summer sunday

I've been stretching the corners of my mind this weekend with this book and this documentary.

Sunday at home, the good: cooking dahl with one baby on the counter and one on my back, dancing the funky chicken, watching Keith's bookshelves come to life on the deck. Ivy telling us 'My eyes are precious, Daddy.' Teddy laughing at his own fingers. Sharing a salty swim at the end of the day with a surfing Labrador.

The bad: an hour long whinge-screaming session when Keith went off to a work meeting. 'My daddy!' Her refusal to have a lunchtime sleep. 'No, I don't like it!' The achey exhaustion of being All-The-Time-Fun for a small person who doesn't care that you woke every couple of hours the night before.

Perhaps I will have a toddler-themed party for my next event. We can all dress in psychotic combinations of our favourite clothes, grab any item we want from anybody in possesion of anything interesting, shit ourselves at will, dance with wild abandon and follow our desires anywhere they should lead us in the moment - foot-drumming tantrums, sudden violent hugs or instant naps in corners.

Want to come?