It was The Daddy's lie-in yesterday and I had to pop to the village post office to send off a publisher submission for some of my, frankly brilliant, children's books (Good Morrow, Templar Submissions Team).
While organising my manila envelopes at the counter, the strangest noise occurred - sort of how a rat would sound down a drainpipe blowing a kazoo! I turned around to find both of my ankle biters, out of their buggy and fingering what I later learnt was a groaning stick. These are long tubes with an animal's head on which, well ... groan when you turn them upside down. Between writing my own address on my S.A.E. and writing the publisher's address on another, I was back and to, removing said items from the perpetually grubby paws of the offspring. Trying to re-attach the cardboard labels around the long groaning necks while generally shooting apologetic glances to all involved! Finally I surrendered and parted with the £3.98 required to purchase one each and keep everybody happy... everybody but me and my planned trip to Starbucks with the pocket money!
I have quite an affection for our local postmistress, yet am perturbed by such underhand cash extracting behaviour of placing a toddler magnetic product within their easy reach (them having no budgeting skills to speak of). This conduct is more commonly notable in the larger retail outlets (cough... othercareM). It seems we are safe nowhere from the enticement of our young minds.
I wonder if I could add to my astounding skills in instant risk assessment, an instant cash extracting assessment too? As if my brain weren't short-circuiting already!
To further elongate the slumbering pleasures of my Dear Heart I then decided on a trip to the park. The inclement times that are spring in this fair isle, required the use of a towel on all park equipment - ten points for forward thinking please (free tip of the day - so that rain won't cancel play). Following my drying of communal playthings, both underlings completely ignored them, becoming obsessed with the sheer volume of worms on the ground. We were surrounded by an immense plague of them.
Baby Girl went about her business screeching at the parasites and demanding them to be removed from her path, while The Boy waved and wiggled them with glee; proud to be the mature hands of the operation and Chief Worm Remover.
A fleeting visit to feed the fish, we arrived home a tired and emotional troupe and one of the groaning sticks (Sharkie) was instantly lost. I let the other one (Mrs Croc) be put to good use. It was time for The Daddy to get up!