Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Things are Out. Of. Control. at my house. Both the Mr and I are up to the eyeballs in work commitments with silly deadlines. I am itching to get to some crafty stuff, but for the next few weeks I reckon I'll be lucky to achieve one granny square a fortnight (sorry Pip). Having said that, the youngest Myrtleandeunice (relatively speaking), is the busiest by far. I really should attach a pedometer to the kid.
For the last few months there has been the undies-on-the-head obsession. No pile of folded laundry is safe as she rifles through searching for the favourite: her brother’s ‘anty pants’. We have been supermarket shopping with anty pants.
Then there are the potions made from all manner of vile and disgustingness, (she’s only just getting started here but the bugs have already headed for the hills).
Then the fact that she now spends an inordinate amount of time sneaking into the doghouse. With books. Esme is disgusted beyond dog words. Apparently, as far as Esme is concerned, her house has been infected with toddler germs and she’d rather have a bath (oh no she wouldn’t) than go back in her kennel. While I’m trying to figure out a fumigation protocol that our dog will sign off on, she is wearing this little number night and day.
Finally, there’s the attitude. Mostly a joy, but sometimes this child is truly the One Armed Devil. And neither the OAD or her Mum are much looking forward to Thursday’s visit to the hospital to remove a cast and a sticky-out wire on a, hopefully, beautifully mended finger. Gulp.