Let me set the scene.
It is the last day of term, and mummy’s three little boys finished school at 2.15pm. Mummy has seen enough of her boys over the last few weeks to know that it would be foolish of her to have high hopes for this afternoon.
The boys are balanced precariously on their chairs, half-heartedly eating their tea. Boy 2 (aged 4) is attempting to scrape ‘yucky bits’ off his pasta. Boy 1 (aged 6), and Boy 3 (aged 4) have requested half a piece of chocolate cake and half a piece of banana cake each. Boy 2 has requested a whole piece of chocolate cake to himself. Boy 2 quickly decides he is being hard done by. Boy 2 will not accept that there is no more banana cake; and is finding it difficult to understand that two halves make one whole. Mummy is frustrated, but also knows that it is probably a bit much to expect her 4 year old to get his head around fractions on the last day of term.
Boy 2 is hysterical, and finally falls off his chair; smashing his mouth on the table on his way down. Boy 2 has blood pouring from his mouth.
That is where we join the festive scene.
Boy 2: I am bleeeeeeding mummy; and because I am bleeding I need two cakes mummy. Did you hear me, mummy? I said I am BLEEDING! And I neeeeeed two cakes!
Boy 1: Mummy, what is three quarters of 20?
Boy 2: Listen to me mummy, listen; it is not fair that I don’t have two cakes mummy. I don’t have two cakes, AND I am bleeeding, mummy.
Boy 3: Once at school mummy, when I was standing in my fire drill line, my bottom started tickling. It really did mummy. It was so funny, mummy. Did you know that?
Boy 2: I want to go to bed mummy. I want bed because I’ve been bleeeeeeding, mummy. But I don’t want to go in MY bed, mummy. I need to go to YOUR bed, mummy.
Mummy: No, you’re not sleeping in my bed I’m afraid.
Boy 2: But I WANT TO, MUMMY! Just for tonight. I’m not going in my bed mummy, I need a different bed.
Mummy: Well I’m afraid I don’t have any different beds, sweetheart. Not until we have a bigger house.
Boy 1: In my pretend world mummy, I am 58. I have two children who are 28 and 26. They live near Leighton Buzzard mummy but they don’t often go there. More often they go to Tring. Or Cheddington. The furthest north they’ve ever been is Carlisle. What do you think of that?
Boy 2: When will that be, mummy? When will our house grow? I need another bed, mummy. I’M NOT GOING IN MY BED! I had bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeding, mummy.
Boy 1: I’m going to sing my Christmas songs now, mummy. Is that ok?
Boy 3: Can I hold that pot of Vaseline please, mummy? It’s got a good lid.
Boy 1: “Come they told me, pa rum pum pum pum”
Boy 2: I need a go with that Vaseline lid. You’ve had it for a long time, it’s my turn.
Boy 3: Can I have it back now please? I just want one more play with the lid.
Boy 2: But you’ve had MORE TURNS THAN MEEEEEE!
Boy 1: “And all the angels sang for Him, the bells of heaven raaaaaaang for Him”
Mummy: I think it’s time to say night night to the Vaseline now, please.
Boy 3 (kisses tub of Vaseline)*: Night night, Vaseline. Love you.
Boy 1: Did you enjoy my singing, mummy? I did them in a different order to normal. You probably noticed.
Of course I did, poppet.
*Not even joking – he really did kiss the Vaseline.
Thank you so much for reading and for all your lovely comments over this year. I have loved sharing stories and so often have felt reassured to know I am not alone! Merry Christmas x