‘Yooodeley Yooodeley Yodelayyyyy HuuHuuuuuuuuuuuu!!’
‘Again, again!!’ Addison roars, pronouncing it ‘Gin gin!’ (which is actually pretty embarrassing/handy particularly when I am in the wine aisle at the supermarket) at top volume from his car seat where he is now strapped in looking very much like a trussed up turkey, unable to move like a little cardboard man, due to the sheer chunkiness and bulk of his new winter bomber jacket.
I am not the only one who buys clothes too big so he ‘can grow’ in to them right?
I may, however, have gone a bit far this time; I think to myself looking back at him from the drivers seat, it reaches his feet. He looks like a mattress with a little blonde head.
‘Yooodeley Yooodeley Yodelayyyyy HuuHuuuuuuuuuuuu!!’
I yodel back at him channeling Dolly Parton and sticking my chest out. (Does Dolly Yodel? She totally should.) While he once again hoots (albeit completely motionless) like this simple and strange noise emanating from my lips, is the funniest thing he has ever heard.
I put the car in to gear and promptly stall (I do this a lot, but try and make it seem like I meant to) and whisper my thanks to the universe as I check the clock and notice with glee that for once, woohooo for once!!!! We have actually managed to get out of the house on time and without any of the usual D.I’s
(Dramatic incidents, which can include but are not limited to, losing spot the dog, losing Doodle the dog, banging our heads, taking off our shoes and throwing them in the toilet bowl, trying to shove our toothbrushes up Doodle’s bum hole, banging our heads again for attention and not being able to leave without our favourite Dummy, which has been missing since the dawn of time.)
I smile to myself at his continued merriment circling it’s way around my healing heart, like a great big hug, from the back of the car.
It is honestly just so lovely to hear the fruit of my loins giggle, it is a sound that makes me feel like I have arrived home, the best sound in the entire world. I love it.
It is also such a lovely change from what currently seems to be the sound track of my life, which isn’t the Benny Hill theme tune anymore, but instead Addison telling me his teeth are hurting.
Pronounced, just so you are fully aware,
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa’
While he is making this god awful racket he is also always attempting to shove everything and anything in to his mouth, including but not limited to, my new Ugg boot, Doodle’s bed, Doodle himself, the Dyson, the bath plug, my handbag, my leg, Doodle’s leg, a full toilet roll, The take away menu and sometimes, if I am not quick enough, the 50 inch flat screen TV. (Which now has flickery teeth marks right in the corner… No Irish one! Of course I was watching him! I have NO IDEA what those marks are!)
During these times we also, and by we I mean me and Doodle, have to don ice skates due to the overwhelming amount of dribble, spit and snot that leaves the entire house saturated and soggy.
I could do with one of those yellow flip signs. Or a boat.
‘Right Addy, let’s go and buy you some new shoes before nursery!’ I holler over-excitedly before finally getting the car to move, ‘YEAYYYYYYYYYYYYY NEW SHOOOESSSSS ADDISONNN, NEW SHOES YEAYYYYYYY!’ I look back at him inviting him to join in with the excitement, hopeful that he will take me up on the offer.
You’d think the kid would be excited anyway at the thought of new shoes, him being my kid and all, but unfortunately and true to form, I am met with the customary response.
‘‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa’
‘‘Yooodeley Yooodeley Yodelayyyyy HuuHuuuuuuuuuuuu!!’
I try, and once again am thrilled to hear it working like a goddamn dream, so much so, that I end up yodeling like a mental Inga from Sweden (even Dolly has disowned me) all the way to Clarks Shoe Shop.
Which is a 40 minute drive.
I am aware I sound like a bad copy of a mad milk maid and that my voice is going hoarse but if it keeps him laughing and distracted while I navigate my way around rush hour traffic, taxi drivers and white van men sent directly from hell to taunt my insufficient high way code knowledge (amber means slam your foot down and go, right?) Then so be it.
Unfortunately by the time we reach the Clarks Sale and find ourselves waiting to be served behind a million other well behaved and surprisingly quiet school aged children accompanied by their calm and in control mothers and lurking Nannies, (Hale Barns- they have help, these women in Hale Barns and even though I know I shouldnt be, I am eternally Jealous) yodelling is the last thing I am prepared to do and Addison is far too annoyed at now being wedged in to the pram, for it to even be considered as an option.
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa’
He signals that he is about to pass out from heat exhaustion and I whip his coat off hoping against all odds this will quieten him down somewhat.
The shop is packed.
Other mothers are glancing over at my designer Primarni gear, disgusted, touching their Gucci wears as if to check they are still there and that making eye contact with my screaming son hasn’t transformed them in to someone like me. (Nannyless! Oh the atrocity of it all!)
The shop assistant seems to be in a hurry to get us, due to the ear piercing disruption coming from my pram and I silently thank my son for his persistent reminder of the fact we are waiting.
Fast forward 3 very long years.
‘Addison just sit still for one moment while we try this shoe on, OOOO ISNT THIS SHOE NICE? YEAYYYY!’
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa’
As the shop assistant becomes huffy and it feels like all eyes are now on my little beast who has now doubled over the manky puff seat and is trying to fit the whole thing in his mouth, I finally give up on a magical nanny appearing out of a lamp to save me and go for the tried and tested calm and happy maker instead.
Throwing caution to the wind, believing will all my heart, that this will work, I yodel.
‘‘Yooodeley Yooodeley Yodelayyyyy HuuHuuuuuuuuuuuu!!’
All eyes are now definitely on me, and during the year and a half’s silence that follows my outburst, I am sure I hear someone snigger.
Addison eyes me warily as the shop assistant takes the opportunity to wedge the shoe on to his paddle foot. (Seriously, they are ridiculously big for such a small boy.)
‘Yooodeley Yooodeley Yodelayyyyy HuuHuuuuuuuuuuuu!!’
I try again, and even at this moment right now, as I sit here re-living the horror, I am not sure why I decided in my infinite wisdom to do it again.
As if it wasn’t excruciating enough.
I think, by this point, I was trying to make a point. Do you know what I mean?
‘Laugh Addison, laugh.’ I whisper in to his ear through gritted teeth, my face coloring up as I notice the shop assistant hiding her ill contained smirk behind a colorful shoebox. ‘Addison please laugh for mummy, don’t leave me hanging here!’
The child doesn’t laugh.
Instead choosing this exact moment to remain completely silent, glowering at me from above the two dummies now sitting snugly in his mouth, neither of them recognizable as his own.
‘Let this be a lesson,’ his eyes seem to say ‘I do not like carrot mummy, remember this the next time you are tying to intravenously force feed me carrot. I do not like carrots mummy, and I am the master. Let this be a lesson to you… you now look like a fool, and this could have been avoided, just like the carrot. This is what they call, in simple terms, so that you understand mummy, Payback.’
‘Are these ok to be left on?’ the shop assistant asks me, standing up and walking away, before I can respond, the entire shop I notice, still giving me their focused attention, most of the children smiling, the mum’s horrified on my behalf and still completely confused by my lack of nanny.
‘Yes.’ I mumble quickly before tripping up over the pram in my rush to get to the till, this of course, raising a raucous bubble of laughter from my son.
Normal noise levels in the shop resume as we pay, but as we head out of the door, new shoes on feet, my face beetroot, a man that can only be described as a male daddy model, holding a tiny little baby motions to me.
‘Yes?’ I ask flustered, secretly hoping he was going to flatter me with compliments about my parenting skills and how he has always admired women without hired help.
‘Great yodeling’ he replies mouth full of plums and hilarity.
‘Thanks’ I mutter, before shooting him daggers and skulking out, cursing the child and his evil plot, and driving at warp speed to nursery internally reliving the hell over and over again, while Addison cackles evilly in the background 3 dummies now wedged in his mouth, none of which seem recognizable as his own.
He is an evil genius by day. Teething menace by night.
But hey at least he has a new pair of Clarks, and there are loads of branches of those, meaning I never have to return to that particular place again.
Well, that would have been the case anyway, if I hadn’t left his old shoes, which I desperately want to keep forever as a memento, (they are Adidas high tops – the chav in me loves them) behind.
This time though I intend to walk in with my head held high, wearing my old Octoberfest outfit, carrying Doodle dressed up as a goat under one arm and my hair dyed blonde and plaited down both sides of my head.
Once a yodeler, always a yodeler, and it isn’t like I have any shame left in me, so why not?
***This post wasn’t a sponsored post, as I don’t know what that is. But let me assure you, if it were, it would be sponsored by evil babies.com. And yes. He is having sprouts for tea. He may think he is the master, but I am the Mammy.
*Evil cackle*
I don’t know where he gets it from. I really don’t.
