Socks & snot

Wednesday, 3 December 2008

The child is doomed to have wet feet. The snow is now slush and ice and I told The Husband to put The Child in his snow boots, but no, The Husband knows best. So off to school they go in his school shoes, through the slush. can you see where I'm going with this? Am I the only one who can see that The Child will have wet feet by the time he gets to school? So I packed them off on their journey with a spare pair of socks and strict instructions to check his feet (or face my sleepless wrath of doom)

The Husband has just returned, he said The Child's feet were dry. That will mean they're wet then. That will mean he didn't bother to check.

Head, meet desk. thud.

The Baby is currently trampling all over the sofa sans nappy scratching her arse, all she needs is a bottle of Bud and she'll officially be one of the lads. She certainly farts like one.

I'm about to hibernate for an hour seeing as The Baby deemed it entirely necessary to keep me away all night with a hungry and verbally demanding mouth and a snot factory nose.

The joys of parenthood. Quite.


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