Whilst Thing One and The Husband ferreted themselves away in the kitchen doing 'Man Things' which at a guess includes The Husbands questionable music taste I was in the company of Thing Two and The Toddler. Alone. In the witching hour. You know that hour or so after tea yet before bath when the little cretins cast some foul witchcraft and turn into little rabid sods. The Toddler was busy playing chase with The Felines, whilst the Felines were playing 'running for their bloody lives' which just left Thing Two who insisted on performing an African song and dance she'd learned at school. All was going terribly well until the dance broke into some frantic hop with the repeated 'OOOwWwWw' which seemed awfully funky, until it turned out that it wasn't actually part of the routine at all and that actually she'd just stood on something. Oops. It came to a dramatic conclusion as she threw herself face down upon the sofa where I was sat, I say sat I was actually being devoured by the bloody thing, and farted. Yes, farted. And to think she's the girl. I'll admit though, as farts go it was tremendously impressive, that's my girl.
I attempted to escape to the loo for five minutes peace only to be followed by her and be
Having abandoned all hope of five minutes peace I herd her into my room and following on from a book on Mythical Creatures she'd read to me earlier I offered to read some Greek mythology to her. So whilst we were engrossed in Pandora and Persephone, The Toddler (ever the culture whore) decided to dance in front of the mirror, naked. As you do.
It's been a disgustingly long day, Tuesdays always are here. Bed time really couldn't come soon enough. The Toddler would have agreed if he hadn't been busy post-bath running round the bedroom rubbing his winky on everything in site.
I wonder if I can sneak out of bed for a trip to the loo, without my little night stalker following me tonight.