Step mum Pog take 1

With Our Towers a new experience has arrived:  being a step mum. (Kind of.  Are you a step mum if you aren’t married to your Himself?  I’ve given up trying to work it out).  Anyway, this was the first full weekend we’ve had Small Boy and Bigger Boy to stay with us, in our own home.

I thought Mums must exaggerate when they say the washing machine is on all the time.  People without children:  they are not. There was rugby kit (twice), school uniform, running kit, normal clothes, and that was just theirs.  But I washed…

….and I cooked.  I failed a bit with the disguising of mushroom and pepper using my new ‘chops so finely they will never know’ chopper in the meatball tomato sauce.  I got away with it with Bigger Boy.  Small Boy clearly really doesn’t like pepper though and informed me that it was ‘horrible.  Not like the one you made before’.  Cue a battle of wills that lasted so long I’m still not sure which of us won.

….and I did teaching.  I thought Small Boy might not be impressed if I cooked anything else for him, so I supervised him making sausage rolls for us all for lunch.  I also provided ‘fun maths’ (that might be a bit hopeful), by getting him to help weigh out the ingredients for crumble and then do the crumbling.

…and I sewed.  And this was where I may have come into my own, even though it was accidental.  Small boy had found a Pogimal I kept a few months ago and said he would like one, so while they were at the football I got out some socks and my sewing machine and made these two: 01A864C5-BD4F-4883-B6F3-FC57CE52B4FD

Not perfect, but it’s been a while. (Incidentally, Small Boy informed me that he thought I’d like the football as much as him.  Why?  ‘Because you can enjoy the peace and quiet while we are all out and lie on the sofa watching Spongebob Squarepants all afternoon!’)

The resulting Pogimals were a success with both boys, but even better was on Sunday morning when Himself told me the conversation he’d had with Small Boy.  Small Boy often has nightmares and had one involving a naughty giant teddy on his first night here.  The second night the teddy came back, but it was ok,  because Super Stripey – the bird on the left above –  had scared him off and it hadn’t turned into a nightmare :o)

I’m sure with sufficient alcohol I can get a grip on this step mum – or whatever I’m supposed to call it – thing.  Because people without children, the Mum’s aren’t exaggerating about that either.  By 5pm it’s definitely wine o’clock.  Even for those step mums who don’t really drink, it seems :o)

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