You Are Now Entering Beanworld
It’s half term this week. A great week where I get to spend time with both of my children, doing lots of fun things. Ideally. In reality, this time, it hasn’t been quite like that.
It’s a week where I should have a lot on, workwise, which I have put to one side to spend time with my children. I wouldn’t change this, but there is always a little alarm going off in my head *this needs to be done*this needs to be done*. In addition, it’s also a week where my daughter has been experimenting again with her sleep patterns. This week’s entertaining idea involves going to sleep late in the evening, only to wake around 11pm and stay awake, bright and breezy, playing, chatting and full of energy, until 3am when she will quite suddenly press her own off button.
Perhaps my children have been liaising, but this is also the week that my son has decided that 6.30am is a great time to get up. So, that’s me then, operating on less than 4 hours sleep. Woo, and indeed, hoo.
It is in this state then that I have found myself living in Beanworld this week. Please leave your tenuous grip on reality and sanity at the border. I am blessed with a child who is described as a “chatterbox”. More correctly, he rarely pauses to draw breath during the twelve hours of the day he is awake, and has been known to talk in his sleep. He also inhabits his own reality much of the time, so we tend to get used to some of the odd things he says.
However, in my sleep deprived state, during half term, he is threatening to prise my fingers off the last shred of sanity I possess. Not in a bad way, just in a trying-to-follow-what-the-feck-he-is-on-about kind of way.
When we got up yesterday morning, I had lost my voice. Completely. But that’s OK, because Bean was on the case. He had hunted down my voice, and found it in my sock drawer. Unfortunately, not in time to prevent my socks from setting fire to it and cooking it for breakfast.
Later on in the day, he felt the need to inform me, completely devoid of any kind of context, that when he goes to Timelord School, he will ask 110 questions.
He and Plum will plot against me. I know this to be true. They already talk to each other in their own language (Plum, of course, being not-quite-6-months-old, doesn’t speak in any other language that I can decipher, but they seem to understand each other). Bean translates for me, and it turns out that Plum has the same kind of crazy mind as Bean. During the school holidays next year, I imagine I will need to be tethered to an outpost of reality in order to find my way home again, when the two of them have created their own universe which adults are not permitted to understand.
Just as an end note, it’s my birthday in a little over a week. Should you be wondering what would be an appropriate gift, then let me suggest the following: hair dye, tethering ropes, breadcrumbs and a map showing the route back to sanity. And caffeine.