Easy as pumpkin pie – Tattoos, booze and poos by Sara Witham

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Back in October I had what was probably one of the first days ever that I had a (semi) successful solo (ish) outing with the boys.

One that didn’t leave me reaching for the gin at 5pm (I actually waited til 7pm).

We went to pick pumpkins (yep, you guessed it – we’re talking pre-Hallowe’en which might seem dim and distant to all you lot out there right now surrounded by festive lights and Michael Buble belting out carols), the one year old slept the whole way there, didn’t complain much all the way round the farm as he was in his new trike, the four year old was happy (I did say yes to pretty much everything with the exception of the flashing pumpkin tat) plus he had not one but two packets of Pom bears with lunch and we discovered he likes a new food that is not beige…squeezy strawberry jelly.

We had no rouge poos anywhere, successful mass loo trip and nappy changes, lunch was easy peasy, I even got to eat and we generally had a bloody brilliant day.

Even when the four year old left his hook a duck prize in the loo and realised halfway home then burst into tears, it was rectified with a short trip to a shop to buy £3 of replacement tat. Easy!!

The one year old slept all the way home and the four year old even had a car nap for the first time since he was one pretty much.

I’m almost pinching myself that today has been real.

So is it getting easier or am I just getting more used to what two kids can throw at me?

Interesting concept this one, I never know if I am…

A) Predicting what might happen with the variables that are a one and four year old and preventing disasters

B) The kids are getting slightly easier to manage as they get older

C) Being more chilled about things (doubtful as no gin on board because that would be generally frowned upon when pumpkin picking with small children)

Whichever the reason I am sure as hell high fiving myself for that day, I escaped virtually unscathed! And even though I still had three bloody pumpkins to carve in the aftermath that was nothing that a good bit of gin couldn’t solve.

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