Monday, 3 September 2012

Food Fights

Teatime is the hardest when my husband is away. The big hand approaching 5 and a half inexplicably sends my children into a frenzy of tears, tantrums and high pitched wailing. And that's not to mention their mother. 

Previously, the answer was to continuously shovel food into the baby girls mouth whilst threatening the nearly 5 year old with no pudding if he didn't stop kicking the table. This got us through. Recently however, my youngest has perfected her technique of grabbing the spoon halfway to mouth and splatting the contents back in my direction. 

It is, after all, a mothers lot to spend these early days stained from head to toe in a variety of bodily fluids, but by the time 5.30 creeps around I'm at the end of my day - and when I'm a team of one - the end of my tether. I suspect the withering stare greeting my husband when he appears in from the late train is unjust... but I do envy him these capsules in time - aboard trains or planes - when the only way to pass the minutes is to read a book or stare blankly at the evening horizion. 

My mornings and afternoons are filled with noise, tears and hair pulling. The humdrum fabric of another day, yet not ultimately the stuff of memories for mothers of the very young. We remember the smiles and the clean bedtime weary nodding heads. We sweep away the trials of the afternoon, back aching from carrying our charge, as we sweep the debris of another day from the kitchen floor... x

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