I got through another week, unscathed, and on time, to all our agreed and scheduled appointments, school, kinder and other.
School finished early. I even made that on time, and went for coffee with friends. Where they don’t take credit card! What kind of place is that?!
Grumpy even got home from work early, and sat and spent some time with the kids, constructing some Put Together with Adult Help thing that Monkey Boy was given.
He and Monkey Boy worked hard. Along the usual lines, whereby Grumpy does all the assembly, and Monkey Boy is allowed to sit 3 feet away and watch, but not touch. Ocassionally, he is allowed to leave the area to go and get something that Grumpy needs. Like, in this case, food colouring.
Godzilla, meanwhile, just bounced and skipped around. Inside and out.
The project finished as I was sitting on the couch, feeding Chippie. They were all under control. The creation was on the table outside, awaiting the drying of the glue, and the kids were inside, putting things away.
Or so I thought. This myth was immediately shattered when Grumpy entered the house, looked towards the kitchen behind me and articulated “Your mother is going to shoot you!”
Yeah. Make me the bad guy!
I turn as best I can with 4 kilo hanging off my left breast and make the only comment I can.
“I they’re not my good scissors you’re using to do that!!!” as I witness Monkey Boy, with a majority of his fringe missing, gripping what remained with my good scissors poised and ready to do their duty.
My tone obviously frightened him, causing his hand to clench, and chopping off the remaining tuft of fringe.
Admittedly, his hair is well and truly overdue for a cut. But still. I like to fit it into my day/week/month, rather than have to fit my day/week/month around his visit to the old Italian barber.
That, and he now looks like a complete knob and I couldn’t help but laugh. I would have been slightly more jovial had he not used my good scissors to do the deed.
Godzilla, picking up on the fact that I am somewhat pissed off, bounces over to inform me that “He is bein’ naughty. I’n a good boy, Mummy”
Sure. Until I turn to acknowledge his comment.
And stare directly into a gorgeous smiley and … green face!
“Right. Who let him get hold of the green food dye? And why?”
Hmm. I can see these school holidays being a barrel of laughs.
(Oh, and we also have a photo session booked for Tuesday. Will I have time to take them to the barber before then? And how long does it take food colouring to wash off, I wonder?”