Being prepared
Monday was an inset day at daughters two and three's school. Lovely. Daughter one was complaining, but we have already been alerted that her school is likely to close at the end of the month for the headteachers' strike plus she has a day off on the 2nd December. Fortunately, the nursery is keeping on keeping on and has entered an intensive Pudsey week.
Daughters two and three came to pick up the baby from nursery. Daughter two was in shorts and a fake leather jacket. Daughter three was carrying a bag full of books. She is so strategic that she had remembered that sometimes when I pick up the baby I rock him to sleep in the back of the car because he is knackered after nursery. This takes around five to 10 minutes so she had packed a load of books on Roman history to keep her going. She is not even studying history yet, but she is keen to get ahead.
She spends all her time either reading, compiling invitations for her friends or playing schools. She doesn't seem to care which of her friends comes round. She just enjoys doing the whole preparation thing. The other day I said that so and so's mum wouldn't let her come round. Within an instant, she had found a sticker to place over so and so's name and written someone else's name on the card. A politician in the making.
Meanwhile, daughter two spent Monday doing something odd with an empty coleslaw box and designing a paper launcher using inordinate amounts of sellotape. She is still very keen to dye her hair red and I have found her researching the whole process on Youtube. It's interesting how the different characters in our family use Youtube. Daughter three plays One Direction endlessly. Daughter one watches supposedly funny clips and daughter two researches how to make bows.
Meanwhile, the baby has started to throw tantrums. When I say tantrums it is perhaps an exaggeration. He just turns to the wall and hangs his head in silence until someone notices that he is not impressed and returns him whatever they have taken from him. It's a silent but effective tactic.
My partner, who relies on me for updates about all the various fallings in and out of his children's world, is coasting along in a world where what's for dinner is the most important issue of the day. Except this week the big news for him is that we are getting delivery of a second-hand freezer from the local charity shop. He believes this will revolutionise our world and sharply cut our groceries bill. It will also go some way towards realising his childhood ambition of becoming a bear and hibernating for the entire winter.
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