Friday, 20 March 2015

Elvis's Visit - The Reprise

The funny thing about being a parent of twins is that if people aren't busy telling you how full your hands must be then they are quoting ridiculous clap-trap at you like "double the love, double the joy".

What nobody ever tells you is that while that may be true there are also double the school shoe bills and double the visits of the bastard class bear.

Yes my friends, for this week Elvis, our own Reception class toy, made a return visit, this time with DD2.

So, I have decided to pen a handy diary possibly on how not to conduct a visit home with the class bear if I'm honest, (you see I'm winging the whole twin mum thing as well as the raising five children thing - I really haven't a clue) for mothers of twins and so that the rest of you lucky people who only get the pleasure of this experience once can have a good laugh at my expense.

Day 1 

As I stand waiting for the twins to come out of their classroom I hear the teacher brightly call the children's names "DD2, DS3, oh and Elvis!"

Flaming marvellous - we've got the fleabag again.

As DD2 runs grinning towards me with the giant bag full of Elvis's many belongings (and several volumes of his adventures) I can see the other waiting parents looking relieved and giving me that knowing and slightly smug look that says "twice, she has it twice, hahahahaha!".  I briefly consider not ever replying to any of their stupid birthday party invites again or inviting their offspring round to ours for tea but I then figure that the school gate is a lonely enough place already without adding to it and besides they have a point. Bollocks.

"How long is he staying for?" I enquire.  "Two sleeps!", comes the worrying answer...

"How come you've got him?" I ask.  Surely all the other kids can't have had him yet?

"For tidying up and doing good reading!", she chirps.  Damn her and her good reading skills, I knew it would be more trouble that it was worth feeding her breast milk in Special Care when she was a newborn.

Cheerfully, and through gritted teeth, I suggest we return to the car so that I can tweet about how annoyed I am we can wait for their older brother.

Another thing that people never tell you when you have twins is that if one side of your car back seat looks like this:

Then chances are that the other side will almost certainly look like this:

Which is just super.

They are five.  The concept of taking turns is at best a fleeting one, and only really when someone other than me is insisting upon it.

DS2 arrives and I drive home to the sound of DS3's sobs. It's a wonder I don't crash the car as he gets louder and louder with the unfairness of it all.

At home and things suddenly calm down with the bribe of unlimited iPad use and a go on Minecraft. Yes I'll admit I'm weak and I know that this works.

I go into the kitchen and start peeling potatoes ready for tea while thinking "what are we going to do with that thing now?" 

I flick through Elvis's diary noting all the places he's been and wonder how we can compete. Then nonchalantly snap a shot on my phone of him playing Xbox with DD2.

Yes, that'll do...

After remarking on how filthy Elvis is (still) I go back to the kitchen and fantasise about sticking him in the washing machine on a 95 degree fur meltingly hot wash...

I can't of course, remember, the joy of 31 small children has been entrusted to me by the safekeeping of this revolting lump of blue fluff.  Also since his last visit he seems to have developed a bald patch on his lower lip, which to me looks suspiciously like impetigo or mange.

In the absence of the fun of washing Elvis, I consider instead photoshopping his face onto that picture of Kim Kardashian's arse - When Elvis came to our house he broke the internet...

The only trouble that I can see with this is that not only would this be unsuitable for my daughter to show the rest of the class once Elvis returns to school with her, but that if I were to post it here I may end up in some sort of row over copyright with Kim and Kanye's legal team.  

Idly I start to wonder if I could instruct Judge Rinder to represent me in court should things come down to that.  A quick google tells me that in he deals largely with fraud cases as well as criminal cases, sometimes involving murder, which is not quite the same as defending a bored and slightly batty housewife, over her having doctored a picture of a reality star to include the head of a fluffy mange ridden puppet (in the name of comedy and a few extra page views on her blog).  Still it's a nice dream...*

Oh bugger, now the dinner's burning...

Once I've rescued it from full cremation, I serve up dinner.  DD2 not only insists that Elvis has to sit at the dinner table next to her, but also that he has to have bananas for his tea (he only eats bananas apparently).  Mercifully I am spared having to source fair trade bananas this time and he is happy with a kid sized Aldi banana.

The bath and bedtime routine follow.  The twins have been learning about brushing their teeth at school and are keen to brush Elvis's non existent teeth with his new flashing toothbrush, which looks rather like the sort of laser that a Bond villain would have at his disposal.  Once I've recovered from having my retinas nearly burned out by the toothbrush I tuck everybody up, read a story and make a swift exit.

Sinking into a glass of red wine downstairs I start to worry that I really am too old for this shit.

Note to self:  Stop having children.

Day 2

Overnight it appears that DD2 has lost interest in Elvis and so DS3 is delighted to be in charge of him over breakfast.  This means that he has at last stopped sobbing.

Everyone gets ready for school and the school run begins.  All the while I am worrying about how I'm going to get Elvis's diary written up and pictures printed out in time for the following day and showing time. I still haven't replaced the ink cartridges in our stupidly expensive printer - it was on my list of stuff to do, but £42?  Amazon are having a laugh surely?  There is nothing for it I'll have to buy some and so I check the price at Tesco, thinking I can swing by and pick some up on the way home.  Tesco's printer ink cartridges it appears, are not only made from the finest rainbows but also come with added unicorn tears - they are £67 a set!  

Fortunately at school the teacher asks me if I still have a printer issue.  No, I have an issue with the fact that the ink costs more than petrol, gold, and a legal battle with the Kardashians combined and therefore you can whistle for your printed photos.  I don't say this exactly, but she offers to print them out for me.  I like her.  Always have.

Elvis stays at school with the twins and so I am given 6 whole hours respite during which I try to come up with interesting things for them to do with him later, without the use of photoshop.

Baking cakes has been done a million times before as has going to the park, going to various food serving establishments, grandma's house (we did that last time), visiting dad's work (one of the dads is a firefighter, seriously, how can anyone compete with that?  Why does my husband have to have such a boring job?).  I give up.

Then I realise that nobody cares about what we do.  There are three volumes of Elvis's diary (and counting) and I bet they get chucked in the recycling at the end of the year anyway.  Nobody will read it.

So, I decide to keep it simple.  We scoot home in the sunshine, play in the garden on the swing for a bit.  Later I stick a film on and make some popcorn.

The diary gets written.  There is no drama.  I email the pictures to the teacher.

The next morning Elvis leaves the building.  I've done that joke before but how else do you expect me to wrap this up?

A grandparent leans over to me at the school gate and says, "well, it could be worse, you could have had it for the Easter holidays".  I smile.  She is right.  I do pity the poor parent with that honour.

And then I breathe a sigh of relief, until next year, when it all begins again.

* and Rinder would totally kick Kim's sizeable butt


  1. Love love love it! I did a post last week about having the class teddy and the stress that goes with it, can't imagine having to endure DOUBLE the visits *shudder*

    I'm pleased to hear that despite a few mishaps, Elvis has left the building. The git! x

    1. Haha, thank you! I'm just grateful that the guinea pigs in Year 1 have snuffed it as I would hate to have been responsible for them next year - Elvis was bad enough (and the most annoying house guest ever). x

  2. This is hilarious! Nothing worse than homing the manky class bear.

    1. Thank you. Quite relieved he won't be coming back!

  3. Very funny x we have 3 class animals. All of which I have been tempted to take photos of drinking booze or snorting talc with an early learning centre £20 note. Last month we lost alun the bear in a supermarket. I have never been so terrified in my life. It was like misplacing my own child. Roll on the holidays and I pray I don't get one for Easter.

    1. You LOST the bear? I think that might have sent me over the edge! I try to keep the wretched thing in the house if I can - it's too much of a responsibility if you ask me! ;) xx


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