A heartfelt letter to the “Smidiot” at Ikea who designed their multi-coloured packs of plastic plates and dishes:
Dear Person at Ikea.
With your very clever brain.
Your packs of plastic toddler plates are driving me insane.
“Let’s make them like a rainbow!”
You announced to everyone.
“Each plate a different colour!
Let’s do that! That sounds like fun!”
Dear Person at Ikea.
Let me tell you now a tale.
Explaining why your smart-ass plan is such an epic fail.
The morning starts out quite relaxed.
You might even say “chilled”?
My tots are just the usual, perhaps a touch strong-willed?
But both are playing happily, each bouncing on their bed.
Until the peace is shattered as the “Breakfast” word gets said.
The gauntlets thrown.
The battle starts.
It all goes very still.
Then one of them breaks cover as they go in for the kill.
The silence quickly shatters with a screeching battle cry:
“WANT BOO ONE!” yells The Little One as fur begins to fly.
The Big One is more subtle but her sights are also primed.
Determined that her quest for Blue shall not be undermined.
She bolts towards the kitchen as The Little One gives chase.
Takes out her competition with an elbow to the face.
She bounds up to the cupboard and she reaches for the door,
The Boy is screaming “Boo one!” As he writhes upon the floor.
No time for conversation til the blue plate’s in her hand.
The Boy however has a hostile plate-takeover planned.
Until food’s placed upon it no-one’s reached the finish line.
He pounces from a distance, grabs the plate and screeches “MIIIINNE!”
There follows biting, kicking and a heap of flailing limbs.
It’s tempting just to stand aside and watch to see who wins?
But mum responsibility’s a b**ch, so I cannot.
Instead I end up both arms filled with wriggling, screeching tot.
And wielding all my power I have no choice but to say:
“NO-ONE GETS THE BLUE PLATE THEN!”
Whilst taking it away.
What follows is a carnage on a vast impressive scale.
Both offspring now are screaming as The Big One starts to wail.
The little folk are broken, sobbing, pleading and bereft.
I serve them up their breakfast, which of course shall now be left.
How dare I offer food upon a plate of green or red?
Or risk my hand at yellow?
Am I right about the head?
Now, picture this repeatedly at each and every meal.
I’m normally quite placid but it’s kind of a big deal!
I’m just an ordinary mum, a merely mortal wife.
Your packs of rainbow crockery are ruining my life.
Two packs could be suggested so they each can have one blue?
The Tots feel that’s preposterous.
It simply will not do.
Make all the pack in blue?
Could be the answer, you might think?
But give them each a blue one and they’ll both want fudging pink!
I’m sure you’re very talented and gifted at your job.
And who am I to write to you and tell you you’re a numpty?
But here’s my tiny letter, from a pleading mum to you:
“Just back off with the coloured stuff and make them all see-through!!”
Or next time there’s a riot over 50 shades of cup.
You my little sunshine can pop round to split them up!
Ps. Sorry about the swears. My children made me do it.