Not my crisis I should add, but one I think we saw a glimpse of yesterday. A glimpse into the future, and let me tell you as futures go it was a matrimonial massacre waiting to happen. Charlie and Henry have been invited to be pageboys at my best friend katy's wedding, something that up till yesterday I thought was a lovely idea.
Obviously I have my own crisis as matron of honour with the whole 'will-I-be-able-to-heave-my-fat-arse-into-the-girdle-and-dress' thing I've had going on for a week or two, my tap water diet hasn't gone too well, but I'm hoping for a large floral gut-covering posy to hide the ravages of beer and curry, and will rely on everyone to look at the bride and not hear the rip of straining seams.
Yesterday was the day we needed to take my sons to moss bros for their suit fitting. Now anyone who has small kids will know that there are certain situations that create a perfect storm type atmosphere for the mother of all tantrums. Moss bros don't do appointments, so we turned up at 3.30 hoping to be seen reasonably quickly and had to wait and wait for endless dull grooms with dull kilts to ponce about being...well...dull. Luckily my boys livened things up no end by taking the opportunity to be really boisterous, really loud, and really damned not happy to be confined in a place where the only thing of interest was a pile of brochures and lots of dark suits.
We hung around and were then advised to go away and come back. So we went for coffee - but the clouds of sheer fecking nightmare on kid street were gathering and mr PR and I looked at each other knowing that the boisterousness was just the cold front moving in.Parent know this stuff. We don't have to speak, we just know, please make way for hell it's heading this way.
The bride and groom tried to keep cheerful, but it was clear that when i said 'you might as well get 2 brown bears from whipsnade' that I wasn't far from how they were feeling. The trouble is that it's true. Never work with children or animals. They're mental unpredictable and crazy. Things really kicked off when Charlie neede a pooh (something about me mentioning kilts probably) and Mr PR took him into the wilderness of St Albans market to find a suitable venue. A pooh for Charlie is quite an operation, all clothes come off, all sanitary equipment is inspected, and on this occasion he went out of his way to tell a lady that he heard HER big pooh and that it was smellier than his. Choice. Glad I wasn't there.
No, I was literally wrestling with 2 yr old Henry who on realising that Charlie had gone, and reasoning that this was to do something much more exciting than look at suits, went utterly berserk. He took refuge in a suit display and wouldn't budge, just sat howling 'NOOOOOO' which was kind of worrying given that noone had even tried to measure him yet. Charlie returned with mr PR and I hoped this might calm Henry down. but no. The carnage was only just starting. Henry was at defcon 7.
Charlie on the other hand behaved impeccably and put his suit on and looked utterly gorgeous. He posed a bit, took a keen interest in the length of his sleeves and swished around as if waiting for us to throw him a cane and tap shoes. Henry on the other hand, was by now screaming as though someone had set him on fire.
'is it ok for me to measure the inside leg?' asked the man.
'You go for it, knock yourself out, I have other things to worry about than whether you're a paedophile' namely how the hell are we going to get Henry into a suit and how the hell are we going to cope on the big day at Coventry cathedral. I was getting stressed, the groom looked as though he might cry, my dear friend katy smiled manfully trying to keep everyone's spirits up, but it was no use. Henry was clearly brewing up to being one massive problem.
They have banned under 2's from the service (wisely) but clearly Henry isn't covered by the ban (unfortunately) as he's a pageboy. As I heard the words 'Right, we're going in, you hold his legs' from shop bloke and Mr PR followed by more screams from my youngest, I couldn't help feeling that this was a bit cruel. Henry had an interesing start to life, born 12 weeks early and therefore accustomed to unusual things happening to his body. For some reason though, intravenous intervention and ventilators hold less terror for Henry than frock coats and measuring tapes.
However reasonable it may seem to me that he should just wear the GODDAMNED SUIT it was a matter of real trauma for him. So we all decided to leave him be and hazard a guess on his size. We did get the jacket on, but it took 3 of us and then he started to make pre-puking noises. I bolted outside. And of course he was fine then. Smiling, waving at buses. I wanted to clonk him.
The bride and groom were trying to make me feel better, saying nice things like 'hey it doesn't matter', but I felt pretty awful, and to be honest, when the whole world is watching your flesh and blood go into meltdown you feel kind of furious with the kid but at the same time ready to kill anyone, ANYONE who looks at them in a disapproving way.
Henry won that round. but as the man in the shop put it, we'll have a rematch next Saturday. I can see Henry going down the aisle in a spidey suit at this rate, or his odd wellie combo that he rather likes. And actually that is OK. I'm still a bit tense about the actual wedding ceremony though. Mainly because in the girdle and dress I can only move at the speed of a glacier and make a geisha look like a hurdler in terms of pace of footwork.
We need a dart gun, I think mothercare should stock them. The thought of Henry or anyone misbehaving in katy's wedding is too hideous. i have nightmares about people tutting and humphing and muttering 'yet another beautiful wedding wrecked by out of control ankle-biters'. But I'll just have to hope for the best. mr PR's pretty quick on his feet, and has carried many difficult people from challenging situations. Thank god for that...
