Non Uneventful

Oh, for more Uneventful.

Today was the day earmarked for the visit of Ritalin Boy and his Identical Twin Cousin.

I drove down early this morning to meet their Other Grandma and collect them, about halfway, at the southern end of the lake.

They dived into the car whilst I collected their stuff. Their Other Grandma looked massively relieved and belted off cheerily, probably before I had chance to change my mind. I discovered later that they had woken her up at five with a noisy and frequently-repeated rendition of: “Cock-a-doodle-doo!”

When I got back to my car I discovered that Ritalin Boy had climbed over the back seat into the boot, where he was refusing to come out. On his way over he had wagged his feet about so much that he had accidentally kicked Identical Twin Cousin in the mouth, which was now streaming blood.

I obliged Ritalin Boy to return to a civilised seat. On the way back they had a competition which involved shouting: “Poo!” as loudly as they could, although I missed the precise reason why. Ritalin Boy won, because his Identical Twin Cousin was struggling to make himself heard through his mouthful of blood-drenched tissue. Then Ritalin Boy asked why I hadn’t retired, since I was so very old.

On my return I was obliged to leave them with poor Lucy, since Oliver had an appointment at the doctor to get some cream for an itchy patch on his elbow. This took ages, because it was a very nice student doctor, who did the job splendidly but was not allowed to write prescriptions. This meant hanging about to see another doctor and then explaining all over again whilst she decided whether or not to approve of the student’s cream-issuing decision.

In the end we got the cream, and rushed home to find the boys playing on the trampoline. The postman had been and the newly-arrived letters had been taken downstairs, and were now spread creatively around the back garden, and all of our shoes had been stuffed down the drain. Fortunately there has not been much rain lately, and everything was still fairly dry.

After that they discovered the doorbell, which they rang at intervals for the rest of the morning, making the dogs bark frantically and me bellow crossly up the stairs. This turned out to be inappropriate on the occasion when a young man from a delivery company was standing there anxiously, clutching a parcel and trying to stay out of the way of the dogs, who were beginning to get short tempered.

Oliver got cross about the doorbell whilst he was trying to do his homework, and so I did some shouting about it and required that they desist. I discovered then that they had given up on the trampoline and had been playing in the bath, which they had inexplicably filled with mud and leaves.

Whilst removing it all I thought I would stop and use the loo. Fortunately I remembered to lock the door, because within about three seconds there was an enormous crash, the sort made by somebody hurling themselves against a locked door in an unsuccessful attempt to gain ingress.

Thwarted in this, Ritalin Boy revenged himself by turning the light off. There are no windows in our bathroom, and the light switch is outside. He turned it on again, briefly, pressed his lips to the keyhole and bellowed: “Ha ha!” before turning it off again and sprinting away down the hall.

I have got Number Two Daughter arriving tomorrow and I wanted to get her bedroom ready. Also I needed to start moving things back into our bedroom. It is very nice to be sleeping in the living room, but it might start becoming problematic when there are lots of us coming home from work at all sorts of hours.

In between boy nurture I hastily skimmed some paint on the bits of the bedroom that I had missed, and tidied up the colossal mess we had left there. This took ages, but in the end it was done. I was so relieved to have it looking reasonably civilised again that I hardly minded at all when the boys upended a massive tub of Lego all over the carpet.

I cleaned Number Two Daughter’s bedroom, and the bathroom, and fed the boys in between times. They have eaten some sausages and cucumber, crumpets and chicken nuggets and waffles and strawberries, also sixteen ice lollies. I gave them yoghurts and melon and carrots as well, but they declined these with a surprising vehemence.

In the end I put Oliver’s old tent up in our newly-painted bedroom, and filled it with camper van cushions and sleeping bags, so that they could go and camp. Peace was then restored for a while, apart from a brief disagreement when they returned to the trampoline and accused one of our neighbours of having a pooey bottom.

In the end whilst I was getting ready for work I had the blessed recollection that we have got Netflix, and Oliver programmed it to run endless Spongebob whilst I made everybody’s dinner.

Mark was late, so I left instructions for boy-ablutions and left the boys with Lucy to go to work. We left Netflix running, so tranquillity finally reigned.

Work, where I only have to deal with truculent drunks, was a peaceful breeze in comparison.

When I got home the boys were showered and in bed.

Mark opened a bottle of apple brandy.

I could not find my hairbrush anywhere after my shower.

They are absolutely soundly asleep in their bedroom tent.

Thank goodness.