Early morning celebratory sippy-cup cheers. Bottoms up to a night of “urgent chats”, and a combo of real and Hollywood coughs. Special mention to the furry McPikelet who tried to scale a pile of neatly stacked boxes at 3am and failed spectacularly.
Amy has woken me up the last two nights “because I’ve had a terrible nightmare and need to talk about it”. The first night was that she and her dad were in a sandcastle competition, and she won, but her dad’s sandcastle was actually better. The next night it was that she was drawing a picture and made a mistake, but couldn’t be bothered getting another bit of paper to start again. She’s totally going to grow into one of those women I overhear saying things like “Farro had run out of red quinoa, so I had to improvise by using white quinoa in my salad instead…total NIGHTMARE.” and “All the cronuts had sold out before I got there. Literally my worst nightmare”. (Um, actually, I may have said that second one myself)
I’m not sure what’s more irritating. A) My four year old constantly telling me what to do with Tilly and undermining my every decision because she genuinely seems to think she’s better at parenting a toddler than I am, OR B) The fact that my four year old genuinely does seem to be better at parenting a toddler than I am.
Amy keeps calling almond milk “Anna’s Milk” (because Frozen is a virus we will never, ever be able to eradicate from our lives). It’s sort of two parts cute, and one part really putting me off my morning smoothie.
Following a long and considered conversation about whether fairies are actually real or not (I’m trying to keep the magic alive for my four-year-old sceptic), Amy has dictated a letter and drawn a picture to leave out for them. “If fairies ARE actually real, Mummy, then they’ll probably leave me a letter and a chocolate”. #SetUp #Entrapment
Amy caught me intently studying a portion of my hairline in the mirror. Amy: “What are you doing?” Me: “Trying to figure out if this hair is grey, or just really blonde”. Amy: “It might be a grey hair. That means you’re getting old and will probably die soon”. Is there some proverb along the lines of “seek ye not positive affirmation and good cheer from your offspring, for they shalst make you feel like shit”? There should be.
Me: “Why aren’t you laughing at my funny song?” Amy: “Because it’s not funny, Casey.” Wow, when your four year old uses your proper name in a sentence you know you’ve overstepped the mark.
McPikelets 