Bright Lights, Big City

We are in San Francisco for a long weekend.

Usually this kind of thing makes me writhe with ecstasy as I am essentially an urban creature..

STOP PRESS!

I was about to write urban girl but a squirm of internal censorship and distant shame prevented me. I’m trying to reassure myself that this is due to my feminist principles but I have a horrible feeling that it may actually be because my true age resides roughly beside assisted living.

*sighs deeply and reaches for cyanide*

This trip definitely rubbed the bright off my city lights.
I have aged several eons since we arrived and had fewer than six hours sleep in two nights, though this was sadly not due to nightclubbing, trendy eateries and scintillating conversation with other adults. It’s more to do with awkward sleeping arrangements, the unbelievable decibel combination of Two and Husbands’ snoring, and the grim reality of trying to contain two tired, restless, irritable children who dislike shopping, are bored by museums after 20 minutes, and like to lick filth off the pavement.
Part of the reason for the family exodus to the big smoke was that Husband had to teach on Saturday and Sunday which meant I was OC Children  until the evenings, with the understanding that he would take over on Monday when I had a few meetings for my business. We stayed with a friend who, though very kind and hospitable, suddenly had an important deadline to meet from her home office so out of consideration for her, we needed to be as quiet (and scarce) as possible.

This proved to be quite tricky.

Five decided that our first morning out in the city was a good place to allow her inner teenager out. My  suggestion that she might like to sit properly on her chair rather than stand on it was met with a giant eye-roll and a loud

“I don’t WANT to! You always tell me WHAT TO DO! It’s NOT FAIR I NEVER GET WHAT I WANT!”

Right around then Two chose to throw himself on the floor of the restaurant populated entirely by childless hipsters and wail

“No like EGGY! No like PANCAKES! No like SAUSAGE! WANT SWEETIE! BAD MUMMY!”

I did try my usual tactic of speaking sweetly and quietly to each of them, firm yet understanding, but this had absolutely zero effect and pretty quickly I realised I would have to resort to more draconian measures to curb the swiftly escalating tantrums which continued in various guises throughout the day.

I wracked my brains for all the advice I have received and read over the years and was grateful to remember a wonderful tip given to my by my neighbour who has, shall we say, a challenging boy, and put it into immediate effect.

Offer ‘choices’ rather than absolute orders, thus giving a child the opportunity to have a say in the outcome of a situation, feel a semblance of control.
This can often diffuse a power struggle.

It should not, under any circumstances be mistaken for hissing violent threats whilst imparting hard stares.
No, not at all.

“Five, you may sit properly on your bottom, find your best manners and eat your breakfast or you may leave the restaurant on your own, get stolen by the bad people and hope that at some point in your life you see us again.
Which is your choice?”

*Mothership smiles insincerely at worried look from adjacent diner*

“Oh I’m so pleased, Five.  I would miss you if you chose to leave.”

(Surely I would, after an hour or so?)

“Two, you may choose either to sit quietly and like your eggy or, if this is really too awful to bear we can go to the doctor and get a shot. Which would you prefer?

*Pulls howling,recalcitrant boy on to lap and restrains hugs lovingly.*

“Well, actually, Two, not obeying Mummy is a terrible, terrible disease you could have caught from nursery and could even require two injections!”

Two considers for .04 secs.

“Yes, I agree, quite delicious. I like scrambled, too. Good boy.”

I issued approximately 8 billion choices in the first 24 hours and although not all of them had the desired results I reassured myself that I did have the faithful fallback of Blue’s Clues on the iPhone and several lollipops that I stole from the doctor’s office.
Unfortunately the battery of the former and my stash of the latter were totally depleted well short of the goal which, as any fule kno, is BEDTIME.

I was desperately grateful to discover my hosts had The Cartoon Channel on their television. We do not have any kind of broadcast TV at home so this was like crack for the tiny ones and after a day of attempting to put KULTURE into their formative, spongelike brains I sat like a withered zombie while my children absorbed a plethora of marketing messages, most of which have been repeatedly regurgitated to me in the form of requests for expensive toys.
They spent a lot of time jumping on the beds (and being told not to), trying to dress our host’s dog in her mistresses clothes (and being told not to), breaking antique glassware (guess what I said to them?) and in a final play for most unwelcome guest, Two switched off the plug strip that powered our hostess’s delicately configured modem and router, thus lengthily ballsing up the internet connection at a critical point in her work process.

It was not good.

I was VERY happy when Monday morning rolled around and I could send Husband off in the car to the Natural History museum with the children while I went off to a couple of meetings.
It was definitely his turn to be horrible to them, I needed a break.

When we met again late that afternoon I asked him, somewhat gleefully, how they had been during his watch.
To my disgust he reported that they had been delightful, behaved impeccably and had eaten all of their lunch.

AGHH!! The INJUSTICE!!!!!

But wait!

This is not the first case we’ve heard of where ritually ghastly children suddenly turn into angelic models of good behaviour when left alone with Dad.

What I want to know is:

Is this The Awful Truth or just Urban Legend?

Your thoughts on a plain white postcard, please, or in the comments if you don’t have a stamp.

(Regardless of poll results, this Urban Legend will definitely visit the city alone next time.)