Nit harvesting and house cleaning done, we can finally do the bedtime routine.
Now consisting of “just go to bloody bed, will you!” and psyching self up to do prep-level ‘listening to reading’.
Monkey Boy has mild conniption when “Mu-uuum! He moved my thing!” Unsure who “he” is or what “thing” he moved, but also willing to bet it was diplaced in the bed stripping fiasco of earlier this evening.
That myth laid to rest almost immediately with Godzilla piping up “It wasn’t me! It was my imaginary friend. Mum, it was my imaginary friend.”
Well, I’m terribly sorry, but a plague of lice is all I can deal with this evening. You’re just going to have to invent an imaginary friend at another time. Preferably when I’m slightly less stressed and have had ample time to cater for additonal guests.