Ok so the Fair yesterday was a hit. An expensive affair to be sure. (How can they rob you like that for few minutes worth of amusement? Every time the boys went round on a ride I was thinking, "There goes a new Mac lipgloss....there goes a super grande caramel macchiato...there goes a glossy magazine..."etc.) Ah well, they had a great time and Dumpie came back with a giant plastic football which is almost as large as himself and which I'm currently trying to dodge as I write this (another broken vase anyone?)
I don't know if it was tiredness or not, but last night as I was getting them dressed after their bath, Dumps marched up to me and demanded, "Put 'Wink' away!" I beg your pardon??
"Put 'Wink' AWAY!!" he yelled at me, thrusting a nappie in my face and giving his little manhood a cursory wiggle for emphasis (in case I was too thick to catch on). Apparently he was done having a wee fiddle-dee-dee and wanted his miniature appendage removed from sight until further notice.
It seems everywhere I look there are boys, toys and 'Wink's'. The testosterone level is seriously out of whack in this home. Three strong-willed males, a plethora of dirty socks and pants, all sorts of useless, expensive tools and gadgets (mainly belonging to the biggest boy in this case) and very little regard for manners, decorum or the virtues of eating in a gentlemanly fashion. For some reason they all think it's okay to tip their cereal bowls up to their mouths and slurp out the remains of the sweet milky liquid, however much I try and nip that one in the bud. I've also caught Dumpie drinking grape juice straight from the carton on several occasions, though I think this is an act mainly grounded in rebellion because I insist on diluting their juice and he strongly objects.
Tomorrow we're renting a car and driving to Stratford-on-Avon to spend the night. Three of our very good friends (all bachelors and all very fond of naughty behavior) are spending the weekend there and sort of half-seriously invited us to join them. Well we are. Never one to swerve a social opportunity, the husband is under the illusion that we shall be able to combine a child-friendly short break with their heavily pub-based agenda one. I have a sneaking suspicion that we're just along for the ride and will be summararily tucked up in bed at a reasonable hour before he sneaks off for a night of debauchery with his mates like the alley-cat he is.
I'm bringing a book. And lots of chocolate.