Sorry love.. Builders in the house

Wednesdays are always more complicated, because it’s the one weekday that Tinytoes doesn’t spend the morning in nursery. Juggling two little ones by myself early in the morning is trickier than in the afternoon for three main reasons: 1) I’m usually half asleep 2) It takes a while for Tinytoes to recover from her raging despair at seeing her beloved Baba (Deardaddy) walk out the door to work and 3) Microtoes needs feeding quite a lot when she wakes up, making it tricky for me to entertain Tinytoes.

Today however, is different. We have special, in-house entertainment in the form of two balding builders from Manchester who have come to fit a new tile roof onto our conservatory. Tinytoes had been at nursery when they’d arrived at 8am yesterday morning (looking astonishingly cheerful after a 4.5 hour drive… ) and she napped and played at Supergranny’s in the afternoon until after they had left, so was none the wiser to their existence.

Things don’t get off to great start today, however. At 7.45am there is a loud knock at the door. I frown. One of the builders is already on the roof, as we had left them keys to the back door so they could come and go as they pleased without having to bother me.  DearDaddy has recently left and Tinytoes still has tears in her eyes. Luckily Microtoes has just fed and is sleeping. I scoop Tinytoes up in my arms, rush down the stairs and fling open the door. We’re still in our nightwear, with crazy hair. I find myself face to face with the other builder.  Turns out he hadn’t known about the keys. “Sorry love, did I wake yer?” Chance would be a fine thing, I think, but accept that my dishevelled appearance must have suggested the contrary.

After dressing Tinytoes and Mircotoes (I always seem to forget about me..) making the builders cups of tea and giving Tinytoes her Weetabix, I sit down to feed Microtoes again, with my back to the kitchen door. Everything is surprisingly peaceful. The door suddenly flies open. “Sorry love, can we see your copy of the contract?”

“Erm.. I’m breastfeeding at the moment… give me a few minutes.”

“Sorry love!”

I wait for Tiny and Micro to finish feeding, relieved I’d had my back to the door. I’m in a dilemma. I’m sure the contract is upstairs, but I can’t take them both up with me and look for the contract, just in case Tinytoes unwittingly does something to harm her newborn sister.  Since most of Tinytoes’ toys are downstairs, I whisk Microtoes into my arms and head upstairs, knowing full well my actions may well trigger a meltdown; Tinytoes is unlikely to handle her mummy going off alone with her little sister for any length of time.

I look everywhere for the contract, with increasing annoyance. It’s nowhere to be seen and I’d been hoping to have my breakfast instead of looking for the wretched contract. Amazingly the only noises to be heard from downstairs are the occasional sounds of banging and drilling.

Eventually I give up – I didn’t have the foggiest where the contract was – and I was beginning to worry about the ominous lack of sound from Tinytoes:  far more concerning than any wailing.

I run downstairs and find her with her face pressed to the conservatory glass door staring, transfixed at the builders. She’s not even aware I’m in the room.

I apologise to the builder for not finding the contract and ask why he needed it. “Oh it was just to know how many LED lights you wanted fitting.” I sigh. That wasn’t even in the contact as we had decided later! I tell him we wanted six.  “Cheers, love”.

Before getting too annoyed at having raced around like a crazy thing hunting for a contract that wasn’t needed, I turn to look at Tinytoes. She is still staring through the door at the roof work, utterly captivated.

I decide to count my blessings and get on with the household chores, even managing to get showered and dressed without her noticing.  Microtoes is lulled to sleep by the noise of the electric drill. Maybe having builders in the house isn’t such a bad thing after all…