I glanced at my watch, I needed to leave the house at 12.45pm and it was fast approaching 12.10pm. My bag was by the door filled with its usual goodies ranging from nappies to wipes to excess loo roll in case anyone got caught short or had a sneeze of epic proportions. I was dressed, each of the children were dressed, we were all calmly eating Omelettes for lunch. In theory nothing should prevent us leaving the house on time; I even paused for a moment merrily contemplating the ridiculous concept that we may be able to start our journey early.
Then I made a mistake of great magnitude.
I spoke the words;
“Eat up kids, so we are not late.”
Without realising I actually said the magic secret password which in kids language translated to…
“Let’s arse around.”
Within seconds twin boy leapt from the table and began dancing like a mad fool clutching his bottom frantically.
“Do you need the toilet?” I enquired politely.
“No” he boogied, “I am just dancing.”
” I need a wee” Twin girl declared and started to climb down from the table.
“Nooooo” yelled twin boy, “I need a poo, I need one now.”
The battle for the bathroom had began. First the twins both set off at breakneck speed, they reached the first doorway and in true cartoon style they crashed into each other, one knocking the other flying.
Wails of pain and frustration followed, the kind that set your nerves on edge and raise the hairs at the base of you neck. In short the type of wails that make any mum want to shout like a siren.
Picking themselves up they ran at the door frame again, one clutching his bottom and the other holding her front. Shoulders clashed as the door frame had not increased in size since their last encounter and for a moment they were stuck. A mesh of flailing arms and legs wriggling and struggling to break into the next room.
Then suddenly twin girl squeezed through with a pop, and she was off into the lead. With a cry of anger twin boy launched forward stretching his little hand out for her skirt. His hand closed around cloth and he brought her down allowing him to scurry past and start his ascent on the stairs. Twin girl paused for a moment to assess the damage to her person and to decide whether to raise her complaint in the court of motherhood. She must had sensed this was a race she could still win as she let out a war cry and bounded after her brother.
BB at this time chose to snub her nose at her siblings and score a point by literally going to the toilet where she sat.
The stairs became a mass of limbs, twin girl dived over twin boys head and he retaliated by giving her a quick hair pull as she passed.
Several elongated cries of “ooowwwwwwww” were heard by myself, the neighbours and any passer bys. My nerves were gone. I couldn’t even raise from my seat in case I was overwhelmed by the bubble of barmyness that was currently running amok in my manor.
Eventually I had to intervene, I found the waring parties wedged once more in the toilet doorway but both naked from the waist down. Both looked unhurt except for the odd scratch here and there, and remarkably wild hair.
I had to choose a winner to christen the bowl first, to be honest I chose not on merit or skill but merely who would do the most damage if they were to lose control and go before they reached the loo.
Twin boy sat on his throne, triumphant in his victory, twin girl sobbed at the door swearing her revenge on all.
Needless to say, the time it took to get over this episode and restore law and order ensured we were late, very late in fact.
The moral of this tale?
Either never utter the foolish words “eat up or we will be late.”
Or simply buy a home with two thrones.