The Trading Table

Throat better, but cold now moved into chest.


Rechecked lists and organised for quick trip to purchase final baby outfits for packing, with Grumpy and kids in tow.

Bad mistake, and one would think I would have learned by now that taking two boys out in public immediately after school pickup is just insane. I blame pregnancy brain. Or perhaps wanton craving for sex at all hours of day and night coupled with anxiety provoking thoughts about induction of early labour resulting in emergency type situation.

Either way, kids went feral running around and wrestling, while Grumpy plucked outfits from racks and threw them in my direction saying “there it is, lets go” and me checking sizes, colours and number or outfits against my lists to ensure that we didn’t result in too many of a particular colour and/or size and a deficit of another.

By the time we got home, and after attempting to negotiate some kind of acceptable public behaviour and failing miserably, I decided fish and chips was the go for dinner.

Whipped it up – yes, home made.

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