Off for a trip to the beach again (I really must think of something more imaginative for school holidays. Or at the very least, have more exciting things to do at the beach) and visit to a friend.
Who lives near the beach.
Monkey Boy, wise beyond his years, does not just do the “are we there yet?” that is standard of most children.
He never has.
No. He prefers to do the annoying version. Yes. There is a more annoying version of the “are we there yet?”
Monkey Boy’s version is the one where he heard it on an ad or something, so says it just to piss us off. He even does it with that evil smirk on his face that tells you he knows its pissing you off. It is said more often that the Standard Version, with no real interest in whether we are actually anywhere near There, and in a piss-offing tone.
Stopped for lunch, no chance to swim – possibly because we had to stop the car and smash our heads against a brick wall for an hour so we were able to deal with the “are we there yets?”
Made it to friends house, with all children accounted for. Although it was a close call at several hundred stages along the way. Set off for the beach, had a laze about in the water until it was time to go home.
Back to her house, where Monkey Boy sensed the well hidden box of train stuff (the stuff he only has a teensy bit of) and dragged it out to play with.
The Extraction to leave for our home was most difficult, and was only successful by my friend promising she would come and visit with her children, and would bring said train set with her. Batteries included.
Six hours later, and with Monkey Boy well and truly assurred, we were able to leave …
… to hear “So are you gonna ring her to organise that play date when we get home” as we pulled out of her driveway.
And alllllllllll the way home!