Morning mischief

I haven’t yet fully lifted myself from the Depths of Doom (i.e. Horribly Indulgent Self-Pitying Stage), so think it is best to steer clear of writing openly about my emotions. But keeping going with this blog is something I get a huge sense of satisfaction and enjoyment from, so instead I will entertain you (hopefully) with some of Sam’s recent morning mischievousness.

He seems particularly cheeky early on in the day – perhaps because I am most definitely NOT a morning person, and will overlook most roguish deeds that occur before 9 o’clock. Generally I am pretty firm with my discipline; if something is ‘No’ one day, it will remain a ‘No’ forever. But Sam has caught on to the fact that he has 2-3 hours each morning in which rules are discarded and any tricks he pulls will either be ignored or laughed at; as Morning Me is content to leave any consequent clearing up to the post 9am version of me.

Here is what happened yesterday morning:

This blog no longer contains images of my son's face. Click to find out why.

He is NOT allowed to stand on that book box, nor have I previously encouraged him to empty out all the books and toys onto the floor. But in this case I couldn’t really tell him off: I had been slumped on the sofa with my eyes closed. Instead he was rewarded with a little chuckle – you can’t fault his imagination in finding a way to rouse his stubbornly lazy mother to action.

This next photo was taken a few days ago. I don’t have a shower, and the hose attachment on the bath doesn’t work because of rubbish water pressure; so I have to wash my hair in the sink. Sometimes Sam ‘helps’. Except when we are in a rush, I love it when he does this; especially as there is always a big build-up – him huffing and puffing whilst positioning his stool in the perfect position and repeating ‘help Mummy, help Mummy’ (this is a shortened version of ‘I am going to help Mummy’, whereas ‘Mummy help, Mummy help’ is what he says when he needs help from me). His ‘help’ always results in a lot of water on the floor…and in this case it also ended with a very wet little boy. ‘Bit wet Mummy, bit wet Mummy’ is not something you can adequately deal with when you’ve got a very soapy head upside down in a sink full of water. So my response was to take off his pyjama top and mollify him with ‘if you’re cold you’ll just have to put some clothes on yourself’ (a very unkind, heartless thing to say to a toddler who can barely put on wellies, and who would find any other garments impossible). But this is how I found him when my hair was finally in a towel turban:

He had gone to his wardrobe; pulled out a box of old summer clothes; and followed my instructions. I said to put clothes on if he was cold – he did. Ingenious.

These next photos depict a new habit he has picked up recently. As soon as I announce it’s time to get dressed/brush teeth/go out, he runs away and hides (giggling loudly all the while). Extremely cute, though it invariably makes us at least half an hour late to wherever we were meant to be because I am unable to resist the temptation of playing a full-blown game of hide-and-seek (Toddler Edition).

Let it be noted that the hiding places are usually storage places for several other things that have to be turfed out to provide a Sam sanctuary. The white cupboard usually holds ALL the pots and pans I own.

But the ultimate example of Sam’s morning mischief came after I had been bemoaning the fact I hadn’t had a lie-in for two years. A friend suggested I should just let him play in my room for a bit while I went back to bed…and for a wonderful but short time I believed this may be the answer. As I have confessed before; I am not one who is readily able to face up to reality.

It did SEEM to be working fine; I was enjoying a bit of a snooze whilst still being vaguely aware of what Sam was doing. Eventually he got bored of emptying out my drawers and came to demand the attention he is rightly used to. I, however, was too warm and relaxed to respond immediately and kept my eyes tightly shut. I opened them the moment he started to draw on me…but after seeing his drawing implement was a clear lip balm, I drifted back into the land of feigned sleep. Sadly all good things must come to an end, and when I opened my eyes a second time I was greeted by a very different smile than the one I am accustomed to.

This photo was taken the exact moment he glimpsed himself in the mirror:

It is my birthday today. Needless to say I did not take the risk of a lie-in.


  1. Expat Mammy

    happy birthday hun, hope your have a great day. He’s a wee cutie

    • I’ve had a brill day thanks. Think I’m fairly happy that I’ve traded my alcohol-fueled birthdays of the past, for a birthday where eating has been the main activity! I risk a junk food hangover though!

  2. Mistress Mummy

    Happy birthday! What a little cutie your boy is, must be worth getting out of bed in the morning just to see that big sime. Hope you have a fantastic day, you deserve it x

    • Aww thank you, he IS a little cutie. And especially so today – at last his daily practice of singing ‘Happy Birrrrrday Mummmmmmmyyyyy’ has paid off! (He’s been singing it since his own birthday in October). May crack open my £1.49 bottle of sparkling-something-that-looks-like-champagne tonight… so might not be quite as easily won over by that smile tomorrow morning. But on second thoughts, I doubt the alcohol content of a £1.49 bottle is all that high…

  3. Happy birthday. Sam is adorable – he made me smile. You were one of the people who inspired me to write my latest post (you and my daughter): Dear Self, Just Stop It. My daughter did not read it. She said it was too long (so of course I will be writing a shorter version 🙂 ). I hope you will stop by and read it.

    • Thank you. It seems a little big-headed not to protest against Sam’s adorableness…but I can’t quite bring myself to do so; so yes, you are right; he IS adorable! 🙂 Thank you, compliments about Sam are logged forever in my heart.

      I did read your latest post. Fabulous writing as always – as one of the comments said, I wouldn’t be surprised to see your work published one day. And the people who have commented clearly have a lot of love and respect for you – you DO seem to have been Supermum!

      I saw straightaway the bit my man-moaning would have given you inspiration for (funny that we were even the same age!) and the part about your friend’s child obviously gives huge perspective (not just on being brokenhearted – any problem that arises will seem trivial in comparison to the grief he must feel). Luckily, unlike your heartbreak back then, I do not hold a grudge or feel angry. Yes; I was perturbed by the fact I had to hound him to finally receive a straight refusal, and I do feel he was quite unkind to paint a picture of paradise when he must have known that reality was just around the corner…but I am not in any way angry at him; just sad that the daydream turned out to be just that – a daydream.

      My heartbreak is not consuming my life, though I find it hard to be upbeat in the evenings, which is when I write this blog. During the day I surround myself with friends who are happily planning a Christmas with their loving partners and children…and I feel a bit deflated after I’ve put Sam to bed and have another evening by myself in an empty flat. But it is all silliness – I know I will meet someone else one day (probably many more ‘someone else’s’…though hopefully not too many!), and I will find that daydreams are not all they’re cracked up to be, and real life will be much more satisfying…even if not as perfect.

      I really do appreciate you commenting, and welcome more grandmotherly advice (as one of your commenters put it). But forgive me if, like the rest of ‘us youngsters’, I partly ignore your advice and seem determined to make the mistakes that you foresee and warn me against. It is wonderful to read your blog and realise that the things that don’t work out quite how you’d planned usually turn out to be the best decisions you’ve made…but I think making the big mistakes are a part of life, and I think it would be all wrong if I didn’t feel sad about losing such a special person. He is going to make some woman incredibly happy, and I hope that it happens soon. But that doesn’t stop me feeling absolutely gutted that it wasn’t me…and shamefully I won’t be ready to hear his happiness in his love life til I have found some in mine!

      I hope what I’ve said hasn’t offended you; please don’t feel you can’t comment again. I am just headstrong and am prepared to stubbornly make all the mistakes you could very easily warn me against!

      • Oops…didn’t mean that to be so long! May as well copy and paste into a whole new post!

      • Not offended at all. I really was writing to myself (I was consumed by heartbreak, held a grudge, and was genuinely pathetic). Your post in conjunction with the Facebook post from my ex-boyfriend from 30 years ago on the same night, inspired me to revisit all of the stuff I wish I didn’t (and still do) let bother me.

        I frequently have to tell myself “stop it” at this age.

        It just seemed a little serendipitous to “meet” you and receive the clip from Frank. 🙂

      • Oh good, I got a little carried away with that comment! I think the reason I was so defensive is that I know I am making a fuss about nothing, but am OK with allowing myself a bit of a mourning period if it means that I can get all the feelings over and done with and start afresh when I am ready. The New Year will see a new me!

        I don’t think I’d manage replicate your blog post with letters to my younger self: reading through my old diaries, I am embarrassed to find I haven’t changed/grown up much! I hope you get your message across to your daughter and she is less stubborn than me! x

  4. Happy Belated Birthday, Vicki! Love the last pic…adorable.

    A million years ago, when my daughter was little, I laid down to take a nap with her. I woke up to her choking on a penny that had fallen out of my skirt. An ER visit and overnight hospital stay later, and I had learned my lesson. LOL! I was 25, btw.

  5. Thank goodness we are safe from that particular incident: all money, however small the denomination, is hoarded carefully by me. When money is tight and you have a toddler who likes to hide things, the phrase ‘Look after the pennies…’ takes on new meaning!

    That said, we are in constant danger of visiting ER for any number of small objects getting lodged in Sam’s throat. He takes great delight in taking the batteries out of toys/remote controls. Thank goodness he’s never really been one for putting things in his mouth. It only takes one time though…

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