As Mondays after the half term holidays go, today was pretty uneventful. Having an “uneventful” day doesn’t happen by accident of courseit requires skill, dedication, and a fair amount of idiocy.
It would have helped had the rain not fallen in prodigious amounts all day. It would also have helped if I wasn’t up to my ear holes in programming all day. It would alsohave helped if I hadn’t agreed to visit a freelance website contact to show her the ropes of her shiny new WordPress installation. It would alsohave helped if I had told W I was going to be late home, and avoided the “Catch the Pigeon” style screaming down the phone in front of the freelance client. Finally, it would have helped considerably if I hadn’t been rained on all the way home too.
Bringing some scrap of balance to the universe, I got home to discover Miss Eleven helping wash up the dinner I missed. The remains of the meatballs were in the wok on the cooker, with the invitation to make some pasta of my ownwhich I did.
Halfway through cooking, our eldest suddenly remembered a conversation in her school classroom from earlier in the day about the teacher bringing in a box of chicks. The thing about chicks is they turn (pretty rapidly) into evil looking feathery idiots that peck everythingand eventually into feathery footballs on legs that lay eggs. Our eldest remembered last year, when the same teacher offered the chicks to the children as soon as they began to grow too big.
We have a chicken run.You’re way ahead of me.”Can we have some of the chicks?”“What did Mum say?”“Mum said to ask you.”W appears in the kitchen, and I accuse her of wanting the chickens”That’s not what I said! I said we would need to have a think about it!”The ensuing argument rumbled on all evening, and has ended up with Miss Eleven coming down at 10:30pm, and then 11pm because she “can’t sleep” har har. I tucked her back in the first time, and while doing so she murmured “I can’t stop thinking about the chickens”.
On the plus side, she did make a rather desperately delivered plea in the kitchen that she would do anything we wanted forever if we let her have a few of the chicks.