Obviously bored with the routine that he still can’t fucking manage despite having done the same thing every day for the last year and a half, Godzilla felt, perhaps, change may be as good as a holiday.
Or, maybe, “let’s see if we can tip mummy over the edge”.
Either way, we had performed a significant number of actions on the checklist, including “go and eat your breakfast” (three times), “stop jumping on the bed and put some damned clothes on” (seven times), and “what the fuck are you doing now, go and do whatever it is you need to do to get ready for school” (804 times) Godzilla mistook “go and get your bloody book bag” (the 19th time) for “go and retreive a toy you haven’t seen in the last 27 years and haven’t played with in 36, and wave it around in Chippie’s face”.
Follwed immediately by “but don’t you dare let him touch it, you may only tease him with it” that I’m sure was “put your frigging shoes on” (17 times).
A screaming mummy, a screaming and tantrumming Chippie and a Godzilla (“get your bag NOW, we are LEAVING! And where the fuck are your shoes?! For fuck’s sake!” (twice)) lying on the floor, in front of his school bag, shoeless, sockless and playing with another “oh, I didn’t know we still had that toy, though we’d tossed it out sometime last century”, as mummy wrestled kicking, screaming toddler into his pram.
Yup, just the holiday I needed.