Day 19 of the School Summer Holidays (17 July), and my plans for heading off strawberry picking fell apart because I had to take Midi Minx to the doctors and wait in for a biiiiiig online supermarket delivery. That had a lot of strawberries in it. Oops.
Well, I think Midi has thrush. Rather than self-diagnose, I thought I’d take her to the GP, to make sure. I think we saw the senior partner today. Nice man, but I guess that me plus 3 little girls in a tiny room with one chair kind of intimidated him: he gave a prescription without examining Midi, listing all sorts of reasons why not. “It would be less embarrassing for us both”, was one. I didn’t explain that none of the minxes are very body-conscious (except that my beautiful Maxi has recently complained that her gorgeous, perfect, round ears are “far too big and I hate them”. Yet the identical ears on Mini are “cute”. I despair).
Sorry, I digress – where were we? Gp. He quickly listed reasons why Midi might have ‘inflammation Down There and a discharge’, eg recent antibiotics, 4 year old dodgy hygiene, ‘perfectly normal and age-appropriate masturbatory explorations’. I stiffled a very non-middle aged mummy snigger, was inwardly highly amused though sympathetic at his obvious discomfort (he actually said “Down There” in a Les Dawson style whisper), I agreed with everything he said, then drove to the next village to fill the prescription for Magic Cream. I was sniggering because last week Midi had proudly informed The Boss that she’d finally found her willy, but that it was only a little one, and that Maxi had helped her find both of theirs. Bless! The innocence of little kids, eh? The Boss completely bottled out of explaining what a clitoris was for – he said that 2 pairs of earnest little eyes were just too much for him.
So: chemists and filling prescriptions. The minxes and I discussed what to do that day as we drove to the chemists. “Paint!” demanded my eldest artist. “Throw rocks!” sniggered my thug. “Eat cake!” suggested Mini-me. Then Maxi came up with a blinder: “Paint rocks like cake! Or dinosaur eggs!”
So, a quick stop-off back at home to pick up my purse and usher little girls in to do a pee-stop (spot the experienced, battle-scarred mother…) then off to B&Q. To throw in a bit of maths practice, I told them they had a budget of £10 to buy whatever they wanted. We spent some time discussing the merits of buying 2 tins of shiny metal lacquer versus 9 bright colours and using the varnish lurking in the garage. I thought the tester pots would be a brilliant idea because they only have a little paint (economical, not too much waste) and they come with a paintbrush in the lid (less mess, less waste, easy and instant use).
Mini got exceptionally excited about painting stones. I persuaded her to have a nap first. Now I meant to only start it off with the bigger girls, but I turned into the “No! Not like that! Look at the mess!” screeching shrew of a mother and ended up just getting all the stones done in a oner, inwardly promising to let Mini paint the next coating. The smartest thing I did was insist on Midi and Maxi wearing the thick shower hats their Grandma had bought them. I remembered all too well the trauma caused a few years ago when the nursery used paint that didn’t wash out of hair… I also insisted on old clothes. Phew! They really weren’t messy, but the few paint splashes there were *didn’t* wash out.
Edited to add: I’ll show the photos of the stones in a later post – they’re pretty cool!