How sweet the sound of kids whingeing loudly – Kieran Howard

With one kid screaming and the other crying, it was a pure cacophony of noise
With one kid screaming and the other crying, it was a pure cacophony of noise

I’m learning very quickly not to turn to social media for support. 

You're more likely to receive wit and sarcasm from friends, long before any supportive or reassuring words.
I took to Facebook recently to share the cacophony of noise that is a baby and toddler duet of screaming and crying. What a wonderful sound that is. 
It was 7pm and Lennie was crying his heart out because the Tommee Tippee machine wasn't making his feed quick enough.
Meanwhile, Louie was accompanying with a temper-tantrum whinge-cry because he wasn't allowed to watch Thomas on the iPad, when he should already have been in bed asleep.
The less than uplifting replies were as follows.
A friend, who had recently purchased a tortoise, simply joked, ‘Bet you wish you had a tortoise now!!!’
I responded with a rapid, ‘Yes I do. Swap you?’ I'm still awaiting a response. 
My sister followed by offering an exhange deal. ‘Swap you four 10-year-old girls on a sleepover?’ she said. We quickly declined her kind offer. It didn't seem a fair trade.
A friend in New Zealand rounded things off by stressing, ‘I won't be travelling 18,882km to immerse myself in the surround sound of childhood cheer.’
I think I might come off Facebook. 

My titanic struggle on a day out alone with the boys

If you think trying to achieve world peace is an impossible task, then try taking two under-threes out for an afternoon, on your own. 

The titanic struggle of escorting a baby and toddler into town, without another adult present, is easily on a par with the bid to end all wars.

I discovered what a monumental effort it is when I ventured out with both boys on my own for the first time last week.

I'd been out with them individually on occasions, but never as a duo. 

I'd never been brave enough up until that point. Call me a coward if you like, and I'll probably agree.

In fairness, I'd done exceptionally well to go three months without enduring the same  battle Kerrie encounters on an almost daily basis.

I was long overdue the experience. Incidentally, it's an experience unlikely to ever feature  with Red Letter Days.

Trust me, you wouldn't be thanking anybody who bought you that as a Christmas gift.

Anyhow, I ended up in charge of Louie and Lennie when Kerrie was afforded day release from the madhouse. 

She and some other mums went to Southampton for some retail therapy. 

Coincidentally, I too needed therapy by the time she returned home.

We'd waved her off at 9.30am. My fake smile and 'have a lovely time' parting words hid my concern at keeping all three of us sane and alive for a whole day.

My worry wasn't an irrational one either. By about midday, I was running out of ideas. 

The only option was to head out and run some errands. By about 2pm (yes, a whole two hours later), we were ready for departure. 

I'd finally got bags packed and both kids dressed according to the weather and strapped into their respective car seats (nowhere near as easy as it sounds).

Perhaps not surprisingly, the challenge of getting them in and out of the car and  transporting them to and from shops was not something many passers-by looked overly envious of. 

Equally, nobody in Boots was that jealous of me as Louie sprawled out on the floor while we waited on a prescription. 

I'm still not sure what he was doing, but it appeared to be his version of a snow angel. He was just lacking the snow of course. It was more like a ceramic tile angel. 

He wasn't too keen to get up either, despite my repeated pleas. 

In the end, I admitted defeat in that particular battle. Sometimes, it's the only option.

I just let him continue laying there. It was like he was testing out a less than comfy bed in Dreams.

Understandably, I was relieved to see Kerrie upon returning home.