The Easter Holidays are looming and I must confess that I'm rather terrified of the prospect. I wish I had a cupboard under the stairs so that I could hide from the Children, obviously such a cupboard with a bed inside and a fully stocked bar would be even better.
My poor darling girl was rather upset last night when she woke up at midnight and wee'd in her pull up. So off to the toilet we trotted where upon she announced that she wanted to wee Daddy and The Child. I tried to gently explain that they wee standing up because they have winkies and we as girls do not and therefore cannot (I rather wouldn't go into the details right now with a 2.5yr old of how it is actually possible to wee standing up but is simply rather not the preferred nor cleanest way of having a wee and is rather unnecessary when you are not wearing a nappy yet are sat on a toilet) She piped up indignantly 'NO mummy I mean when i'm a grownup' to which I had to explain that even when she's fully grown she won't have a winkie. Her response? She dissolved into tears oh dear. Oh to have a winkie.
The Toddler also keeps having a tickle in her throat which makes her sound rather croaky and illicits the cute little 'I can't talk properly' phrase. She was quite delighted when The Husband told her all about frogs in throats so much so that yesterday she croaked 'I can't talk properly' insert small pathetic cough 'I have a crab in my mouth' My Toddler has imaginary crabs. Is this our penance for being such illustrious heathens?
The Child, what with the nearing of Easter, is once again singing 'Goddy' songs brainwashed into him from school, which by and by is supposed to be somewhat religion neutral. This is of course dispersed with random bouts of Iron Maiden and Black sabbath.
We shall be expediently investigating the area of self defence for The Child as he seems to be getting a little bit of bother from an older child at school, thankfully not his classmate who at 5 years old is already learning KickBoxing, need I really say anymore? It seems so grossly inappropriate. The Husband is determined that The Child will not be labeled a softlad (read: highly strung and rather sensitive prone to random displays of bezerker rage and absolute tears) and should carve out his status in the playground whilst he still has chance to be fore being labeled. Needless to say we've had countless arguments over the to hit or to not hit back variety.
However, as The Toddler has just proclaimed 'Bang! and the dirty is gone!'