Not much time to blog at the minute. I'm immersed in the surreal magic of life with pre-schoolers. Looping rounds of colds and flu may be raising temperatures, or I may just breed wierdos, but it gets more absurdist around here by the hour.
At the minute, Ivy has a special squeaky voice that she uses as the voice of her stuffed animals, inanimate objects, and parts of her body. And they all sing one of two songs:
Animals or dolls all sing: 'Eyes, eyes, I have got eyes, eyes, eyes...'
Her feet, fingers, the broom, bananas and other objects sing earnestly 'I have no eyes, no eyes, eyes, I have no eyes..' Even the birthmark on her leg we call Harry sang to me yesterday. 'I have got no eyes...'
I've been in trouble recently for trying to stop Ivy parading around with a plastic bag of rubbish over her shoulder like a handbag, and from collecting my toenail clippings into a little bowl and sorting through them.
Ted, meanwhile, has taken to slipping off to the bathroom to eat toilet paper. I find him, often, when I hear Ivy say 'No, Teddy, it's not a cheese sandwich.' (Standard Mogantosh for 'take that dog poo/paper clip/newspaper out of your mouth.) He looks so proud of himself when he sees me, trails of paper streaming from his mouth.
More and more, he reminds me of a young Labrador.