We are well into the school holidays and things are going as well as can be expected.
Chippie at childcare today and the other two well and truly ensconced in school holidayness. This involves time spent playing beautifully with each other, imaginative play, sharing, laughing, but not “we’re up to mischief” laughing, having fun and at the mere flip of an unidentifiable and invisible switch, screaming, yelling, fighting and arguing over whose turn it is to play what game on the Wii.
I, rather than become sucked into the cyclone that is Children Home From School Holidays that they try to suck me into, set myself up in my office. So long as I could hear any potential, seriously hurt screaming, all was well.
Monkey Boy, after a traumatic rift, set himself up playing Lego – and not sorting out the 847 gajillion Lego boxes he has, as requested, and Godzilla went outside to play on the cubby – and not pick up the clothes he has had lying on his bedroom floor since approximately 1984.
All. Was. Well.
Unbeknownst to me, Monkey Boy had obviously bored of playing Lego.