Cupcakes and toddlers

The day starts in a fairly normal, uneventful fashion whereby Godzilla is asked to unstack the dishwasher before he eats breakfast, so I have stuff to work with when making lunches, he makes his breakfast instead and the conversation shortly turns to elephants penises.

Littlest one at home with me all day today, so we do the only rational thing. Well I do have options:

  1. attempt to do some work whilst toddler drags hands off keyboards, wipes snot on my shirt, screams at me and smacks me in the head with a train;
  2. go to the local, massive shopping “mall” and get the book Monkey Boy wants for his birthday on behalf of The Favourite Uncle who handed me some cash before he buggered off overseas for a year and said “here, this is for Monkey Boy’s birthday and the kids for Christmas”. Technically, he gave it to GrumpyPants who passed on the message. I hope that was the message; or
  3. make cupcakes for Monkey Boy to take to school for his birthday tomorrow

All of which were so incredibly appealing that I couldn’t decide whether to embark on one or the other of them, or simply cut my leg off with a blunt spoon. Which was equally as appealing. Not really up for spending a day alone with him, given he did his standard Cry When We Walk Out Of Childcare And Continue For Another Forty Minutes For Not Fathomable Reason. Nor any reason that Mummy can fix. He’s not fun when he’s like that, and quite frankly, I’d rather spend time having my legs tweezed as opposed to waxed. At least it’d keep me away from the

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