Forget-me-not-Friday #68

Forget-me-not-Friday

It’s been a while since I wrote a Forget-me-not-Friday, mainly because anything my girls come out with instantly goes out of my head due to brain failure. But I managed to remember one this week. It did only happen about one hour ago.

4 year old and I are having a ‘set to’. She’s been exceedingly naughty all afternoon, involving swinging off stairgates until they’re half hanging off the wall and generally terrorising her little sister. I say she has to stay in her room for a bit until she can be good. She says she’s not staying in there. In a delightful moment of parenting know-how, I tell her I’ll wedge a towel in the door so she can’t come out –  and she will have to stay there until I say so. She informs me she can get the towel out anyway if she wants. Here’s how it turned out:

4 year old: “Well I can get ANY towel out of the door anyway!”

Me, recognising this is not my finest mum-moment, but feeling the need to see it through now I’ve started: “Well let’s try then shall we?”

*Puts towel in top of door and wedges it shut with 4 year old inside and me just outside. Not intending to leave it in for long, obviously.*

4 year old, from behind the door and sounding distinctly cross and defiant:  “WELL, MUMMY! I HAVE AN IDEA!”

Me: “And what’s that?”

4 year old: “I’M NOT TELLING!”

*General shuffling and fetching noises.  I put my eye to a crack in the door.  I realise she is pulling up a chair to ensure she can reach the towel and pull it out.  Not ONLY pulling up a chair, but assembling various books ON the chair so that she can stand on these and it will make her even taller.  I realise in growing horror that I may lose this battle unless I think fast, like a Sergeant Major in the face of an impending calamity.  I decide I must not lose, so I simply pull hard on the door knob so she will think it’s still shut and she hasn’t won.*

*I then wonder why I am at pulling on the door knob to my 4 year old daughter’s bedroom, whilst simultaneously hiding from her.*

4 year old, to general huffing and puffing noises: “I can’t get it out, Mummy”

Me, thinking “phewee!”: “Well, why don’t you sit quietly and I will come and get you and you can watch Frozen with your sister.”

4 year old, after a minute or two of silence followed by some loud, meaningful “harrumphing”: “Ok then Mummy!”

I think I won.  I really do.

 

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Working Mum of two, living in Didsbury, Manchester, in a house which breeds washing, mushed up raisins and various toys in the brightest primary colours. Oh, and the odd empty wine glass.

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