Mr. Waffle is giving me a break this morning. He got up with the Princess, dressed her, fed her, changed the boys, dressed them, put on their coats, put on the Princess’s coat, put the boys into their car seats, stacked them in the lift, persuaded the Princess into the lift and headed off. I shut the door but moments later heard a plaintive bleat from downstairs. From the stairwell Mr. Waffle’s voice echoed “Could you bring the Princess’s shoes downstairs?”
Mid-life crisis
Me: I was saying today in the office that I was 37. Our 22 year old trainee was visibly startled.
Him: I hate to say this but, you know it’s not that she thinks you don’t look it.
Me: I know, it’s just that she’s surprised that someone my age manages to get out of the house at all.
Back on the chain gang
Week one is over. I took a half day today. Shortly I will be off to see the Princess perform in a concert at the end of her course on the music of the Maghreb (salaam alaikum to you too). I am particularly looking forward to hearing the number about the sleeping camel; various versions of which we have been enjoying all week. I digress. So, I put in four and a half days. And it was fine. We even went out to a friend’s birthday dinner last night. The boys both have coughs and conjunctivitis (the consequence of communal child care, I fear) but we are heartless second and third time parents and we went out anyway. It’s going ok. Bon weekend.
Knight in shining armour
Me: Did you slay any dragons today, sweetheart?
Him: No, but I told one to feck off this morning.
Goodnight
Me:Â Sleep tight sweetheart.
Her: Why can’t you wake tight Mummy?
Him: Actually, that is possible.
She might have a point
From the Dutch Mama:
“Will you be mortally offended and never speak to me again?
Would you not stop breastfeeding those two strapping big young fellas? Yes, of course, breastfeeding is superior to bottles, but not so superior that it’s worth putting yourself (not to mention your poor frayed out readers) through this. They’re twins. They’re six months old. It’s too much to be tearing home at lunchtime like that.
Let them grow up. You could still breast-feed in the evenings for a while if you wanted. And they’ll probably take to the bottles with such speed and delight that you’ll be heartbroken – but be sleeping so soundly at night-time that you’ll forgive them.
There – I’ve said it. Do think about it (and don’t hate me!)”