So, big flappers, here I come…

Hey! My ducks ate out of my hand tonight! Yeah, I know, you lot couldn’t give a flying rat’s bottom hole, but for me, it’s a tremendous feat! Hoorah for me. Posh and Beaks, and Minnie and Daisy like me enough to eat out of my hands. The love I have for my kids…runs deep, the things they feed me out of their grubby little chubby-fingered paws…

I am stood chatting to mum, Esmie is in my arms, rolling something all over my neck, it turns out to be Prit-Stick. Brilliant. I thought I had hidden it after earlier’s incident. They are pretty 'arty crafty' kids, they love to make things, and my mum and dad have been beavering away making goggle eyed monsters, sticking and pasting, thoroughly taking kid duties seriously!…Not that you have much choice in this house. Esmie, the incident: I sit down on the chair for tea, I get momentarily stuck, although, thankfully, it’s only Prit-Stick, not superglue, and I leaver my pie ass with catlike dexterity off the seat CAKED in glue. The table has a giant ‘E’ Prit Stuck on it. Hmmm, wonder who that was *runs off to call Poirot* Throughout the evening, I have come across various ‘E’s’ Prit Sticked around the place, hither and thither. Hence, the Prit Stick, now being Prit-Sticked on my neck (I had been Prit Stuck), was not supposed to be found. She has quite obviously been at the ninja-baby thing again, scaling walls, breaking in and entering, and claiming her prize, the Prit-Stick/toothpaste/chocolate/chocolate powder (she nearly choked herself drinking it once…So I thought quickly and fed her milk, clouds of chocolate powder dust bursting out in puffs from her naughty chocolate powder eating mouth, the milk did the trick, chocolate milk, mmmmm)/marbles/mascaras, because sometimes the panda bear look IS cool on a 2-year-old/scissors (for self-hair cutting purposes, the name ‘Tufty’ she earned for her efforts) and the like…

Tufty, the self-hairdressing child..this is taken months after the incidences (note the plural)...Tufts still regrowing at the back...

  ‘Finished!’ I announce proudly to Monty, 45 minutes after I had started, Monty becoming more and more frustrated with my time taking (we were about to go to battle, you see), I unveil my spaceship.  Da da! Monty has a star wars lego den under his bed, he spends hours under it playing star wars lego, building things, having battles and the like. The girls were in bed, and I got to play with Monty for a few hours under his den. My ship, I believe, is a master piece! Lego star wars ship changing material, but Monty is having none of it. I go on and on about it being the best ship under his den, he wets himself laughing, as I try to convince him of this. In the end (I did go on for a fair while) he looks at me and says, ‘Alright, alright mum, look, it’s the best one you’ve ever built…’ diplomacy, I like this…We battle away for hours, me refusing to believe Monty has long since destroyed my mega ship. I am ‘pew pewing' away like a trooper (a storm one, see, I know my Star Wars stuff and everything…), when Monty, who has quite clearly had enough of my complete ignorance as to the correct pretend shooting noise, turns to me and quietly tells me ‘It’s OK mum, you can stop making the noises now…It’s better that way…’ And so, put in my place, I assume mega ship destroyed pose and crash my master piece to the floor in defeat. I am sure I heard Monty go ‘phew’ and roll his eyes…

At any rate, the few hours I spent on my own with Monty was bliss. It’s difficult to have one on one with them all during the holidays, I try each day to do something, even if it’s only 20 minutes, with each on their own. But it’s not always a towering success. Tonight, however, was, although my fake shooting noises are sh*t. We still have rain here, and the temperature was a freezing 16 degrees here today. So indoor activity action stations are being managed, although they do need to get outside now…

Monty has his best mate Enzo coming to play tomorrow, so that will balance the boy levels out a bit here. I hope we have some sun, mum and dad keep thinking they’ve not left England. There is a peck at the door, I must go and see to the chickens, it’s blowing a gale out there, and they most likely want me to take them to bed. So, big flappers, here I come…

See you tomorrow,

Tamsyn x