One day I'll get you Mr Whippy

GETTING my kids to sleep is a major undertaking. For the boy, there is a drink of milk, a poo (not my fault - is his routine and I can't seem to change it), two books, two or more threats to take his trains away, one last growl....oh and a nappy (not quite bed-trained yet).

The girl gets her bottle (which always needs to be sterilised as I am never organised to do this ahead), a clean nappy and a badly-sung song. Sweet Child of Mine by Guns-n-Roses is a favourite, as my girl does have eyes of the bluest skies....

Anyway - doing this takes a fair bit of time and effort. And coordination and luck if I want to get both done at the same time. Which today I did - hooray! Yes, they were both asleep so I got to have a shower and even shave both my legs and armpits (a red-letter day today), a coffee and even a brief lie down.

But then IT happened and by IT I mean the MR WHIPPY VAN! I don't know what these are called in the eastern states but you know the ones I mean - the pink and white ice-cream van that plays GREENSLEEVES or some other tune very loudly over crappy speakers so all the kids in the local area go mental for ice-cream.

I don't live THAT far from the local high-school and each day at 3.30, that bloody van drives past my house. Not just that, every day without fail, the driver always chooses my house to TURN THE MUSIC ON. SO I dont hear it coming - just the blast of BING BING BING BING as the music goes on as he hits the corner where I live.

It is the sheer shock of it perhaps (or perhaps the stream of expletives that comes out of my mouth each time I hear the bloody van go past) but each time, without fail, it wakes up my son.

Well as things go, my son doesn't have such late sleeps anymore, so the van hasn't been a problem. Plus it is school holidays - so the van has lost it's market for now. But today at 2pm - just as I was drifting into a nice little nap, I heard IT.

BING BLOODY BING BING of Greensleeves!! Right as it drives past my house, past the bedroom windows.

I waited, I held my breath - but there it came. First the WEEEEAAAAHHHHHH of the baby, and then "MUMMY I WANT ICE-CREAM" from the little guy.

Yeah thanks MR WHIPPY thanks. Thanks for nearly three years of this torture. I swear to God, even if it is forty bloody degrees outside, I will NEVER buy an ice-cream from you.

PS - I have been told to just ask the guy to not turn the music on as he passes my house, but by the time I hear the music and get out the front, he is halfway down the street. Although the sight of me chasing the whippy van down the street in my pyjamas would be bloody funny....