even the bad smells when I can manage it. Evidently I must be quite clever at it because the other night, she wouldn't let me stop. My voice was tiring of Mr Twit's nastiness and I was itching for the "fart in the bucket". As I tried to leave, C reminded me that she still hadn't read her school journal to me. What kind of mother would I be if I didn't let her do her homework? Thankfully Zeeb arrived and I sensed my escape: "Read to Zeeb!" C wanted Mummy.
I tried to be polite but C is in Group 17 for Reading now and this story was long. Noticing a brown felt tip pen, I devised a cunning scheme. As C was focussed on her book, I drew a beard and moustache on myself. When C saw it, I was able to excuse myself to run to the bathroom and "shave" - leaving Zeeb in charge. Clever, huh? It only took a second to wash it off straight away.
|Dramatisation: This is not the actual fake facial hair on my actual face.|
It didn't wash off.
I tried covering it with makeup. It didn't work.
I tried cleansing creme. It didn't work.
It was time to go to school. C didn't want to leave the house with a moustache and fluff beard. It got pretty serious so in one of his helpful moments, M carried her kicking and screaming to the van.
I lost the keys to the van.
C ran upstairs to the bathroom while I found the keys. M had to carry her downstairs again.
It was a painful journey to school. My ears still echo with the screams.