Tales From The Naughty Step

The eldest two have gone to Grandma's for a couple of days which has left me home alone with The Toddler. They have great fun at Grandma's because she does everything that I don't do such as baking and making and faking fun. She talks to them non-stop and is able to sort out any squabble with minimum fuss. The Toddler is not welcome there because her house is an Aladdin's Cave of ornaments & trinkets and, being in a haphazard phase, he tends to break at least seventeen things each day of his visit.
As I am in no position to sleep train The Toddler (not my fault, The Husband has relinquished his space in the bed by being at his mother's), I have decided instead to try and control The Toddler's behaviour. The best way to do this, so I am told, is by having A Naughty Step.
The Naughty Step is a favourite place of all the child-behaviour gurus because it is the place where the child can sit to calm down, think about his behaviour then eventually say sorry. Clearly they have not considered the combination of a determined 22 month old with a mother who has no idea how to keep him on The Naughty Step. It's all very well putting him on there but getting him to stay is a different story. I have tried pinning him down, using a forceful foot and no-more-treats threats but nothing can keep him on The Naughty Step for more than ten seconds. So the one minute per year of his life theory is such a load of rubbish when your child is nearly two but thinks he is seven.
I am using The Naughty Step because The Toddler is quickly picking up the bad habits of his siblings and The Husband says, in his wisdom and expertise as SuperDaddy, if I "don't sort it out now there will be trouble later". The Toddler is into hitting me on the leg with toys and whacking The Dog over the head with cutlery so he must be stopped before he ends up a psychopath.
It's not going well.
What the child experts also fail to explain is what you do when you are out-and-about and there is no Naughty Step to hand. Such as this morning when we were dog-walking in the woods and The Toddler decided to throw a rock at my head. Introducing a Naughty Log doesn't really work when it's been raining and the log is covered in gooey moss and snails.
Anybody got an App for The Naughty Step on their phone please?
Thankfully at least somebody is getting a kick out of The Naughty Step. The Toddler's new favourite game is dragging The Dog onto it and making her sit there for a minute per year of her life. And if you're counting in dog years that's at least eight. The Toddler is doing a much better job at it than I am. Perhaps I'll get him to put me on it next time I fancy some peace & quiet - 41 minutes on The Naughty Step sounds fantastic compared to time spent disciplining The Toddler.

Slice Of (my psycho) Life

Let me give you an example of how my life works. This morning being a typical example. And can I just add that it never seems to be from anything I have done - I am simply the eye of the tornado.
The Toddler really needs sleep training but neither myself or The Husband can be bothered. We've been through that before with The Tweenager and it is hellish. So the day always starts at around 4.30am when The Toddler ends up in bed with us. He is not very spatially aware so being about 84cm long he absolutely needs to lie in whatever way his little frame can take up the most amount of bed. It's the Quantum Theory Of Bed-Hogging. He also has a cold so is snoring - and I can't stand snoring. I eventually get some sleep squeezed between The Toddler's feet and the top of the bed with a pillow over my head, only to be woken by a house alarm going full blast about three doors down. Which then awakens The Toddler who demands milk and mummy time - and it's 6.45am.
I then have to get The Dog to the vet to have her paw checked. The bandage, which we were not supposed to get wet, got soaked after being on for about ten minutes so we've had to remove the soggy stinking mess and give the paw some air time.
I have lost The Dog's lead. Although I know where I left it but somebody has decided to move it to a more suitable dog-lead place. So I have to go via a friend's house to borrow a lead which is perfect for her poodle but will just not suffice for an overexcited Lab/Collie Cross.
After the mentalness which is me trying to control The Dog at the vets, I go to pay only to realise that The Husband has removed my cash card from my purse. I am thinking about making a run for it and am about to leg it to the car when somebody comments "Is that your car, you've got a flat tyre."
It's 10.32am and the day is just beginning.
I am writing this just to illustrate to you how my days tend to pan out. Somebody commented on my blog the other day on how I come up with so many mad situations and I found it amusing that people think I actually make this stuff up.
I am approaching my 100th blog and when that happens I am going to offer one reader the prize of "A Day At The Smiths" so you too can experience a slice of my (psycho) life.

Little Boots And Good Mothers: Weapons Of Mass Destruction?

As if I haven't got enough on my plate, The Dog has cut her paw and because she has been licking it, it's become swollen so she has to wear a little boot. Three children and a dog with a little boot is much more than this mum can manage. The Dog, of course, hates the little boot and everytime my back is turned will rip it off and discard it, never to be seen again. I have already spent my entire child benefit on little boots. I could, if I was a stronger person, put a collar on her to make her look like Queen Elizabeth I, which will also stop her destroying the boot but I am way too soft. So instead my days are spent replacing and fitting the little boot and coming up with ideas such as The Toddler's sock and The Tomboy's glove as replacements.
So you can see that I am feeling rather stressed.
On top of all of this I seem to be attracting Good Mothers at the moment - the mums that bake fairy cakes and label clothes. I am positive that these mothers exist simply TO MAKE ME FEEL EVEN CRAPPER. Try as I might, I will never ever be able to have things in alphabetical order and own a book called Fun Games With Children.
I commented on this to a friend of mine who said: "Well I'm not making fairy cakes at the moment."
I cried: "At the moment? I don't bake ever".
(Nor can I keep a little boot on a dog, I wanted to add.)
I told my friend: "I am not the mother that I thought I would be."
To which her reply was: "Well maybe you're the mother you need to be".
I will take comfort in that. Until I see a Good Mother eating a fairy cake whilst walking her dog wearing a little boot.