Two children are harder than one!

Last night I was in bed by 7.30pm. Seriously. I'd put aside the evening to write a post, read some blogs and generally fiddle around with the computer until I was too tired to keep my eyes open. Strangely, the 'too tired to keep my eyes open' bit happened the moment the children were in bed rather than about 5 hours later, which is usually the case.

But instead of seizing the opportunity to finally catch up on some much-needed rest, I decided to text a few friends to tell them that I was, at that precise moment, in bed dying of exhaustion. (I always love a bit of drama even when I'm too tired to lift a limb). A few texts of sympathy came back and a few wondering what was wrong - was I ill? Had something out of the ordinary happened? The answer, of course, was in the negative. Ok, so I had had a little cold for the past fews days, but nothing major. No, the reason for my life-threatening exhaustion was simply the fact that I'd spent the entire weekend running around after two extremely demanding children with no husband (don't ask - away working again). But hey, if you read this blog, you'll know that that's pretty par for the course.

What's not so much par for the course is a huge school festival complete with climbing wall, face-painting, owl sanctuary, belly-dancing, bag-making, hot-dog eating. The list goes on. But as exciting as it sounds, when you've got two children who both want to run off in opposite directions, it is, how shall I put this? Rather unrelaxing.

Renée wanted to go on the climbing wall, Edie wanted to eat a hot dog, an ice-cream and some rather fluorescent, sticky-looking candy floss. Then Renée wanted to eat and Edie wanted to climb. Except she couldn't because she's too young, although she didn't know that and so after spending half an hour in the queue for the climbing wall only to witness her sister being fitted for a harness and not her, she was understandably upset. Very much so. She cried. A lot. And very loudly. But I couldn't take her away because by this time, Renée was half-way up the wall. So we stood there watching, me trying my hardest to comfort a sticky, snotty and heartbroken Edie. And when Renée's bottom lip started to quiver as soon as she looked down and realised how high she'd climbed, I had to breathe deeply. Two hysterical children was not going to be easy.

So I whisked both of them away to the owl sanctuary, hoping for a more sedate time. But much to the dismay of at least two of us, I was told Renée could hold an owl, but Edie was too young. More tears. (Edie's, not mine - although I was close by this point). It was then that I spied some friends who, after a careful assessment of the situation, decided that they would take Renée off my hands. Perhaps I was looking a little more dishevelled than I had realised. It was a revelation. I can't tell you how relaxing it was. Edie wanted to have her fingernails painted. She may only be two and a half, but what the heck, she had her fingernails painted. Bright pink. She loved it. She rolled down the hill in a plastic barrel, put a pin in a treasure hunt map, jumped on a bouncy castle...and all the time she was doing this I didn't have to keep looking over my shoulder to see where Renée had run off to. And the piece de resistance - I even persuaded a man at the owl sanctuary to let her hold an owl. I don't think I've ever seen her so happy - it was all I could do to stop her from kissing it.

And that's when it occurred to me that being a parent of one child is fun...being a parent of two children is hard work. Someone once told my husband that having one child was like having a pet, and having two was like running a zoo. (And having three or more, well suggestions for descriptions would be welcome - suffice to say, I don't think we'll get that far). I have to say, I found myself looking at parents with one child rather enviously...I even saw a few of them having conversations! Now I know things will get easier, especially when the girls are old enough to do the same things, but in the meantime, husband please come home...you're needed (again). But until that happens, I may just have a few more early nights...

Am I neurotic?

A strange thing happened to me yesterday which has made me question whether I am slightly more neurotic than I originally thought. I have to say I don't think I'm neurotic at all - I let my children walk around the house eating food and don't mind clearing up mess (but now I'm sounding more like Slummy Mummy). Ok, so I let my children ride bikes and don't panic about them falling off, or I let them climb climbing frames in playgrounds and feel relaxed about it. That's what I mean about not being neurotic. But after yesterday's incident, I am beginning to doubt myself. So I need someone to tell me that I did the right thing, although in simply asking the question maybe it confirms what I don't want. Let me explain.

As I was leaving Renée's swimming lesson yesterday I noticed a little boy, around three years of age (I am basing this guesstimation on the fact that he was slightly older than Edie, but nearer Edie's age than Renée's). He was starting to climb along the edge of a wall whilst his Mother (or the person I assumed to be his Mother) was engaged in chit chat with another Mother and her children. As I loaded Renée into the car I kept my eye on the little boy who seemed to be edging further and further along the wall. And although the beginning of the wall was low enough for him to climb on, the furthest part was at least ten feet off the ground and directly below, nothing but concrete. Now I know for a fact that I wouldn't have wanted my youngest child walking along the ledge, nor even my eldest child, or my very capable husband for that matter. In brief, the wall was extremely high for anyone, especially a little boy, who, had he fallen, would have done himself more than a great deal of damage.

I stood for a while, hoping that his Mother would turn around, realise he was gone, and when she did, run straight to his rescue. But she didn't. She continued her chat, all the while with her back to the child, oblivious to his increasing danger. I meanwhile, was left wondering what to do. Should I alert her to the fact that her child was in danger? Or should I forget about it, climb into my car and drive off? For a while I kept watching, urging his Mother to turn around. Still no joy. And then a wobble from the little boy and my heart almost jumped out of my body. Now I really had to say something.

'Excuse me'. I shrieked (this was truly scary stuff, believe me). 'Do any of you have a little boy with a red jumper? Well, he's just about to fall off a really high wall over here.' There, I'd said it. I could no longer be held responsible for any hideous accidents. I expected the Mother to run to her child, and if not exactly catch him as he fell, at least reach up for him and guide him down and cover him with kisses in a warm motherly embrace, grateful that disaster had been averted just in time. But maybe that's just me. Because that's not at all what happened.

Instead, she turned around, without moving her body, just her head. And she looked at me, somewhat frostily I might add, and said 'Yeah, I know. He does that every week.' And then she turned back to her friend and carried on chatting. There was no 'Thankyou for saving my child.' Ok, so maybe that's a little over the top since he didn't actually fall. But if that had been me, I would at least have said 'Thanks. Yep, he's mine. And I know it looks ridiculously dangerous, but he somehow manages it every week and I'm not worried about him, but thanks for letting me know.' But then, I would never have let my child climb along such a high wall in the first place. Or maybe that's just me...