Yes folks, it’s time for another rant and ramble about my offspring.

It’s been a few weeks since I last vented, and it’s almost like they knew.

This week I had a couple of errands to run and decided, against my better judgement, (and all the rules of parenting) to take Harrison (three) and Sonny (one) along for the ride.

I don’t know what I was thinking. Obviously one of them gave me a lobotomy in my sleep. It’s the only explanation as to why I thought this was a reasonable course of action.

So, off we went. First to the shoe shop whilst I bought Harrison a pair of boots.

As the sales assistant pushed on the boots, Harrison initially, sat still and allowed her to man-handle his tootsies. Sonny meanwhile stood at my side like a perfect angel. I felt quietly confident this was going to be a good day.

My first mistake.

In an instant, everything changed. And all it took was one, perfectly reasonable question from the sales assistant.

“So, what’s your name?” she asked Harrison.

He is well coached in pleasantries for occasions such as these so I knew - scrap that -thought I had noting to fear.

But then he went rogue. In a split second he started jumping up and down like he was sitting on a demented spring and frantically thrashing his head from side-to-side, whilst rolling his eyes and making unhinged singing, squeaking noises.

Anyone walking past would have been forgiven for thinking he was having some kind of seizure. But no he was just being three.

As with any kind of team sport, it only goes well if all members of said team are working together. Cue Sonny’s turn for an insane episode.

Whilst Harrison was fielding questions in the most crazed fashion he could muster, Sonny decided to make a bid for freedom and, as fast as his little chubby legs could go, sprinted for the door.

Lucky for me, that’s not very fast and in two steps I managed to gain on him and scoop him up. Alas, he wasn’t finished. Spying a display of novelty wellies he decided to go for a ‘Supermarket Sweep’ style take down and frantically began dismantling the display.

After a lot of apologies and a hurried getaway, the next stop was Tesco. And within seconds I wished I had just headed for the car.

Twenty minutes of bickering, potting and pushing in the trolley seats resulted in a trial separation (one in the seat and one in the main trolley basket) but even this didn’t deter the tenacious little scamps.

As Harrison sat behind annoyingly tugging Sonny’s hood, little legs responded by channelling his inner owl, turning 180, and squawking whilst wildly swinging his podgy little arms around, trying to get a swipe at his older brother.

It was then I knew I’d lost. I gave up and headed straight for the tills. In yet another gargantuan error of judgement that day, I decided to use the self-service checkout. It would be quicker, I said. They will sit still for two minutes, I said.


On the second beep of the self-scanner I turned to see little Houdini standing up in the seat about to take a leap of faith. Arrgghh. Time to rethink the plan.

Harrison out the trolley altogether, Sonny in the main basket. There. Solved.

Two more beeps of the scanner and I was almost on the home straight. Then I heard a penetrating squeal. The checkout supervisor looked towards my trolley, aghast. Then, so did I.

Sonny had managed to clamber out and had his entire body dangling over the edge, hanging on by only an ankle and ten tiny fingers, which were white-knuckled and clutching the underside of the trolley.

Harrison, meanwhile had taken up the helm and was pushing the trolley away.

In the interests of regaining control (like I had any to begin with) I did what any parent would and growled at them through gritted teeth then bribed them with a couple of chocolate buttons to be good.

Every little helps...