I got in trouble yesterday while trying to do the washing up and keep up with all the begging to 'watch this! watch this!' from the two big ones. I thought I had made sufficient admiring noises for Ivy's sort of Bavarian knee-slapping dance, but no. I got yelled at because I didn't talk in the voice of Willie Scott from Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom.
Ah, motherhood. It asks, and asks, and asks.
I have a queasy hangover. Last night the K-Dog and I got drunk on the deck with our beloved neighbours. I dream of growing up to be Nigella Lawson, but sometimes I'm reminded that I have some distance to go. I'm not sure that her gatherings are marked by gin, Baileys, hysterical shouting and ancient Vietnamese cigarettes unearthed from the back of the party cupboard. Also, I made a rhubarb crumble and invented a crumble mix that featured Weet-Bix, which was a big mistake. Don't try it.
Good times, though. The neighbours staggered home in the dark wearing Keith's Christmas glasses that light up at the sides. These comedy glasses have come in incredible handy so far. (Thanks Liz!). Keith woke me up in the middle of the night singing a gibberish language version of Jeff Buckley's 'Lilac Wine' in his sleep. He does something wacky in his sleep about once a year and it brings me joy for weeks. I could cry with laughter just thinking about the earnestness of his delivery.
Teddy's first question this morning was 'Can we find a goblin, cut off all its hair, and put Superglue in its hat?' I am thinking it may be a long day.
My plan: finish inhaling the coffee at my elbow, and turn my focus, shaky as it is, to the children. I will help Teddy draw his goblin vision, talk to Ivy about Indiana Jones and read George her Funny Faces book. Clean the kitchen with no sudden movements. Imbibe some carrot juice. Set up in the afternoon for a family showing of The Sapphires.
Wish me luck! I'm going in.