Here’s a quick and sloppy roundup of the week that was. Because, just because. There was some good stuff. And some funny stuff. And stuff that just made me go WTF?
My kids are in nesting mode. Little A wants a baby. Little L has found her future husband.
Little A wants this baby, really, really badly. Note, however, that she wants said baby to be delivered through the loins of THIS mother. She cried big, fat, salty tears of the crocodile to try and make me promise. Her main reason? She wants me to have another baby, so she can see how they come out. WTF? I pointed out in the unlikely eventuality that I do end up with a baby in my tummy, kids don’t usually get to witness the business end of the baby tummy evacuation. And babies cry, a lot, and she’d miss out on cuddles. ‘That’s ok mummy, I’ll just cuddle you when it sleeps.’ So much reasoning, so little time. Damn.
Little L has met a boy, and they’re getting married. They hold hands all day at school. She didn’t want to let me go the other morning, and he came up and said ‘It’s ok. I’m here now.’ I melted a little bit. She’s got good taste. I hope it sticks.
I found myself standing at the kitchen sink (WTF?) in tears-rolling-down-my-cheeks hysterics over something my biggest was saying. We have a neighbour called Alan. His head was popping up, meerkat style, in glimpses over the fence. Little L was calling out ‘Alan! Alan!’
I dreamt a WHOLE Bollywood dream, which was very colourful and quite exhausting, when who should appear but Jason Priestley. WTF? Get your blow-dried hair back to 90210! Oh. And then I developed kinetic abilities (as you do). So everyone fell in love with me. Kinetic talents are prized quite highly around Bollywood parts.
In other important news, ‘Venus is the hottest planet’ (thanks little A – we can sleep now), and ‘Jupetet is very hot too’. And, I’m helping out at school ‘gross motor’. (WTF?). Mid-life crisis complete. I’m a school mother. But, hang on. Gross? Motor? WTF? Is there something disgusting about a 5-year old doing a somersault? I will not sleep until schools around the country find some other name for this moving of arms and legs they insist on doing each week that is not sport. I’m a woman on a mission. ‘Flailing limbs’, maybe? Names, names darling. I need names.