Desperate for a bit of time away from the computer this afternoon, I decide to join in with the swimming lesson debacle that is Thursday nights.
Chippie now not going to daycare on Thursdays leaves us with numerous options, my favourite being Grumpy Pants takes him to swimming lessons with the older two and leaves me home to work. In peace.
But I go. I prepare myself adequately, taking my To Do Diary, my note book and my Pooh Bear pencil case with my selection of pretty coloured pens, and sit beside the pool and do a bit of offline work. Saves me thinking up various ways I can opt out of the world for that half hour. Make it fifty minutes, so they can deal with the post-swimming shower and get dressed without me. I hate that bit most.
Inexplicably – yet inevitably – the drive home discussion turns to our house burining down. Again.
Godzilla, out of the blue, as is his wont, suggests that when we get home we get a ladder and push the buttons on the smoke detectors. Because we were talking about Monkey Boy and his recently acquired aversion to eating carrots at school.
Monkey Boy then asks if we can pleeeeeaaaaaase get some of those sprinkler things that go on your roof for in case your house catches fire.
I affect sarcastic tone most appropriate for the discussion at hand and reply “Yeah, you and a sprinkler system. That’d be great for everyone!”
“What do you mean?” he replies. All innocent like.
I turned and looked at him in a look that pretty much repeated what I’d just said out loud.
“What?” he asks again. “I can do way naughtier things than that.”
And that, my dears, was a fact!
(And then he handed me, at 6.57pm, the note and additional paraphernalia relating to me being required to bake a cake for a school cake stall fundraiser, to be delivered before school tomorrow morning.)