Daughter three’s class has instituted what is apparently known as a water break policy. This is highly laudable and involves the whole class stopping to sip water every so often during the day. However, the first I heard of it was when daughter three demanded a bought from the shop bottle of water midweek. According to her, all her friends’ mums have ordered in stocks of bottled water ready for the water break phenomenon. She has had to go every day this week with a bottle filled up from the tap. Firstly, because I object to paying for something that comes free [apart from the water bill…] and secondly because we are never together enough in the morning to actually get said water from the shop and if I got it at the weekend I am pretty confident it would all be drunk by Monday – basically because as soon as the Tesco delivery van arrives on a Wednesday, the food disappears and by the following Tuesday we are left eating mystery stuff which we froze about four months ago.
The other day we had run out altogether so I ordered Domino’s Pizza on the basis that it has a two for one offer on Tuesdays and I felt guilty for skim listening to daughter one’s contact lenses saga [see previous post]. Toddler boy was absolutely amazed that pizza could be delivered straight to our door and what’s more, by someone on a motorbike. His enthusiasm for motorbikes has only increased in the last few months. Wearing fairy wings and a flower headband he greeted the pizza delivery man: “Menk you, motorbike man”. The motorbike man was not quite sure what to make of it all.
This weekend was dedicated to relaxation due to everyone having had a long week, except the kids who all had inset days of one form or another. I am finding it harder and harder to get to Friday. I am not sure if I have enough stamina to get to the bit where everyone has left secondary school and moved away, if this bit ever comes.
To combine parental interaction with rest is a bit of a feat, but I had been talking to an expert on Friday about the former so was feeling extra motivated, but flagging a bit on the energy side. I managed to swing a game playing doctors and patients where I was the doctor [not the role I normally aspire to as it involves being awake and standing up] to some sort of massage clinic where I got to be covered in creams of all kinds by daughters two and three and a very enthusiastic toddler boy who seemed to think massage was all about prodding me with an afro comb. Despite this, I found the whole thing strangely relaxing and fell asleep only to wake up caked in gloop and purple eyeshadow. Toddler boy was sporting a similar shade. Someone was laughing about toddler boy’s costumes the other day. “Those sisters of his will soon be putting make-up all over him,” they said. Soon? He’s already had about 100 makeovers.
The weekend ended with a challenge. In a genius bid to boost readers, The Sun had got six different covers on its Sunday magazine, all of the One Direction boys either on their own or as a group. Daughter one only cottoned onto the implications around midday, several minutes after waking up. To be fair, she was feeling a bit ill, so daughter three and I set out on our mission to scour every petrol station and supermarket in the area for One D magazines. Unfortunately, we were either too late or Niall and Zayn were the only ones distributed to Essex.