Whistle while you work..

I've spent my weekend with Snow White's dwarves, plaited around thirty two french plaits, watched my son finally accomplish riding his bike, scraped the contents of my daughters exploding nappy off a trolley and had a heart attack when I went swimming and forgot to take my watch off. The fact that I've since learnt the watch is waterproof is irrelevant, I nearly died.

Saturday: My son was involved in the performance of 'Disney Dazzle', a stage show extravaganza whereby the students from the local Musical Theatre group performed (you've guessed it!) songs from Disney. Cue me plaiting hair like my life depended on it (not his but the girls in the show) and attempting to keep what seemed to be the population of a small all signing all dancing country under control.  He was cast as a dwarf (not so cool by his standards) and spent the duration of Heigh Ho completely hamming his part up in a comedic fashion, pulling his beard everywhich way and generally prancing across the stage. For the whole school number he was Robin Hood (cool) which he managed to get through without drawing too much attention to himself until the final bit where he thought that jazz hands were appropriate. Everyone else had their hands by their side.

Sunday: The babys bottom exploded in a rather grand fashion halfway round Tesco. As I lifted her into the car I was confronted by a rather nasty sight. The nappy had failed to contain last nights dinner and there was poo ev-er-y-wh-ere. 'Wipes!' I choked, rummaging around in my large bag to locate them...'Oh bollocks' I stated  (much to the dismay of an elderly couple who had  previously been gooing and gurgling over my now poo soaked babba and commending me on having such a well behaved little one) I was down to one wipe. One wipe! 'What kind of an idiot leaves one wipe in the packet?' I moaned, until I remembered that idiot was me and I'd forgotten to stock up on wipes the past week, despite having been shopping four times. So now I was faced with a quandry...do I wipe the seat of the trolley OR my daughters hand, covered in poo, moving at an alarming rate towards her mouth? I did what any self respecting mother would do. I panicked. Then I improvised. My poobaby was wiped, wrapped in a muslin and bundled into her seat.

The trolley was wiped down with a t shirt found in the boot. I don't know whos t shirt it is, so I apologise now should anyone have left it with me for 'safe-keeping'.


Last weekend jet setting off to Marbella - this weekend? Life. And I wouldn't change it for a thing.