I took the Princess to the supermarket. I bought a Kinder
Surprise thingy containing Chicken Little to encourage good
behaviour (if you don’t know who he is, just be glad). Not only did this not work, it ensured that I spent
much time lying down in the supermarket aisles trying to rescue the
wretched chicken from under shelves where he was regularly flung by her
majesty in moments of petulance. And she had to take off her
boots. And NOTHING was going right and, by gum, everyone in the
supermarket had to know it.
We bought our Christmas tree in the supermarket car park. The
romance, the glamour. The Princess was mildly
mollified. As I held her hand and tried to stuff the tree into
the car a man came along and asked whether I could spare him any
change. Then it started to rain. We went home.
The Princess was very keen to decorate the tree. So keen that she
lay on the floor weeping until we allowed her to attach baubles.
And then they wouldn’t go on properly. More weeping.
Meanwhile her father was following her around with spoonfuls of fish
which she had refused to eat earlier. This was not the happy tree
decorating environment I had been hoping for. And now all our
ornaments smell of fish.
Her father bundled her off for her nap while I considered lying on the
floor and weeping. She howled hysterically for 20 minutes.
In between sobs she screamed “I want to decorate the tree”. Just
under an hour later when she woke up, still cranky, her first words
were “I want to decorate the tree”. So we let her decorate the
wretched tree.
Then we went into the kitchen where she threw herself on the floor and
wept (this is getting repetitive for you??). “What’s wrong
sweetheart?” I asked.
Her: I (hysterical sob) wanted to put the (hysterical sob) soap in the dishwasher.
Me: But, darling, it’s too late the dishwasher is already running, you can do it next time.
Her: Waah, waah (throws herself on floor).
Then she went over to Daniel and casually grabbed him by the ankle.
Me: What are you doing, my angel?
Her (insouciantly
and this was the only insouciance of the day):
I’m hurting Daniel.
Me (appalled): Stop it!
Her (indignantly): But I want to hurt him!
Mr. Waffle comes in to find her crying inconsolably on the floor.
Him (in a vain effort to console, you will recall that she was inconsolable): What’s wrong my little flea?*
Her (in tones of outrage between sobs) I wanted to hurt Daniel and Mummy say “No!”
To try to improve everyone’s mood and the boys’ safety, I took her
out. We went to the Grand Place and arrived simultaneously with
Saint Nicolas, two donkeys, a brass band, 4 giants and a number of
people on stilts all of whom were giving out sweets. We got our
first smile of the day. Then we went for ice cream and the nice
waiter gave her chocolate. All was going swimmingly. On the
way home we looked at the Christmas lights in the Sablon and I said
“Instead of taking the tunnel let’s go down the Avenue Louise and look
at the lights there”. With a return to earlier form, she said
huffily that she didn’t want to and I fail to see why I couldn’t have
let well enough alone and taken the tunnel and zoomed home. As we
inched down Avenue Louise at funereal speed, Madam announced “I want to
do a wee”. “Can you wait, sweetheart?”. “No, I do a wee in
my car seat”. And the lights were rubbish too.
*Direct translation from the French; they have odd terms of endearment.
on 04 December 2005 at 17:55
Sweetie(s) given
Friar Tuck
on 04 December 2005 at 19:09
Friar Tuck
on 04 December 2005 at 19:13
on 04 December 2005 at 19:43
Sweetie(s) given
on 04 December 2005 at 21:05
on 04 December 2005 at 22:16
Sweetie(s) given
on 04 December 2005 at 23:29
Sweetie(s) given
The screams, the screams i heard the other night when i had the temerity to flush the toilet after the Wee One had finished using it, rather than allow her to do it herself.
‘But I DO IT, MOMMY! I DO IT!’ This also applies to pressing the button to open/close the garage, get clothing out of the drawer, hmmm. Pretty much anything, come to think of it. I wish you strength.
on 05 December 2005 at 10:33
Pog, nah, we’re just guilt ridden modern parents “she’s having a tantrum, it must be our fault..”
Negrito, I know and lovely pictures too!
GPM, well yes, I was reassured by your recent blog on your friend’s child,indicating that she was a demon at 2 and an angel at 3. Hope springs eternal etc.
Minks, so were the other shoppers.
FT, that seems wise and thank you for respecting our whacky European spelling.
GOTG, you are most kind but not as kind as the fab Heather who gave me 2 sweeties. Ta HJB.
Sweetie(s) given
on 09 December 2005 at 22:42
Sweetie(s) given
on 11 December 2005 at 13:49
Sweetie(s) given
on 12 December 2005 at 14:18
Sweetie(s) given
on 14 December 2005 at 09:10
Sweetie(s) given
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