Making Our Bed and Lying In It
byWe’ve been sort of caught in the act. Well I say, ‘kind of’. Tracey says, ‘near enough’. Miss14 says she’s gonna need therapy. Lots and lots of therapy.
We’ve been sort of caught in the act. Well I say, ‘kind of’. Tracey says, ‘near enough’. Miss14 says she’s gonna need therapy. Lots and lots of therapy.
“Your turn,” said Tracey. I asked why. “Because I have boobs.” Check + mate.
Plus our adventures on the Great Ocean Road.
“You suck,” Tracey told me this morning. Unfortunately, she wasn’t even saying it to be funny.
You might well be wondering what’s been going on.
Calling dibs is very important around here. How important? Well…
Apparently, Tracey’s bum intends making frequent appearances on our trip.
Bravo, I say!
“No one’s going to believe us,” Tracey said to me. Good.
Sometime just after Christmas Tracey and I made the mistake of letting Miss12 overhear a conversation where we were tossing around the idea of rearranging things so she could have some space of her own, rather than sharing with Miss8 and Master10.
I think the first thing I should mention, before I get into tonight’s post, is Tracey’s Mum and I get along just fine and there is no emotional tug-of -war or uncomfortable silences when I’m with her. Historically speaking.
You know you’re in for a good time when a nice lady at the chemist directs you through a door with a sign saying Hook-up In Progress.
“I. Need. Sleep.”
Having cats in the house is increasing my stress to new, hitherto unseen levels.
Our youngest was lying between us, playing peek-a-boo with her Mum. Which was great for me. But then Tracey decided I should be involved…
“Not that story,” Miss5 said when I suggested yet another from a way too big book of bedtime stories. I flicked a few pages to one about monkeys. It looked fantastic. Only a couple of dozen words a page.
I don’t mind a little post-lights out natter, but there comes a time when two little girls need to sleep. And that time was fifteen minutes ago.