The War Begins

'weee weeeeee wee weeeeeees'

The mini one grabs the metal bed frame with two hands, feet between the bars, arched back, aiming. He unleashes his deadly weapon; toxic liquid hitting boxes, mattress, fresh linen.
I can hear him, but cannot stop him. Instead, I am poised, ready to reveal my position at the peak of his attack.
Kind of.
The plump patting hand pats, pats, pats at my face, in my eye, pulling my hair. The tiny one wraps his chubby legs around my hip bone. His attempts to disable me are working; as he gums my shoulder he hits a nerve somewhere and arches back, angry, red. Hearing the mini one's battle cry, I lurch forward, half-tripping over the well-placed and random objects mini one has left in his wake.
Tiny one wails as a distraction.
Nice try tiny one, but at the moment I have bigger fish to fry.

'Where do we do Wee Wees?' I yell, causing mini one to, well, ignore me completely.
He rocks, defiant.
Laughs.
'That's it!'
I've seen red.

Dog leaps from his position, runs at me, makes a duck, a weave, a meander in front of me. Wags. Jolts away from me as I make clear my path.
Damn him and his manoeveres.

'Get down from there!'

Tiny one chortles and gums at my shoulder again.
Drool cakes my hair, turning it into a mashed web across my cheek.

'Get down NOW!'

I use, what I think is my best and strictest command voice.

Hi arse waggles, illuminated by the light coming from the window, and his angle. I'm very tempted, my hand tingles, but no - that would be dirty tactics.

He leaps up,  runs, disappears.  I sink to the floor; defeated.

I will have tea.   I will mop up.  I will continue this guerilla war-fare.


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We moved house two years ago into what can only be described as 'The worst move of our lives'; me, two small children aged two and 6 months, my husband and dog into the most run-down house ever. And it's not ours - we are renting from my father-in-law in a plan which has done nothing but cause heartache, bemused laughter and a lot of angst-ridden ranting.  It's not been good.  There are a few rather complex issues surrounding it all which do not look to be resolved and might never be.  At the time it seemed as though we might be able to work through any issues, but as time goes on we are becoming more dispondent and in search of a solution.

Now as my 4 year old prepares for his first year at school and I watch my 2 year old grow, I can hardly believe how much my life has transmogrified; and also how little has really changed.  

There is definitely less of the above scene going on (it will return - the 2 year old hasn't started potty training yet!)

I'm no longer a stay-at-home mum either - I've had two jobs since this scene and I have to say I think (I hope) I am on the road to being professionally satisfied.

My husband and I made it through the initial stages of living here - which is good, because it was pretty hairy for a while.  

But while our lives have settled somewhat, and our children have grown, the world around us has changed dramatically. Rents have hiked, property buying has become an even further away dream and the idea of us just moving away and starting again is no longer something we can lightly consider, but something we must think through very carefully.

And we are the lucky ones - so very lucky!

Because we have this roof over our heads, because we have jobs to go to and food on the table and things to sell if it becomes clear that we need to do that (we probably should do that!) and yes, we shouldn't moan.  We both work in positions where we see people all the time who are struggling on with a lot less, and man oh man, we should be grateful.

But I suppose happiness is all relative.  And boy, it's a short life.  And I don't plan on making do.

Watch this space.