Little Georgie is sick. She's hot and whimpery and congested and pale. She's been having intensive cuddle therapy for two long days and we've been very house-bound. Today we made it out to do the school pick-up and hit the supermarket. Teddy was jumpy after such a quiet day in, and Ivy was full of school-holiday brio.
I strapped Georgie on (so happy that my back is feeling up to the Ergo this week for the first time in months) and we did one of those random, fill-in shops that are all condiments and no vegetables... we're making ice-cream for a birthday party tomorrow so I picked up a whole lots of chocolate and cream, and Keith's watching the footy, so I grabbed him some chips, and then Jupiter Bars reminded me of childhood, so I bought a couple to celebrate school holidays.
On the way out. Ivy and Ted would not stop doing Mini-Man, where they squat down and frog-walk, talking in a squeaky voice. 'Mini-Man says I love you!' 'Mini-Man says I cannot go any faster!' 'Mini-Man is so hungry!' Mini-Man is the game sweeping kindergarten this term.
'Could you just save Mini-Man until we get home?' I begged. 'Mini-Man says no!' they squeaked. Georgie was heavy in the sling. It had been a long day. The bloody Mini-Men started getting under my feet and in front of the trolley. 'Enough Mini-Man!' I barked eventually. And then I used a phrase I find myself saying at least once a day at the minute: 'Can't you just... be normal?'
Also, I'm sure people must have looked at the sugar-party going on in my shopping trolley, and the candy bars clutched in the hands of my noisy children and thought 'Come on, lady.'
I'm a bit over Mini-Man. Do you think I would regret it if I try and get them to learn this dance instead?