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.
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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.
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