So the walk to and from nursery has always been long; but over the last few weeks, it has definitely gotten longer.
And more uphill.
Absolutely, definitely more uphill.
The kids are now big enough to walk part of the way, which is good, but nowhere near big enough to walk the whole way. So, between running, skipping, dawdling, pretending to poo on the grass- (“Woof woof!”)- checking the blackberries are still dead, waving at diggers, needing a wee, not having a wee, climbing in and out of the heavy-duty double pram, fighting over who got the better seat, climbing out and switching over again … It can often take a really, really long time to get home.
Last week, for example, we had one such occasion.
The problem on this particular journey is that, towards the end, Mummy really, really needs to get home. Because Mummy actually really, really does need to go, and can’t hold it in much longer!
Of course, the soft-touch pleads for speed largely go unheeded and so, in the end, two very reluctant toddlers are strapped, squirming, into the aforementioned heavy-duty pram against their very strong wills. Running towards home is an interesting experience, after this, as the baby enjoys some Olympic bladder-bouncing practise, and both pram-prisoners make their outrage absolutely clear to both Mummy, the neighbours and, indeed, the world.
Running out of breath, (and cruelty), I finally reach the front door, release the hounds and usher them inside.
“Right! Calm down, shoes off and play… I’ll be out in a minute!” I call after them, making a sharp dash for the downstairs loo and relieving what is now, quite literally, a pain in the privates.
“Wife!” Husband immediately calls from upstairs, (only, you know, he uses my actual name because we are not in the Middle Ages, and I am barely a wench…)
I attempt to catch my breath before-
“Yes?!” I holler back, so much more wench-like than I ever imagined in a previous life. Seriously, I only just sat down!
“The kids are upstairs!” He calls, like this is some rare cause for national emergency…
“Can you come and get them please- quick?!”
Not even ready to wipe yet, mate…
“Wife! Please can you come and get the kids?!”
I can hear him on the stairs.
“OH MY GOODNESS!!!”
At this moment I’m pretty sure I look and feel like the harassed elephant from the book, Five Minutes Peace.
So, yanking up my big, pregnant pants like they’re a deadly weapon of bad-wifery, I march out- with all the fanfare of an elephant herd- to take aim and fire.
“SERIOUSLY!” I trumpet; “What on earth do you have to do around here to have a freakin’ WEE in PEACE?!!!”
“Erm-” Reverend Husband starts; dog-collared up and clutching both smirking kids at the top of stairs…
“I’m in the middle of a funeral visit… Via Skype?!”
“Sorry!” We chime.
Apparently, the kids’ input wasn’t ‘appropriate’ here-
And nor, it would seem, was mine!
For one of the perks of the job is this lovely house…
Which is a work place, at the most unexpected times!