WET, WET, WET

Unless things change very soon my abiding memory of this year will be of the wet. Wet rain, wet clothes, wet toilet seats, wet beds, and wet, tear stained faces, mine included. Every time I turn around something else is sodden. My garden is now beyond verdant and heading towards destroyed. The kids have barely set foot outside, and whenever they do they come in minutes later soaking wet. Every half term activity has had to be rain proof and time at home has had to be planned around indoor activity. I only just made it through last winter; so sun deprived did I feel. And now here I am practically in the middle of June with no respite from the rain in sight.

If there wasn’t enough water around, Olly has decided to make his own contribution to the floods by peeing all over the toilet floor whenever he visits the loo. The first couple of times it happened I actually looked up to check the ceiling thinking there was a leak. I even examined the toilet in case the bowl was cracked. I have always tried to be really chilled around bodily functions, feeling somehow that they are bound to have enough neuroses as my children without freaking about a bit of poo or wee. But I have to draw the line at what Olly is up to at the moment. It makes me despair. I have resorted to reminding him to go to the loo so that it isn’t a mad dash at the last second and calling after him to remember to wee in the toilet. I feel really reluctant to stand over him while he wees, but on the occasions where I am in the bathroom with him I notice that he is looking everywhere but the toilet. And wherever he looks is where his willy, still weeing, points. I know that there was a toilet designed with a fly painted on the bowl to encourage men to pee at it. With Olly’s aim he’d be lucky to hit an elephant.

Wet beds, the bane of our lives. Either wet with pee, milk or juice. Billie arrives at our bedside with the saggiest, baggiest nappies ever, and we are so goddamn tired we haul her in and often forget to change her. Later on in the night one or other of us awakes to find that her slightly warm pee trickling out of her nappy and onto the bed. And this is where it gets grim: quite often we just try and sleep around it. I never thought I could put up with such appalling conditions but try four years without sleep! Olly lumbers in, demanding bottle, slurps enough to get him off, and allows the rest to drip, drip onto the sheets and into our dreams. The mattress, despite the careful application of caremats, towels and mattress covers is rapidly beginning to resemble a map of the world so covered is it in patchy stains.

And tears have fallen this past couple of weeks from all our eyes. Both the children have cried as a result of me losing my rag and raging at them. Then I burst into tears when I realised how horrible I’d been. We’ve made up though, with promises all round not to draw on the floor, rip up books or shout anymore. If only I could dry up the rain, like I’ve dried up the wee and the tears, perhaps we could have a little more fun.

Quote of the Week:

Olly peeing on the lawn: "Mummy, the garden is like a big toilet."
Olly wiping his hands on the grass: "And it is like a big towel as well."

Juliet Jones lives in domestic chaos with husband Steve, son Oliver (aged 3) and daughter Billie (aged 2) in Hertfordshire.