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...

Parental embarrassment - for the love of a child

One more notch on the idiot post for you...(This is scarily starting to become a habit).

Now this little incident happened a week ago and I would have written about it before but trips to A&E and a distinct lack of food took precedence.

It's funny what turns out to be a highlight in the life of a child, whilst in your life, the same event just needs to be forgotten and brushed under the carpet as soon as possible. So I shall do my best to brush it under the carpet by writing a post about it...go figure that one!

So it's May in Brighton and what that means is that the Festival is upon us - Artists Open Houses, Street Performances, Music, Theatre, Comedy, Food, and all sorts of other exciting events which make you feel even more smug that you live in the best place in the world. Ok the best place in Britain (I'm only a little biased). Anyway, for the past 20 years, the Festival has kicked off with the Children's Parade - a veritable extravaganza of floats, music, costumes and dancing through the streets of Brighton. In my case, what that meant was, snotty crying children, sore feet, exhaustion, sunburn, ringing in my ears from the too-close proximity to persistant whistle-blowing and an overwhelming embarrassment at the lack of costume. But, and this is where the foolishness comes in - we weren't just witnesses to this fantastic spectacle. Oh no, we were part of the parade itself. I mean, seriously, what was I thinking? Whilst other parents opted out and decided sensibly to simply watch from the sidelines, I, along with two small children and an obvious lack of husband, decided to parade through the streets of Brighton in front of more than 10,000 onlookers, pretending it was Mardi Gras. Which, incidently is not on my list of things to do before I die. But seeing as it did very nearly finish me off, maybe it should have been. (At least then I would have been able to cross it off posthumously and thus achieve something). BUT, one of my small children had the opportunity to be included, so what was I to do? Well, sometimes, we just have to put our children first and deal with the consequences later.

For some strange reason I hadn't really forseen any problems. Surely it was possible for Renée to be in the parade, whilst Edie and I walked along beside her, inconspicuous, yet supportive at the same time? Ha, I'm nothing but a fool. Had I not seen the parade before? Well, yes, as it happens, but possibly before I had children, so my points of reference had been different. I had probably remarked on the beautiful costumes and the happy children and then sloped off spontaneously to sit and have a beer on the beach whilst leisurely planning the evening's events. Like I said, this was before I had children.

So imagine my surprise when, on turning up, I realised that the dress code of blue, white and silver (to tie in with out school's theme of 'Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines') was not just reserved for the children, but the parents as well. And why was I the only parent not to have realised this? Oh, the absolute shame. My embarrassment was further confounded by the appearance of a giant Queen Bee complete with a huge papier maché Beehive and worker bees which happened to walk past at the very moment I stood contemplating my ever-so slightly sombre (read dull and out of place) costume of jeans and jumper (not even in regulation colours I might add). Never before had I wanted to be dressed in purple and gold so much. I wanted to be a Bee, or a flying machine, or a dragon or a windmill, or anything else other than a Mother with a toddler in a pushchair who hadn't understood the dress code properly.

But hold on, I am perhaps missing the point of being a parent here. Whilst I was scarlet with embarrassment at the lack of costume and exhausted at having to keep Edie strapped into the pushchair for fear of her being run over by a giant helicopter made of tissue paper, Renée was having a fantastic time. Her airplane headgear and flying goggles were perhaps a little too large and meant that every two minutes she was in danger of toppling over, but she was having the time of her life blowing that damn whistle as loud and hard as she could.

As I paraded along the streets of Brighton, trying hard to be as inconspicuous as possible, whilst at the same time trying not to ignore friends who were frantically waving at me from the sidelines, I realised that it wasn't about me (duh!), it was about the children...and when Renée asked, wide-eyed with excitement..."Mummy, are all these people waving and clapping at us? At me?"...I smiled a genuine smile. "Yes darling, they're all here to watch you. You just enjoy yourself." And so she did.

Sometimes even the greatest of embarrassment is worth enduring to make your children happy. Just remind me when the next parade comes around, to at least get a costume!