Monday, March 18, 2013

Two year olds.



I'm in the kitchen making dinner and I hear a yell of indignation from the living room. I ignore it because indignation isn't urgent and really, as long as everyone is in tact then I'm good. But after a minute it escalates into screams of 'STUCK STUCK STUCK'. Muttering I put down the spoon and head towards the living room. Last time there were yells of 'stuck' Ammie was jammed between the bottom step and a bike wheel and perilously close to dislocating something trying to get out, so as tempting as it is to leave the toddler who is securely not under my feet, I figure I'd better check. I go into the living room and Ella is lying on the sofa, flat on her back, screaming. The kid has been able to walk for a year, I'm pretty sure she is not in fact 'stuck'. I pick her up, dump her back on her bum and leave the room. Silence falls.

It's dinner time, the girls are sitting at the table eating chilli and rice with nice normal-sized plastic cutlery. I get up to fetch something from the kitchen, when I return Ammie has procured a gigantic wooden mixing spoon from somewhere and is eating her dinner with it.

'A SNAIL. A SNAIL IN AMMIE'S DINNER. AGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH.' There is a piece of rice that has turned brown where it has been in contact with the chilli. Ammie pushes her plate away with disgust and refuses to eat any more. Because there are snails in it.

'AMMIE'S FOOT. AMMIE'S FOOTSIE IS BROKOON. AMMIE HAS AN OUCHIE!' Ammie in fact has a small piece of toilet paper stuck to the sole of her foot.

I am sitting on the floor putting Ella's pyjamas on her. Behind me I can hear slurping. When Ella is dressed we turn around to get up and Ammie hands us her almost empty cup of milk while cradling another, full, cup of milk to her chest. 'Ella's milk' she tells me, brandishing the empty cup at me. 'Ammie, that's your cup, give me Ella's please.' 'ELLA'S CUP.' 

We're eating grapes, each with our own small plate full. Ammie finishes hers and looks at mine. 'MORE' she screams at highest pitch. 'MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE FOR AMMIE'. 'Ammie,' I say in a warning tone. She changes tack instantly; 'nice mummy, funny mummy! More please for Ammie please nice mummy?' Who can resist.