Say aaarrrrgggghhhh!!! (A trip to the dentist)

I hate going to the dentist.

I’ve never liked it. 
Even as a kid when the dentist would give you stickers for good behavior and stick posters of possessed looking teddy bears on his ceiling for you to look at, I hated it. They were always judging me and my oral hygiene those teddy’s on the ceiling – eyes full of contempt and (from what I remember) wearing questionable clothing…it was acceptable in the 80s.

So now I have kids, I’m expected to be all sensible and brave about our 6 monthly trips to the tooth doctor and, the fact is, I find it very difficult not to cry and have a tantrum about going.
In the 2 weeks leading up to my appointment, I spend most of my day brushing, rinsing and flossing those pearly whites in the vain hope that they won’t notice that I haven’t flossed twice daily for the last 6 months. Apparently you’re also meant to floss your kids teeth nowadays too – even their milk teeth. I have enough trouble getting them to not eat the toothpaste let alone not digesting the floss tape!
I also preempt the questions the dentist will ask the kids and rehearse their answers, “how many times do you brush each day?,” “how long do you brush for?,” “do you use mouthwash?” etc, etc…I hate the kids dental quiz bit! You never know what they are going to say.
My dentist is lovely, don’t get me wrong. Luck would have it that our dentist looks exactly like Dr Ranj off the CBeebies hit show, “Get well soon”… 
(What a shame?!)
…so the kids love him and my eldest boy even felt compelled to tell our dentist that he looks just like him at his very first appointment. The dentist clearly didn’t have a clue who he was being compared to (he looks far too young and carefree to have children yet) but he humoured Luke and said he would watch the programme when he got home to find out who it was…hopefully he wasn’t offended.
We always visit the dentist after school so the kids get to brush their teeth in the bathroom there which is the height of excitement. Who knew that you could use a hand drier to dry your teeth after you’ve brushed them…my kids, that’s who. They remind me of when a dog hangs it’s head out the window of a car, with the white toothpaste foam acting as the dog slobber…

We go to the waiting room, after drying our mouths on the hand drier sufficiently (if you can’t beat them join them I say) and take our seats until we are called.
Dentists waiting rooms are hell on earth for me. They’re quiet (the kids aren’t) they smell of hospital and all you can hear are my kids, who are fighting over the one children’s book left in the waiting room, and the sound of the dreaded dentists drill – 2 of the most horrendous sounds known to man. 
The wait seems to last forever and when the dental nurse does come to call us upstairs, I feel like bolting for the door.
The kids squeal with excitement, “yay!! It’s our turn!!” and I die a little inside. 
Here we go…
The melody of Chopin’s ‘Funeral march’ plays as I take the long walk down the corridor of drilling noise and up the stairs to meet my (filling) maker…
“Hello!” Says the jolly dentist. 
“How are we all?”
I’m Crapping my pants!! That’s how I’m feeling!! Give me the sodding laughing gas, now!!!!! And a sticker.”

Oh, hello! We are all fine thank you aren’t we boys?” I say in my most convincing ‘I’m not worried’ voice.
“Yes,” reply Luke and Zak whilst jumping up and down and practically hugging the dentist, “but Mummy isn’t”.
How do they know?!
“Mummy doesn’t like the dentist very much” announces Luke.
Well this is awkward, thank you Luke!!
“It’s not that I don’t like it, I just get a bit nervous” I reply.
“That’s quite alright,” replies almost Dr Ranj the dentist, “Shall we let mummy go first so she doesn’t sit there and get anymore nervous boys? And you boys can see that it’s nothing to worry about then too…” 
Great. Just great. I’m now being humiliated with sympathy by my own children and I’ve also got to be brave during my time in the chair to prove to them this is nothing to worry about. Arse.
“Yes, let mummy go first,” the kids say. And as the chair goes backwards, I peer over at my children until they are out of view, who are currently smirking at me like Wednesday and Pugsley Addams…
I open my mouth as instructed and, now I’m verbally incapacitated, so begin the questions from my children for the dentist. And I am helpless to tell them to shut up…
“What are you doing that for?” Luke asks.
“Doing what?” Replies the dentist, “Counting and saying things while you poke mummy’s teeth?” 
“I’m checking what teeth your mummy has, if they are ok and how healthy her gums are” the dentist informs him.
“Well she does drink coke-a-cola and eat sweeties so they might not be very good” mutters Luke. Little dobber. Just you wait until I’m out this chair…
“Well as long as mummy has been brushing ok, a little bit of fizzy pop won’t do too much harm, but it would be better if she didn’t have any at all…”
Alright!! Jeez!! Just you wait until you have kids ‘Dr Ranj’ you’ll resort to haribo and caffeine for breakfast too. And anyway, it’s not the cola and sweets that are staining my teeth, it’s all the red wine!

So what do you want to be when you are older Luke?” Asks the dentist.
“A policeman. So I can look after people…or a night guard,” 
“A night guard? What is one of those?”
“It’s a man who looks after places at night to keep them safe. I want to do that because you get to drink cola and eat loads of doughnuts. I love doughnuts – they’re delicious.”
Oh holy Christ, why don’t you just tell the dentist that I let you brush your teeth with fanta and that you only brush once a week? 
Well a policeman is a good job but eating doughnuts isn’t good for your body or your teeth is it…?” the dentist says. 
“No, not really” Luke says thoughtfully, “maybe mummy shouldn’t buy us doughnuts anymore…” 
That’s right. My fault once again. Obviously I force feed them to you Luke… 
The dentist then finishes up counting and tells me I’ve done well with my teeth (hurrah!! Victory is mine!!) and they all look fine. Hasn’t mummy done well!! 
“But I do just need to give them a little clean…” the dentist says politely.
I look over and see the disappointed faces of my children, disapprovingly shaking their heads at me. 
“Mummy hasn’t cleaned her teeth very well has she…that’s a bit naughty” declares Luke.
I feel like I’ve let them down terribly, their disappointed faces remind me of when I was a child and I had to inform my teacher that I had managed to stitch my sewing project to my skirt because i was doing it on my lap…oh, the indignity!
“She has cleaned them well Luke, but grown ups sometimes need a bit of help keeping them clean and that’s what I help with.”
“That’ll be because of all those sweeties she’s had.” 
The final blow. He’s in big trouble once we are in the car…
After I’ve had my teeth cleaned it’s Luke’s turn. Payback time for mummy.
“So Luke, how many times do you brush your teeth each day?” imposter Dr Ranj asks. 
“Twice!” He shouts gleefully.
Phew, that’s my boy. I hate the dentist interrogation bit…
“And how long do you brush for?”
“Erm…well…Erm…what was it you told me to say for this question mummy? I’ve forgotten.”
And I never did get my sticker.

Early Moments Photography

If any of you couples or parents out there are in need of a brilliant photographer, please check out this website.

Kim Blondell, who is a lovely, and very talented mummy at my sons school, takes the most beautiful photos, so do check her out if you’re in need of a photographer!
She is there to help capture all those special moments that a frazzled parents brain easily forgets! x

Movin’ on up…

No, not the M-People, 90’s smash hit song!

Stop singing it!
Stop!!! It wasn’t good the first (or second) time round.
I meant at school!
This week we found out what class our precious offspring were going to be in for the next 2 years.
At the end of year 2 at our school, they jiggle the classes about and the children/friends they’ve been with since reception are prised apart.
As are the parents.
The kids reaction to this…they couldn’t care less.
The parents however…whole different ball game.
Watching the parents find out what class their perfect little Dudley (I’ve used this name for both dramatic and comic effect…apologies if you’re in possession of a Dudley) is in, is like watching the 5 stages of grief play out before your very eyes. 
First: Denial
“Oh how ridiculous! They must have made a mistake. It’s very simple, I’ll just go and speak to Dudley’s teacher and tell them they’ve put his name on the wrong class list and it’ll all be sorted. He couldn’t possibly have been put with those children, they’re not in his ‘friend group’. All a simple misunderstanding.”
Second: Anger
“Are you serious?! What in the name of all that is holy were they thinking when they put my darling Dudder’s in a class with those mini ASBO’s?! 
Were the teachers out on a social and pissed on Lambrini when they dreamt up those class groups?! 
I’m going to the head about this. She will change things, you mark my words!”
Third: Bargaining
“Please Head Teacher. Please. You’ve got to move my Dudley out of this class of hooligans. PLEASE!!
I’ll do anything, I’ll sign up to help on every school trip, I’ll volunteer to help with changing on every swimming day. I’ll even organise the school Christmas Fayre! You’ve just got to change the class my boy is in!!!! Please!!!!!”
Ahem (Composes ones self)
“Do you like champagne head teacher? I’ve also got a time share in the Algarve if you fancy a little holibob. No fee of course…?”
Four: Depression
“Well, that’s it. Dudley’s life is over. At the age of 7, he’s had it. He doesn’t stand a chance in a class full of mini chavs and Vicky Pollard’s. 

He might as well go and get in line at the job centre now with a kebab in one hand and a Tenants Extra in the other and sign on. 
Wheelie bin cleaner. That’ll be his job. Still, at least he will always be in work, people will alway have wheelie bins that need cleaning…”
And finally…
Five: Acceptance
“Where’s the gin…”
I’m sure the kids are going to get on just fine. They adapt really quickly (they’re fickle little wotsits like that) and they’ll just get on with it. The gaggle of parents at the school doors however, take a little longer…

I’ve decided I’m not ready for all this ‘grown up’, ‘being an adult’ stuff.
I want to go back to school and be that 7 year old ‘Dudley’, carefree (well, apart from the crazy mum he possesses that is…). A life full of expectation, opportunity and farts. Farts are funny. Fact. 

Here’s to the next 2 years of their school lives. Go and learn little ones. Suck all the knowledge (and probably the life) out of your teacher and most of all, have fun and be happy. Without the need for Gin.

The weekend…

So the weekend is meant to be a lovely time of the week when you can all relax, slow down a bit and spend some quality time together as a family. 

If you took a family selfie at the weekend, it should look just like this…

Serene eh?!

The mum looks immaculate and is as happy as can be, the dad is full of energy and the kids are behaving like angels.
The reality is (in our mad-house anyway) that it looks more like this…
The kids are bickering. The baby is perfecting his self defence moves by pulling my hair, biting my arm and has just head butted me for a 5th time and Daddy…is out on his bicycle again.
Now, my kids are normally pretty well behaved and play together so nicely during the week. I can give them an activity such as colouring, and they’ll happily get on with it. Share colouring pens, stay in the lines as much as they can, take pride in their work and possibly compliment their sibling on doing a good job.
Not at the weekend. 
Nope, not a bloody chance.
I gave them some colouring to do to keep them occupied, and i turn around to find one of my boys has a pen lid up his nose, the other decided he was going ‘help’ his brother with what he described as a ‘tricky bit’ by defacing half of the picture (evidently it was so tricky even a 7 year old couldn’t do it) and they were bored with it and squabbling within 2 minutes of starting it. Brill.
I next suggest lego building. What could possibly go wrong with that? 
Everything. That’s what.
My 7 year old stares at the enormous box of bricks we have accumulated and, after not blinking for 10 minutes, declares he is no longer creative and storms off upstairs in a diva-like tantrum reminiscent of Mariah Carey arriving at a concert to find that the water isn’t the correct type (she demands water made only from the tears of a unicorn) and they have failed to sort her skittles into colour groups as she had demanded. Off with their heads!!!
I put the lego away and inform my 7 year old that his behaviour was unreasonable and he replies by telling me, “you always ruin my life. I need to be alone now”.
Who knew that suggesting to play Lego was such a risky thing to do?
We had 3 birthday parties this weekend too.
Don’t get me wrong, we all love a good party but the saying “too much of a good thing” does come into its own in this instance. My 5 year olds diet yesterday consisted of toast for breakfast, 2 sandwiches, 3 biscuits, some cheese and a lick of a twiglet for lunch and a slice of ham and some more cheese for tea. Followed by copious amounts of chocolate cake and haribo. The only fruit he had all day was some Terry’s chocolate orange (that is classed as fruit isn’t it…? Please tell me it’s one of your ‘5 a day’ like wine is…??)
Everyone at the party was amazed at how much energy he had and how he just ‘kept on going’ – that’s called a sugar rush people. He was basically high on glycerine. Hilarious eh?! He finally came down from his sugar induced delerium about 10:30pm and spent most of his nights sleep talking to himself or shouting random words. Probably ‘cake’ and ‘sweeties!!’ but I was too tired to make them out.
The last party this weekend was at a local park. It was a mermaid picnic party which was super cute and the mum had done an amazing job of organising everything (god, doesn’t that level of organisation make you sick?! She even managed to organise for the rain to stop at 1pm ready for it to be dry enough to picnic at 3pm! If that had been me organising it, we’d have been under umbrellas eating soggy sarnies whilst lamenting about our ‘bad luck’ with the weather. I’m basically cursed. I must’ve walked under lots of ladders and over 3 drains in a row a lot as a child).
Anyhow, the party went really well until my husband had to leave, just an hour into it, due to a very important…bike ride. (Don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad he’s found a hobby he loves, he’s keeping fit and he’s out of the house) but I really needed the extra arms.
The 7 year old kept pushing his luck with how far into the woods he could disappear before I suspected he’d been abducted by aliens, the 5 year old was over by a large tree seeing how strong he was by dragging fallen branches along the field to make a ‘den’ whilst taking numerous children out with the branch he was in possession of and the toddler…was hatching an escape plan.
Someone would chat to me and out the corner of my eye I could see him making his bid for freedom. He might only be 16 months old and have short stumpy legs but he can sure shift when he wants to! 
I’m useless at interrupting people so i let them chat on until the toddler is now so far away I need to remember how to run so i can go and retrieve him. Once I manage to catch him, he once again pulls out his usual trump card of ‘jelly mode’ but I’m all over it today and restrain him like a pro. 
Go me! 
Then he tries the opposite mode of attack, planking. This is where they go as stiff as a board so you can’t manouver them into any sort of position but luckily, I just needed to lie him down on the picnic blanket so he was adopting the perfect position for that. 
Mummy win!
You’re not going anywhere little man.
This ‘game’ of cat and mouse continues for 70 more exhausting minutes and is only thwarted by the lure of a party bag. Thank chuff for that!
One day he will get his way and loose me im sure. But until then my little man, it’s game on…
And that was that. Another weekend survived by the skin of my teeth. 
“This weekend was bought to you by Gordon’s Gin and Paracetamol”.
Thank god it’s Monday tomorrow.

The Mini Knutts Q&A Session

Today I thought i’d ask my 7 year old and 5 year old some questions to see what their answers were. Here’s what they said:

What does the Prime Minister do?
Mini Knutts 7: He makes the world fun.
Mini Knutts 5: He makes food.

At what age are you an adult?
Mini Knutts 7: Probably when you get married. 32?
Mini Knutts 5: I don’t know what an adult is. 14?

If you could have one rule at home, what would it be?
Mini Knutts 7: Have the TV on all the time on kids TV.
Mini Knutts 5: That everything was made of cheese.

If you could fill a shopping trolley full of food, what would it contain?
Mini Knutts 7: Pork Pies
Mini Knutts 5: Cheese!!!!!

What’s the most useful thing you’ve learnt at school that you’ll need as a grown up?
Mini Knutts 7: Maths. Because it makes you clever.
Mini Knutts 5: The water cycle.

If animals could talk, how would life be different?
Mini Knutts 7: We’d know if they needed a poo.
Mini Knutts 5: We wouldn’t eat them because they would be friends.

If you were invisible for a day, what would you do?
Mini Knutts 7: Id go to the park, then to McDonald’s to eat all their chicken nuggets and chips and then I’d go to the cinema without paying.
Mini Knutts 5: I’d spend the day scaring people for fun.

If you were a teacher and your class of children were being naughty, what would you do?
Mini Knutts 7: I’d put them all in detention.
Mini Knutts 5: I’d put them all in a cage and when they behaved themselves they would be allowed out one at a time.

If you could live in one place forever, where would it be?
Mini Knutts 7: Legoland
Mini Knutts 5: Legoland

Where is your favourite place to visit?
Mini Knutts 7: Legoland
Mini Knutts 5: Legoland

If you could give all the children in the world a present, what would it be?
Mini Knutts 7: Pork Pies
Mini Knutts 5: water and food

What is Daddy’s favourite drink?
Mini Knutts 7: Beer
Mini Knutts 5: Beer

What is Mummy’s favourite drink?
Mini Knutts 7: Coffee
Mini Knutts 5: Coke-a-cola

What does Daddy do for a job?
Mini Knutts 7: He fixes computers.
Mini Knutts 5: He plays on computers all day.

Can money make you happy:
Mini Knutts 7: ALWAYS!!
Mini Knutts 5: yes, because you can hug it.

So there we have it. 
Even at the tender ages of 7 and 5, the children understand the importance of money, alcohol and caffeine.
I’d say I’ve bought them up pretty well on that basis…