Gonzo writing. It’s a thing – honest! I didn’t make it up. Check out this post http://wordpress.com/read/post/id/489937/66545/.
Did you do it? If not then I’d better explain that I thought I’d kick my blog off by signing up for the weekly challenges that these guys put on (thanks for that guys :-)).
I’ve been sitting around for a few days now, fiddling about with the look of this site and creating a portfolio to try and avoid the thought that I wasn’t really sure exactly what I want to use my blog for. Is there such a specific thing as bloggers block??…..
Anyway this challenge came up in the reader and it seemed as good a place as any to start. Check back for updates too though because I think where I might be going with this is towards a diary of the daily frustrations of trying to make freelance writing work, work, as a lone mother of two young children. I have no family of my own around (you may get your violins out now) and I’m living on benefits (you may put your violins away again), so with a bit of luck it’ll make for interestinging read for at least a few of you.
So, on with the challenge……
This week I took my 2 year old son swimming and he did a poo while we were in the pool (he’s still in nappies). The following is a sneaky peek into that particular delightful situation. Just to set context, we’d been in the pool 10 minutes when….
As i stood, chest deep in the too cool water of the empty pool, my small son; who had yet to enter the water after declaring out 30 seconds after we got in, put his hands flat on the floor and his face towards the water spilling over the edge of the pool into the guttering. ‘He’s going to drink it’ I thought and quickly growled out ‘Luuuuuke’ in my best and most seriously warning tone. As my child raised his head, hands still down, to look at me, his face went beetroot. He managed to croak out ‘poooo’ in a little strangulated voice as he struggled to liberate 2 days of, well, you know…..
I stole a quick look at the life guard. I don’t know why I bothered. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to watch. My son straightened up and without a backward glance toddled off on a little stroll around the pool perimeter. I followed him, tugging myself through the water using the pool edge, and wondering whether, from that distance, the lifeguard would have heard my son’s confession and noticed the unusual change in his skin colour.I stole another glance. The guy seemed fairly uninterested in us. I bet myself that I could get away with another ten minutes of pool time before having to do the infinitely more stressful getting changed part (I mean seriously, if you dress yourself first, your child freezes. But if you dress your child first you invariable wind up making them soggy before leaving. What’s the trick??!)
That was when I noticed the lump sitting, right there, clear as day, like a small horn growing out of my child’s rear end. Bloody marvellous. Just then Luke decided he wanted in after all. Of course he would wouldn’t he. It wouldn’t be life with a toddler had he not bent down and pointed his poo horn directly at the face of the , previously bored, life guard. Of course, the rest was inevitable.
‘Errrrr, excuse me, you can’t take him in there like that!’
‘Like what?’ I pretend to look confused and feign checking of Luke’s armbands as a cover. The lifeguard nods towards my sons shorts, scrunching up his nose in a gesture of disgust as he does so.
‘Oh has he! I’m so sorry I don’t know how I didn’t notice that! Oi you, you little stinker. Stay there while mummy climbs out’
Obviously, Luke runs off giggling. I run after him shouting ‘Don’t run!’ and then, for good measure, ‘Walk Lukey!’
The lifeguard stares after us and begins to chortle as the brown stain gradually appearing on my sons shorts spreads suddenly in every direction as I scoop him up.
‘Good luck wi’ that one luv’ he shouts after me. ‘Id rather you than me’…….