My children will do anything
A N Y T H I N G to get me out of bed in the morning.
There is no low they will not sink to in order to stop me hiding under the duvet for another 5 minutes.
Their latest double act is to slam their bedroom doors (I’ve told them that when they wake they can play in each other’s rooms).
Sure they do that just beautifully. They build dens with their duvets, they read, they make up stories, they play marbles). But the door slamming? Never just two doors. It’s like they are in and out at least 15 times, and every slam shakes the house and my nerves just that little bit closer to growling.
And I am absolutely a morning person.
They’ve done the crawling under our bed commando style and whispering and giggling. When that didn’t work they then resorted taking ‘pokey pokey’ things under there with them to push between the bed slats (usually a lightsabre or a plastic golf club. Or their toothbrushes).
They’ve done the coming in all quietly and lulling me into a false sense of security by whispering ‘when is it wakey wakey time, mummy?’ and I mumble something back and they whisper a return. Then one of them climbs on the bed for a cuddle. Then the other one keeps me distracted with more whispered questions and before I know it, they’re both on the bed, cold feet on my thighs, snotty nose heading towards me for a kiss and I’m shocked into wakefulness.
Hubby sleeps on like he’s been betwitched.
I suppose I should be proud of their cunning and ingenuity.
I mean for a 6-year-old and a 3-year-old to come up with such devious plans, is quite commendable – and yes I will commend them, in maybe 8 or 9 years time when I’m trying to drag them out of their own beds and I’m using all their little tricks right back at them.
But this morning my little girl overstepped the mark.
Her opening words were designed to have me shoot out of bed without so much as touching the floor.
“Mummy,” she whispers in her sweetest voice. “I’ve got something stuck right down in my ear.”
Hells bells. I lept out of my bed and out of my skin, and ferried her straight into the bathroom without barely drawing breath.
This is not something you can take a chance on right?
So I’m trying to focus my barely awake eyes down her tiny ear canal and then with a pair of tweezers, I’m delicately trying to grab at the pitch dark air just inside in the hope that whatever it is that is in there isn’t too far down.
Then she whispers: “Mummy. Mummy. This one really worked didn’t it?”