LIVES OF CRIME

Travelling back from a visit to the garden centre, I congratulated myself on how well behaved the kids were in the back of the car. Olly was singing “Coming Round The Mountain” and pointing out items of interest and Billie was, well Billie was QUIET. As I’ve mentioned before, with children, Silence is NOT golden, it is a big warning that terrible deeds are occurring. However, I looked in the rear view, over my shoulder I even twisted round but there she was just sitting in her car seat, those big baby blues staring back at me. A picture of innocence. It was only when her Supergrass of a big brother starting yelling that I twigged what was going on.

Positioned in between the driver’s and passenger seat, was the most gorgeous yellow rose bush (another hit for me, the gardening junkie) but during the journey home Billie had been playing ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ with the leaves. It was only when she pulled off a large yellow bloom that Olly’s attention was attracted and he blew the gaff on her. The true enormity of her crime was only revealed when I lifted her out of her car seat. A mass of rose leaves tumbled to the floor like a dreadful confetti. And when I took the rose bush out of the car one of the three stems was entirely devoid of foliage. Fingers Jones had struck again.

Now in terms of M.O. my two little criminals fall into two separate camps. Olly specializes primarily in smash and grab or graffiti; it’s brash, its violent, but it’s easily managed. Distraction techniques, keeping him fed and watered or simply hiding all the pens seems to do the trick. But Bill is much more difficult to police. For starters, she looks innocent. A cute little person, more doll than demon. With her big blue eyes and big curly ringlets, the idea of criminal intent is inconceivable. Secondly, she is cunning. Every crime is committed in silence, and usually behind closed doors. As a harassed housewife, it’s hard enough keeping an ear out for sounds of bad behaviour let alone the silence of wrongdoing.

So I’m definitely more Clouseau than Morse. And, with my crime solving abilities at an all time low, I have therefore failed to thwart the removal of an entire raft of wipes from their packet and their subsequent immersion in the toilet, the removal of all of the leaves off a rather lovely houseplant, the constant twiddling and pressing of buttons on the dishwasher and washing machine, the drowning of Tinky Winky in the bath and the murder of a soft toy with talcum powder.

What is even more infuriating with Bill is her flat refusal to acknowledge any wrongdoing or show any remorse. When confronted she glares, hands on hips, furious at being found out but impervious to any remonstrations or chastisement (translated: Shouting and Telling Off – I’m just trying to make myself sound a more reasonable parent). She’s a cool customer and she’s got nerves of steel. Perhaps it’s because she’s grown up with Olly constantly leaping out at her armed to the teeth and yelling. It’s got to toughen you up. Living with Oliver must be the equivalent of sending a petty criminal to the Category A section of Belmarsh.

So she’s tough, she’s cool, she’s cunning. I wonder how on earth I’m going to keep her on the straight and narrow. My glimmer of hope is that Fingers CARES. She cares about her brother, her family, her dolls and her animals. According to Lord Winston on Child of Our Time, empathy is a big key to developing into a well-rounded, social individual. And at least our Bill has that in spades. She spends hours feeding, bathing, dressing and cuddling her toys. She cares very much that we call all of them by the right names, Dolly Henry, Baby Henry, Tiny Baby Henry, Puppy Henry, Tiny White Kitten, Stuart The Mouse (soft), Stuart The Mouse (hard), Amber Kitten, Bath Barbie, Dry Barbie, Baby Emily, Baby Cherry, Sunny Bear, Mummy Cat, Family in a Bag (that’s her entire family circle all represented by doll’s house figures carried round in a fluffy bag) to name but a few. All of them receive lots of love and attention and are regularly treated to holidays and trips out. So I guess if she does end up in jail she’ll get a lot of visitors.

Quote of the Week

“When I get bigger I used to be a horsey.”

Juliet Jones lives in domestic chaos with husband Steve, son Oliver (aged 4) and daughter Billie (aged 2 and a half) in Hertfordshire.

NEXT INSTALMENT: MONDAY 23 SEPTEMBER