"Serving Hungry Customers For Over Eight Years..."

Grandpa and the Chubby Chicken watching Olympics on telly

Well we made it.  And I have to start with a very public apology to the monsters who, despite every indication that things would go pear-shaped en route the 747 to Toronto, proved me wrong (for once!) and were absolute angels during the journey.

There was no vomiting, no wrestling matches between aisles, no tantrums and no public humiliation (unless you count the very loud and very candid announcement to all passengers waiting to disembark, when Egg declared in response to a passenger's admiration to my good self for bravery in flying solo with three children, "My Mum told Grandpa that as soon as she gets home she's going to go lock herself in a room and drink a whole bottle of wine!"  Gulp.)

It's been a big adjustment departing Britain's soggy shores for the sunbaked streets of Toronto.  Despite boiling hot weather I'm finding it a daily struggle to wrestle Egg out of his jeans and hoodies and make him put on shorts and a t-shirt.  He's just not having it (poor boy is weather-scarred).

Grandpa is once again playing host to our crew, and has generously looked the other way on several occasions, pretending not to notice blueberry stains on the pristine white carpet, biscuit crumbs ground into his computer keyboard, the sliced wires on his skype headphones, and the bathroom flooding which occurred three nights ago after the boys acted out a rather protracted war game involving rubber ducks and water shooters (sigh).

Yesterday Grandpa was left in sole charge of the monsters for a few hours, and I returned to find him shell-shocked and expressing deep admiration for me and 'how i do it' with three boys.  (I didn't think it a good time to fess up to a weekend martini habit or the genius of earphones and Radio 6 when all is exploding around me...let him think i'm Supermum.)

Sharing a bed with the baby continues to leave me bleary-eyed and exhausted the next day.  It's like bedding down with an insatiable and relentless lover night after night, who also happens to be a heroin addict and is prone to vomiting all over your chest afterwards.  Nice.  Nights consist of proffering myself up to the hungry munchkin whilst cricking my back into technically impossible shapes in the hopes that I don't have to full wake up and feed him from a proper armchair like a normal mother.

At any rate, I shouldn't complain.  It's lovely to have a change of scene, and my MacLaren and I have already traversed the streets downtown several times, taking in the sights and revelling in the novelty of a properly hot summer.  Bizarre!

If I dress him up cute enough, Grandma is willing to babysit whenever...result!