Snow, Glorious Snow

“Why doesn’t it ever snow in Dorset?” said my daughter a few weeks ago. Little did she or I know that just round the corner was heavy snowfall preparing to cover the Dorset countryside. Despite being warned by the cheery BBC Weather lady that snow would hit the West, I had visions of a bit of sleet and a couple of days with the thermostat turned up. I was shocked when I drew back the curtains and discovered a blanket of snow covering the surrounding fields.

For the children it was a dream come true. They sprung from their beds enthusiastically and dressed in record speed, keen to get going on a snowman. Finally, I managed to lure them back inside with the bribe of hot chocolate and porridge before we began the mammoth task of suiting, booting and searching for gloves ahead of school. Just as the car was sufficiently de-iced and I had nipped back inside to grab the water bottles, the phone rang. It was my husband calling to let me know he was stranded at Basingstoke station on his way to London and needed rescuing. I mentally rattled through the morning’s schedule, which involved various appointments and packing ahead of our annual trip to Cambodia to see my brother. With a bit of juggling I could just about drive to Basingstoke and get back in time to pick up The Toddler.

I arrived at school and delighted in finding the most convenient parking space right outside the school gates. There were very few other people around but perhaps we were a little earlier than usual. The headmistress greeted me at the door standing by a large notice stating the school was closed. Help, I thought. That would mean driving to Basingstoke with three excitable children and two hyperactive dogs desperate for their morning walk. The worst of it was that we would have to drive at a snail’s pace due to the treacherous driving conditions, drawing out the agonising experience. At first, they were all entertained by the snow and the odd car stuck nose down in a ditch. However, after an hour of driving the arguments began. “He keeps touching me,” my daughter whined, “I need to go to the loo,” cried the Toddler, “Are we nearly there?” whinged my son.

Finally, we did manage to rescue my stranded husband who returned home to work in the kitchen seated with his back to the AGA for the rest of the afternoon. The children revelled in the snow and I attempted to start packing, constantly interrupted by endless requests for help with boots and gloves on and off.

Today, the school is closed again. So, it’s off for a leg wax and pedicure accompanied by three twittering starlings.

Birthday Bonanza

The birthday bonanza is once again over for another year. Last week, we celebrated my daughter’s seventh and The Toddler’s third birthday. I wondered why on earth I didn’t do everything possible in the labour ward on January 21st 2006 to stop The Toddler from arriving to share his sister’s birthday. I should have pleaded with the midwives, got down on my knees and begged them to give me large doses of Oxytocin. I simply had no idea what it would be like to celebrate two children’s birthdays on the same day post Christmas in the middle of bleak January.

This year was also more made more difficult because The Toddler now fully grasps the concept of birthdays and presents, having had much practice the previous month. We agreed that they would both open their presents at teatime in one mammoth opening session, accompanied by a joint chocolate cake with carefully divided candles to allow for individual blowing. We sang two rounds of Happy Birthday and our son kept a brave face as he watched his two siblings jointly celebrate their day.

Then we came to The Party. Thankfully, we managed to persuade The Toddler that he would absolutely love to do a spot of pottery painting, or splodging, with a couple of close friends, whilst his siblings were at school. He went along with it still oblivious to the world of Musical Bumps and Statues, surrounded by a mass of tearful pre-schoolers all accompanied by their tea-sipping parents. My daughter, who spends the entire year building up to her big event, decided she wanted a disco. She also wanted to invite her entire class of 24. Therefore the celebrations continued throughout the week and the excitement levels escalated. With flashing lights, loud booming music and Wayne from Groovemix at the helm, the children danced their small legs off. My husband was as excited as the children and enthusiastically joined in alongside my daughter shrieking, “It’s like the 21st I never had.”

That evening, we were exhausted and barely managed to keep an eye open to watch Casualty. It had been a week of birthday jubilation with an abundance of presents, cakes, cards and balloons. My daughter now felt a little deflated although instantly pulled a notepad out and began party planning for 2010. Meanwhile, The Toddler looked up from his bed and sleepily said, “Mummy, why didn’t Father Christmas bring me my stocking?”