It is a day of high drama and special effects at Casa Zahringer. A daughter has decided that she really didn’t get enough out of the Terrible Twos and until she turns 4 in May she will be making up for that by issuing the most abominable brain-curdling screams somebody not employed by Hammer House of Horror’s sound department can make. She’s throwing her heart and soul into this role and I think has already sacrificed a few minor capillaries in her drive for horrific noise perfection. One has to step back and marvel at the dedication and energy. The purple and red of her face make for a fascinating study on The Color of Rage.

But enough is enough. We were on the verge of losing our windows and glassware this morning and if a delegation of the area’s dogs were to show up on the doorstep, petitioning for their ears’ sake, I would probably sign their petition too. I am an animal lover. And today I am weary from lack of sleep. The final straw was when the noise began to split individual hairs on my head and the cat’s whiskers began to curl.

The reason for the furor: having to finish the toast she’d asked for before she got a peach, the subsequent throwing of the toast on the floor (People’s Exhibit 1) , spitting out of the toast (same as People’s Exhibit 1, only soggy), the resultant telling off and then the refusal by Evil Mummy to let her have a peach.

I remember the same struggles, as a child, usually involving tomatoes, and mostly not winning, and I am in some doubt whether the tea-time lessons of yesterday served any useful purpose at all. But I do know that I never called my mother “yucky” and got away with it and throwing food on the floor would attract the kind of stare from her that would cause furniture all around me to spontaneously combust.

Looking back, the Two’s were a doddle compared to the current late-3s. I used to wonder what all the fuss was about with the Twos. Now I realize, they were just biding their time for an age where they could articulate more and therefore get me with more effective low-blows. “Yucky Mummy!” Ooof! “Go away, Mummy, I don’t want to see you!” Biff! – That one got me right in the solar plexus.

The whole thing was over after a short spell in the corner until she could behave like a good girl and come and pick up the lobbed toast. This she did and, I must say, seemed to get over the whole thing more readily than I think I ever did.

Right now the girls are in the garden under instruction to play until the cows come home. They don’t know about cows coming home and as I type this I can hear them discussing what will happen when the cows come, at about tea-time, they think.

Tonight is Team Trivia Tuesday down at the local pub. I had thought to give it a miss this week because I’m tired from sleepless nights, of late, but now I think a drink or two would be welcome indeed.

Chin chin.

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