In addition to the many children living in my house there is George. George is no problem and if all my kids were like George life would be pretty fucking sweet. George (or possibly Georgina, it’s currently unconfirmed) quietly and slowly moves around his little house, munches on lettuce and occasionally ends up stuck on his back, his little legs flapping in either distress or excitement at seeing the world upside down. George is a tortoise. He is currently in hibernation. I think my kids are headed the same way, b3cause they won’t leave the mother-chuffin’ house,
On the rare occasion that we can all actually go into the garden together, after I’ve managed to find a gap in my role of solicitor/mum/teacher/cleaner/cook etc. Or perhaps Dad has the great idea of fresh allotment air. With the dream of picking veggies for tea and generally try to convince everyone that we live the good life. It’s pretty much a guarantee that we’ll never actually get there given it can then take at least a further 20 from the point of decission time to actually get out of the door.
To start there is the 10 minute coat argument with the first born. This involves him insisting it’s summer and is usually based on the fact that he has asked Alexa 67 times, “Alexa, what is the weather like today?”. Alexa has answered him 67 times, confirming that the temperature today is “7”.
The girl will happily get ready, she loves to be outside, but first she needs to get out of her pajamas. Then once she’s all wrapped up, chest covered and protected, she will (as predicted) start doing the ‘wee dance’.
When all these hurdles have been overcome and we are all finally ready to make the big leap out the door the little one poops. This has the result of causing my husband to look down at his own feet, the interpretation being that he couldn’t possibly slip his wellies off and deal with a shitty nappy.
Once we are ready (again) this time with a shitty nappy in tow for the bin, at least one child will change their mind on the whole going outside for fresh air thing. This of course produces a domino effect followed by endless bribery and a compromise on the coat. Then, we’re out, or so we thought. Nope, the first born has changed his mind (again) and the girl wants to put her pajamas back on. But it’s OK the little one is already halfway down to the garden having used the commotion to his advance and made his big escape.