Understanding the real meaning of words

I used to feel sad that my daughter was an only child, and as the years passed and she grew older, I felt even sadder. I felt that life could not be as happy for her as it could be for those with siblings; that she would have less fun because there was no brothers or sisters at home to laugh and talk and play with. I know now that that theory is pants, and not because there are two new babies in the house, but because Molly’s cousin has come to stay. Now, this is not a slight on Molly’s cousin who has a) a brother and b) behaved impeccably, but because up until now, I thought I knew what the verb ‘to bicker’ meant. Not so.

I thought ‘to bicker’ meant thus:

Me - “Pick up your shoes, please”

Daughter – “Why do I have to do everything around here?” (Remember, she’s five)

Me – “Just pick them up and stop arguing”

Daughter – (as she pouts, stomps, and grabs the shoes in one continuous action) “You’re just being nice to the babies!” (Door slam).

Bicker over.

I realise now that I am insulting the verb ‘to bicker’ by even using the above as an example. The dictionary describes it as something like the following: to argue; to dispute; to quarrel; to debate (I don’t think so), to squabble (oh yes, that’s better).

I thought I had it rough, this occasional, but daily squabbling with my daughter, but I was a fool and have now seen the light, and would like to offer my own, true version of ‘to bicker’.

To Bicker: When two young girls, perhaps related and under the age of eight, get together and in a non-stop manner, disagree with each other about simply EVERYTHING that each says, does and doesn’t do, from the second they get up in the morning to their final breath before sleep at night (and, quite possibly during their sleep; I don’t know because I am now taking up to six Valium a night just to get me through ‘til dawn).

That’s what it really means and if anyone else EVER tries to give you a watered down version of this; smack ‘em.

Groundhog day

Today I:

Ignored a baby’s cry at four in the morning. I am now beginning to understand the different cries and this one was an “anyone out there?” cry as opposed to a “Waaaaaah, gimme food!” cry. I was right to be dismissive as he promptly fell asleep and didn’t wake again until nine o’clock: a miracle

Collected dog from kennels

Dropped daughter and daughter’s cousin to pony camp

Drove to the supermarket

Forgot purse so drove home again

Drove back to the supermarket

Shopped for the week

Spent way too much time wondering whether it’s cheaper to buy loose onions or onions in a bag. (Still not sure and don't really like onions anyway)

Ate a pack of salami in car outside supermarket

Collected boyfriend’s suit from dry cleaners

Made several enlightening comments about the inclement weather to various strangers

Unpacked shopping (the MOST BORING job in the world)

Collected daughter and cousin from pony camp

Fed babies loads of times but managed to always be busy when there was pooping going on so the Au Pair had to step in there

Made burgers for tea and was told that they were much nicer than the ones you get in that very popular fast food chain

Went to the circus (not joking, honest)

Ate about a hundred gummy bears and realised that if you hold a stick of candyfloss for too long without eating it, it melts all over your lap

Put on a wash

Kissed various children goodnight

And wondered if I have finally reached Supermumdom.

Realised very quickly that my inner yearning to really be drinking tequila shots whilst smoking lots of cigarettes and sleeping every day ‘til noon will exclude me from that club, forever.

Thank God

Happy Days

On July 13th

1568 – The Dean of St Paul's Cathedral perfected a way to bottle beer.

1837 – Queen Victoria moved into Buck Pal.

1922 - My father was born.

1930 – The first world cup Football championships began.

1975 – According to my diary, whilst in London, I went to Mass and then to the zoo where I saw moose, elephants, donkeys and performing dolphins and then had salad for tea and ‘watched a film called “West Side Story.”’

1976 - Elvis’s bodyguards were fired so they wrote a book about him saying lots of nasty things.

1985 - I lounged on a couch, ate nachos and watched Live aid on a crappy telly.

2009 - The Little Boy and The Little Girl were conceived.

Now you know everything.

D -

Two things of note happened recently. Number one is that both babies slept through the night until eight o’clock yesterday morning and I, like the fool that I am, thought – ‘Great, that’s it – they’re sleeping through the night and I can now resume life much as it was before they popped into my world.’ Well, I don’t need to tell you that all that changed when Rose woke screaming her head off for grub at four o’clock this morning and no matter what reason I gave, she was not taking ‘No’ for an answer. And so I stomped around the room half hoping that she would be astute enough to pick up on the bad vibes I was hurling in her direction but all I got was a gummy smile. Either Rosie is not very sensitive to other people’s deep-rooted resentments or she doesn’t really give a toss and has figured out already that she will be able to resolve most of life’s problems with her natural charm. Of course she got her bottle and her back rub and her kisses and hugs. Clever Rosie.

The second thing was that Molly’s school report arrived. Now, being the youngest of six in my family, by the time my school report ever arrived, my mother had become so inured to ‘must try harder’ or ‘doesn’t listen’ or ‘you’re daughter’s uniform is a scandal’ that everything just rolled off her and she would vaguely ponder the report’s dubious contents before saying “Well done, Darling.” These days’ things are different. I counted eight ‘excellents’’ in Molly’s report and one “Outstanding.” From what I can gather I either have a five year old genius who as well as having a more superior intelligence than any man alive is, as can be gleaned from her teacher, the most fun and most obliging person ever or she has been paying off said teacher all year. I am still bemused as to how she can leave my house screaming blue murder and step through those school doors where her behaviour is described as ‘always excellent’ and as having ‘a loving gentle nature.’ She made me read the report out loud twice and as she hadn’t come across the word “outstanding” before (she obviously hasn’t changed a nameless twin’s dirty nappies) wondered what it meant. I thought of the few outstanding experiences of my life so far and wondered whether the taste of a donor kebab after five pints of lager topped the list but decided that perhaps she was too young to appreciate or approve of this so settled for the moment of her arrival into the world at four in the morning on an icy Saturday in December. She was pleased with this explanation and it’s the truth I suppose although five pints of lager and a donor kebab after the trauma of childbirth would have been sweet.