Double trouble tag team a mythic test, along with 'Grow in Love'
Published 27/10/2015 | 00:00
DOUBLE trouble, or The Whirlwind Princess and The Little Fella as they are known in these pages, have started to work in tandem for the nefarious purpose of getting their own way.
By David Looby
What started as two single acts of mass persuasion, has become a two headed fearsome foe. I should preface this by saying that their cuteness lets them get away with their antics, but then I have to vent somewhere so - barring a 'scream into the void app' where you can say what you like about your loved ones and it immediately disappears (as suggested in Last Week Tonight with John Oliver), here goes.
Being the go to parent for treats, hugs, the remote control etc, I am always within earshot of innumerable demands as soon as I open the front door. The 'greeting party' welcome me with hugs, and following some idle chat, which is quite monosyllabic from The Little Fella admittedly, the battle to serve dinner begins. That's presuming dinner has been cooked, so in the scramble for scrambled eggs, toast, beans, sandwiches, there is much white noise, (aka screams).
The importance of the television cannot be understated here and once it's on, The Whirlwind Princess is out of my hair, the little that I have left!
'Tweet! Tweet!' the Little Fella implores, pointing, nay, stabbing the air in the direction of the sweetie press. His desired treat is a moveable feast and one week's treat is the next week's mouse fodder.
Starving myself, the dinner is produced but then the cooling process must begin and as I wolf down mine, my little 2-year-old is getting increasingly restless.
Like wolves, they arrive in packs, keening voices ratcheted up and up. The food arrives and is wolfed down and back at the TV all is well as we sit together, lapping up Paw Patrol or Doc McStuffins.
The bed time ritual is akin to The Exorcist. Having allowed them three cartoons, bribes of story books and treats the following day are invariably required to get them upstairs. The Little Fella, in fairness, happily bolts, in his waddily way, to the bottom of the stairs, but his sister takes some convincing.
At the top of the stairs, the next challenge presents itself, namely making them stop jumping on the beds.
Once this is achieved and all ablutions are complete, the story is read with gusto, as whispered stories are useless, and they are tucked into bed.
It is at this point, as if through telepathy, that they simultaneously kick off, weakening my smattered resolve. When one gets a hug, the other looks for one. When one wants a drink of water, so does the other. And so it goes on in beautiful, persistent tones. Another story is told and like some mythological creature torn between two animals, I try to negotiate their needs up to a point where I can slip out of the room into the enveloping hallway darkness and tip toe to safety.
Following this challenge, more await, but last week one night, I managed to find time to read an article on Facebook about children. I couldn't believe my eyes as I read how as part of the new Catholic religion course 'Grow in Love', six-year-old Irish infants are being taught that 'Mary says YES!' to God 'working through her' by making her pregnant, despite Mary depicted being afraid, confused and not understanding what was going on. What kind of message does this send out to young girls like my daughter. Has the Catholic Church, a decade on from the child abuse scandals, learned nothing? Consent programme anyone?!