course Matthew had neglected to change the kids into their old painting clothes before they started, so their nice little matching Osh Kosh overalls (a gift from Mum) were ruined. And I was furious. Really. When I got home I was furious, even though the whole episode was one of those endearing, klutzy things that made Matthew the sweet-natured guy he always had been. Can you see what Iâm saying? Can you see why Iâm scared?
Iâm afraid to ask Matthew if heâs having an affair, because in a funny sort of way Iâm also afraid that, if he is, itâs because I deserve it.
I decided to look through our old phone bills. Fortunately, we get them itemised for tax reasons because I work at home a lot, so I knew that it would be easy to check whether Matthew had been making any unexplained phone calls. But I couldnât get on to it right away. I had the dishes to wash (no dishwasher, unfortunately), the laundry to do and the kidsâ breakfasts to make. Whatâs more, I had to tackle all these chores whenever I wasnât changing nappies, making beds and settling quarrels. Itâs amazing how scatty Iâve become, since having Emily. The house is always full of half-completed jobs, because no sooner do I begin to hang up the washing than Jonah demands another piece of cheese. So I cut the cheese, and give it to him, and then the phone rings, and then Emily wants me to put a dress on her doll, and then Jonah does a dump in his nappy, and I have to change it, and next thing you know itâs hours later, and the cheese is drying on the kitchen benchtop, and the wet laundry is still sitting in the laundry basket.
It doesnât help that Emily takes her time over breakfast. She grazes, in other words; the meal can be spread over two hours, and I never know whether thatâs a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, nutritionists say that itâs natural for small children to graze, rather than eat three solid meals a day, because they have small stomachs. On the other hand, dentists say that grazing leads to tooth decay. All I know is this: it plays havoc with my schedule when Emily demands one piece of apple, followed (ten minutes later) by one piece of orange, then one rice cracker, then one dry Weet-Bixâwhich will shed its flakes all over the floorâone prune, one apricot bar, one cheese stick . . .
At least she eats, though. Jonah doesnât eat. The lengths I go to, trying to persuade him that his meals should be put in his mouth. The vegetables Iâve tried to disguise! The boats Iâve made out of fish fingers and halved cheese slices! Heâs very creative, thoughâIâll give him that. What he does with his food is far more original than what I do with it. Itâs been left in some pretty amazing places, I can tell you. And every time he sits down to eat, his highchair tray ends up looking like a work of abstract expressionism.
This morning, he asked for a honey sandwich. And I was delighted, at first. Iâd forgotten that when Jonah is given honey, it ends up everywhere. On everything. And then he spilled his drink on Emilyâs T-shirt, and Emily insisted that she had to change her clothes, and while I was helping her Jonah trod on the farm truck that he loves, and broke it, and cried, and I had to divert him with an old plastic pig of Emilyâs, which she suddenly wanted to play with . . . well, you get the picture.
But I made it to the shops, at last. I put Jonah in his stroller, and pushed him up to the local supermarket (very slowly, so that Emily could stop every two minutes to check out an antsâ nest, a discarded shoe, a dead caterpillar, a bit of graffitti . . .), and bought a few things for dinner, more to keep the children entertained than anything else. I never do much shopping when I donât have the car, because I canât carry more than I can put in the stroller. Anyway, I donât really care for that
Iâm afraid to ask Matthew if heâs having an affair, because in a funny sort of way Iâm also afraid that, if he is, itâs because I deserve it.
I decided to look through our old phone bills. Fortunately, we get them itemised for tax reasons because I work at home a lot, so I knew that it would be easy to check whether Matthew had been making any unexplained phone calls. But I couldnât get on to it right away. I had the dishes to wash (no dishwasher, unfortunately), the laundry to do and the kidsâ breakfasts to make. Whatâs more, I had to tackle all these chores whenever I wasnât changing nappies, making beds and settling quarrels. Itâs amazing how scatty Iâve become, since having Emily. The house is always full of half-completed jobs, because no sooner do I begin to hang up the washing than Jonah demands another piece of cheese. So I cut the cheese, and give it to him, and then the phone rings, and then Emily wants me to put a dress on her doll, and then Jonah does a dump in his nappy, and I have to change it, and next thing you know itâs hours later, and the cheese is drying on the kitchen benchtop, and the wet laundry is still sitting in the laundry basket.
It doesnât help that Emily takes her time over breakfast. She grazes, in other words; the meal can be spread over two hours, and I never know whether thatâs a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, nutritionists say that itâs natural for small children to graze, rather than eat three solid meals a day, because they have small stomachs. On the other hand, dentists say that grazing leads to tooth decay. All I know is this: it plays havoc with my schedule when Emily demands one piece of apple, followed (ten minutes later) by one piece of orange, then one rice cracker, then one dry Weet-Bixâwhich will shed its flakes all over the floorâone prune, one apricot bar, one cheese stick . . .
At least she eats, though. Jonah doesnât eat. The lengths I go to, trying to persuade him that his meals should be put in his mouth. The vegetables Iâve tried to disguise! The boats Iâve made out of fish fingers and halved cheese slices! Heâs very creative, thoughâIâll give him that. What he does with his food is far more original than what I do with it. Itâs been left in some pretty amazing places, I can tell you. And every time he sits down to eat, his highchair tray ends up looking like a work of abstract expressionism.
This morning, he asked for a honey sandwich. And I was delighted, at first. Iâd forgotten that when Jonah is given honey, it ends up everywhere. On everything. And then he spilled his drink on Emilyâs T-shirt, and Emily insisted that she had to change her clothes, and while I was helping her Jonah trod on the farm truck that he loves, and broke it, and cried, and I had to divert him with an old plastic pig of Emilyâs, which she suddenly wanted to play with . . . well, you get the picture.
But I made it to the shops, at last. I put Jonah in his stroller, and pushed him up to the local supermarket (very slowly, so that Emily could stop every two minutes to check out an antsâ nest, a discarded shoe, a dead caterpillar, a bit of graffitti . . .), and bought a few things for dinner, more to keep the children entertained than anything else. I never do much shopping when I donât have the car, because I canât carry more than I can put in the stroller. Anyway, I donât really care for that
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