Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Fly me to the moon (away from all the whinging.)

Not much time to write this week. I've been spending a lot of time managing Ivy's whim of iron. This week she has been possessed by a whinging demon. Poor little one has had a cold, and when she's not demanding blueberries she's picking her nose and then instructing: 'Hold my boogies, Mummy.' She's complaining about everything, but one incident really says it all.

On a walk this weekend:

'Daddy, ' Ivy wailed, 'I want the MOON!'

Request repeated a few times, volume rising, in case we hadn't understood. Finally, Dad cracked. 'You CANNOT have the moon, Ivy, ' he said. 'It is a celestial body and not a toy. Daddy cannot get it, and you cannot have it.'

Next, a pony.

1 comment:

  1. You know Keith is some kind of savant genius, hardwired to the global zeitgeist- right? a) I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. b) I've been busting out that quote left right and centre for a week to all kinds of requests. I don't think it's EVER going to get old.


Thanks for talking to me. I don't got cooties. Oh, except for when I got cooties.