Kicked off the morning in the usual fashion, where one kid, usually the larger of the two, annoys the other, most often the younger, smaller version, and kid two cries and retaliates with hitting.
So the day commenced …
“RRRAAAAAHHHHHHHHH I’m gonna hit you, you idiot” is the scream into younger siblings face.
“Don’t you call me a idiot, you stupid idiot – wahahahahah”
“Don’t hit me. Don’t hit me. Don’t hit me.”
The volume must have increased significantly enough to infiltrate Grumpy’s paper-reading hearing system, as I then heard “don’t hit him”
Clearly – I could tell by the precise sound of the sobbing – Grumpy had grabbed Godzilla’s arm to prevent him hitting.
“Well, can you just smack him for me, please?”
I guess you can only ask.
Off Monkey Boy went to school, so the day was relatively peaceful.
Dinner, bath and bed, and we were snuggling up reading, when he became concerned about his swollowed tooth, and asked whether I was sure the Tooth Fairy got it.
(No she bloody didn’t. She’s had enough of sifting through poo. Whatever’s in there can bloody well stay in there now!”
“Of course they got it. They left a note didn’t they? Saying they got it. How do you think they got it, what tools did they use?”
“Well, I think they must have used some magic spell or drank or ate some magic thing and it made them (by now, it appears, there was more than one) really, really little and they went in my mouth and down to my tummy and got my tooth.”
“Cool. And how did they get out?”
“Oh, easy. I must have farted them out.”