What, exactly is a 'normal' day?

Well, I guess no-one can answer THAT particular question, and it will inevitably vary from person to person. But as a mother of 4 children, I'm not sure I will ever feel like I've had a normal day again.

In the last 24 hours since I visited the cyber land of Blogsville, we've had a rather epic and noteworthy tantrum from the three year old, which deserves a paragraph so I can look back on other occasions and use it as a benchmark to decide where, on the Richter scale, each future tantrum lies. With all the parking worries of the morning, we generally walk to school of an afternoon. Now I have a vague recollection of mentioning this yesterday, so perhaps it has become a self fulfulling prophecy and I ought to be more careful what I say, but I walked the mile or so to school and back with what can only be described as a snot covered Tasmanian Devil attached to the end of my arm.

Ryan left the house quite enthusiastically wrapped up in his hat, gloves, and wearing his wellies and ready for a fun walk with mummy, which generally consists of a long game of dodge the dog poo. I generally only head for the car when it is absolutely pissing with rain. And that's only because I hate getting wet, the kids can get their wellies on and soak it up, toughens them up. But I just get mardy. Anyway, the weather has been strange and changeable, and although there was no frost or ice in the morning, the remaining slush-like substance had frozen into a smooth and potentially lethal sheet of ice. Now, the path we take to school is not a 'council approved route' - mainly in the name of their shocking self-induced catchment problems, but is generally safer than the actual paths at this time of year which are ungritted and uncleared, and there is a path well worn into the grassy area we walk across. However the slush that had collected had become a smooth and glassy trail of ice, and we were forced to walk at the sides of the trail, where the grass is longer and therefore the snow, which hadn't been trampled down, was rough and not such a slip hazard. In the normal course of things, I am generally barking at Ryan to stay on the path with the intention of avoiding aforementioned canine bowel movements. So it was probably only to be expected that the poor lad would find this confusing. As soon as we stepped out, he slipped and had a minor fall and proceeded to stand up, screaming, and declare he was going nowhere. With Ruby in her sling on my front and Ryan being a good 3 stone, I couldn't carry him over a treacherous pathway also, so I stood for a moment trying not to swear at him, counted to 10 (very quickly) and summoned Patient Mummy. She asked him to listen carefully and walk exactly where she walked, never mind the poos as they would be frozen solid anyway, and he would be fine. But he insisted on walking on the path, falling, then screaming that I made him fall. After the third round, by which time we'd only walked around 10 metres, Patient Mummy decided 'bugger this!' and left me alone with this highly unreasonable and hysterical child. There was nothing for it but to grit my teeth, grin, take him by the hand and pretty much drag him to school. Time is a precious commodity, and I can't wait until Ryan gets to the age that he understands this concept. When we reached the school gates he was screaming at the top of his voice, and had snot trails that could have been mistaken for a ski slopes. Which he continually wiped on my sleeve and not his. Lovely.

I was pretty sure that he would calm down when we reached school, but the more people who asked what was wrong, the more he screamed. So we did it all again on the return trip. By the time we reached home, I was shouting at him like a mad woman to stop screaming and LISTEN to me, and all I could make out was 'AAAAAAAAAAAAYOOOOOUDOOOOON'TSHOOOOOOUTAAAAATMEEEEEEEMUMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIDOOOOON'TWAAAAAAAANTTOOOOOOOOWAAAAAAAAALLKAAAAAAAAAAAAYOOOOOOOOUDOOOOOON'TLEEEETGOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFMMYYYYYHANNNNNDDDDDDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!'. And for a good 20 mins after we were all safely parked in the livingroom, he still screamed about not wanting to walk. Sheesh. Valium anyone?

While we're on the subject of Ryan, I'll go on. While playing yesterday, I heard him exclaim 'Oh Bugger', Captain Jack Sparrow stylee. One of those moments that makes the world stop turning for a second while you consider how to react. Now I would have to admit that this is in fact my fault. Pirates of the Caribbean is one of those rare films that both the adults and children of the house will quite happily watch together. And while I was pregnant, I was eternally grateful for such a thing - I did spend a lot of last year watching these films with Ryan and we are both probably almost word perfect on the script. And for many laydeez, Captain Jack is serious eye candy. What is it about a man dressed as a short, dreadlocked, filthy pirate with too much eyeliner who act is a rather camp and strange manor that can have the female of the species swooning to such a degree? And then there is Orlando Bloom, who is more straight-forward handsome. Not that I feel like that of course. My husband might read this. Anyway, Ryan seems to have picked up this phrase, so perhaps it's time to stop watching these films. But then, surely I would suffer too, on those long days where I just want to sit down and watch mindless telly. No, perhaps Ryan and I will just have a conversation about swear words and how it's not really all that acceptable. And how much will a 3 year old respond to this? I'll have to say all the swear words to explain, and surely that will just reinforce them into his general vocabulary. Ok, just don't say 'Oh Bugger' at nursery else I'll be getting summoned into the Depute's office. That'll do. We'll deal with that when you're older.