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.