New Year’s Eve

1.  Great Years

2.  Great Pacifics

3.  Great Expectations

I remember New Year’s Eve 1969.   A five-year-old me sat on a window sill with my four-year-old brother, looking out at the tree outside.  “This is the last day of Nineteen Sixty Nine,” I told him. “What day is tomorrow?” he asked. “Nineteen Sixty Ten,” I replied. Forty years on, Son 1 is five years and three months old.  What a difference a decade makes.  On New Year’s Eve 1999/2000 I worked late at The Office, and then joined The Man at a party in a friend’s house and boogied singing Abba songs till 4am.   This year, I rang a Wednesday Mother at 11am. ”Inspiration?” I said. “Don’t know. We’re just getting up.” We agreed on the Aquarium.

The Aquarium was fab. Son 1 was excited about seeing Best Friend, and Son 2 aged 2y 3m was excited about seeing fish.  He crouched down to peer at the rays, gazed at the turtles, and loved the seahorses.   And for a boy obsessed by octopuses, The Giant Pacific Octopus was Christmas all over again.  It was wriggling around in its tank, its suckers splayed against the glass. “Look!  Stickers!” said Son 2. :I’ve been staring at that octopus since before Son 2 was born, and I’ve never seen it move before. ”It must be hungry,” I said. ”Maybe it’s lunchtime.”  We went through into the underwater section, where skates, rays and sharks soared above our heads.  Son 2 ran back in search of Wednesday Mother. “Where are yoooo?  I’m coming!”  We were thinking about lunch when an Aquarium worker stopped. “I don’t know if you know, but we’re about to feed the Giant Octopus if you want to watch.”  Back we went. Another aquarium worker climbed a rickety step ladder up the side of the tank. The octopus flew up to the surface.  Dripping tentacles slithered out of the top and up the woman’s arm. “I don’t bruise easily,” she said. “If this was my colleagues, they’d have a bruise each place the tentacle has gripped.”  She was great. We were already Octopus Fans, and now we are Octopus Experts. ”Put Shark vs Octopus into Youtube” she said. “The octopus wins.” I just looked at it. Bleargh. Oh all right, it’s here shark vs octopus   She had trouble getting it back in the tank. Splash. “Ow. That nearly dislocated my thumb.”  She threw a live crab into the tank after it. “It’s what she eats. You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.” 

On the way home we picked up Nanna, who was staying overnight so we could go out. The boys were knackered and badly behaved, with Son 2 having one of his screaming, screeching, squealing fits. After several spells on the naughty steps he sat on my lap, his chest heaving with sobs, slowly coming back to us and managing a bit of pizza.  After bedtime we went out for drinks, two in our local, one in a wine bar nearby, and another in a pub/nightclub. We came back before midnight – the champagne was in the fridge and we like the fireworks across the river. I woke Son 1 a few minutes before, and brought him downstairs.  He cried and clung… he just wanted to go back to bed.  I have two New Year’s Resolutions. I will cut down on or cut out all food with a “c” in it.  Fruit and veg excluded of course.  And I Ain’t Gonna Grieve No More.

4 Speeds On The Christmas Tree

1.  Low Gear

2.  Sonic

3.  Heavy Going

Son 1 aged 5y 3m started the day in a sulky huddle because it wasn’t Christmas.  Outside it was bright and beautiful and freezing cold.  Do not drive unless your trip is essential, said the police, the Highways, the AA and the Met Office on the radio.  I was in Tesco in the Big Town by 9am. Their car park was so icy I could hardly stand. Inside the store was deserted. Rows of checkout women chatted in their Tesco fleeces. A friend rang. She’s just got an amazing new job.   One of those brilliant happy ends for someone who’s had an undeservedly hard time.  I stood by the pie counter, squawking in excitement. From Tesco I legged it to M and S, skating, slipping, sliding. And bought packets of pyjamas and pants for The Man. They’ll all be wrong, and I’ll have to take them all back, but at least he’ll have a pile of presents to unwrap.  Then ELC to see if there was anything which could make up Son 1’s present deficit.  Then Boots for make up for Nanna. And Waterstones for lego for Son 1. 

I went the very long way to get Nanna because i didn’t trust the roads. She came out of her house with bag upon bag upon bag upon bag of presents.  From her and Younger Sister.  The House was empty because The Man and the boys had gone to get my present.  I hauled all the shopping in and stashed the present bags.  The others came home with pies for lunch.  Some friends came round with their nearly four year old. Son 1 was a hooligan.  No amount of “he sees you when you’re sleeping; he knows when you’re awake. He knows when you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness’ sake” could calm him.  He couldn’t remember to be good, and got very upset when he did something we felt meant Santa would miss him out.  At 10 to 3 we zoomed off to the Church for the crib service. Son 1 made a star. Son 2 aged 2y 3m played with the wooden nativity set. Son 2 wouldn’t go to the front for the service.  Son 1 talked through the prayers.  Son 2, the perspicacious little poppet, chose Mary, the manger and Baby Jesus to play with.  Then he stuck Mary’s head in his mouth and chewed and chewed. “We have four speeds on our Christmas Tree lights.” announced the vicar. “I’ve put it on the fastest one to celebrate the Good News.”

We had fajitas for tea. We put the boys to bed. We wrapped presents. I made stuffing. We hunted for the chocolate bells I bought weeks ago for Santa to hang on the Christmas Tree.  I wrapped The Man’s presents, and Nanna’s presents.  I made stuffing. At 10pm, cross and knackered, The Man and I stomped off into The Town. We had a babysitter and, barely talking but still arguing,  we were going out. For just one.  We had several.  We came back late.  Nanna had already gone to bed.  The Man ate the shortbread we left for Santa. I chopped parts of the carrots off.

Thanksgiving

1. Here Comes The Son

2. A Long Cold Lonely Winter

3. The Ice Is Slowly Melting

Jackie Paper Came Back.  He’s got his Gormiti Egg and his Turtle Guy, so who cares about sticker charts? Into the Big Bed at 2am.  What a waste of wistfulness. Squashed between Son 1 aged 5y 2m and The Man, and boiling hot, I clambered out and went downstairs to the Double Bed.  The Man followed later. Son 2 aged 2y 2m cried in his cot. The Man went and got him, and laid him down next to me. He pressed his soft little toddler face next to mine and went back to sleep.  

Many hours and hundreds of miles later, The Man and I were at the Aged Aunt’s funeral.  Also there: Eldest Brother, Grown Up Nephew, Grown Up Niece and her husband, Elder Brother, Sister In Law and Teenaged Niece, and Younger Sister and Godfather 2.   Lots of elderly people, lifelong friends of the Aged Aunt and my late father.   Elder Sister has cellulitis and couldn’t go.  Nanna also stayed away.  Eldest Brother, the child of my father’s first marriage, was brought up by the Aged Aunt.  Don’t Ask.   The vicar said we were Giving Thanks For and Celebrating the Life of the Aged Aunt. The churchyard was closed for burials years ago, but they made an exception for her because she wanted to be buried near her parents and her grandfather.  My father’s ashes are buried in our grandparents’ grave.  As are the ashes of Younger Brother, whose death, 10 days before my 30th birthday, wrecked everyone’s lives for years and years.   Don’t Ask. Again.  There is a lot of Stuff in our family.

Elder Brother, Sister In Law, Younger Sister, Godfather 2, Teenaged Niece, The Man and I lingered in the churchyard afterwards. The Aged Aunt’s grave was covered in flowers.  We wanted some for her, and for the Other Grave.  We walked over to a nearby florist, and everyone chose some.  Sea Holly from Younger Sister.  Cyclamen plants from Sister In Law and Teenaged Niece. Red Roses from Elder Brother.  Michaelmas Daisies from me – our childhood garden was always full of them at this time of year.  We laid them on the graves, and then walked across the town to Grown Up Niece’s house for tea and sandwiches.  We were kept away from Eldest Brother as children – yet more Stuff – and only got to know each other as adults.  I see much less of them than everyone else… I moved a long way away, a long time ago.  It was good to be there.  The Man and I drove all the way back again as night fell.  Heavy showers hammered down on the windscreen as we crossed  pitch black moorlands on the way home.  And I thought about the flowers on the graves, in the dark, in the rain.

Back

1.   Froggies

2.   Buggies

3.   Huggies

Really good, thank you, great weather, good journeys, no complaints, no complaints. Want some pictures? You’ll like this one: I dressed the boys for a 3am start in the UK, and we arrived at 12 noon our time and 25C, picked up the gleaming hire car and headed for the villa… Son 2 aged 2y 1m cried in the back, red spots burning in his cheeks, clearly overheated and distressed. “It’s ok, Son 2,” I kept saying. “We’re nearly there.” We stopped outside our destination. Vomit jetted out of him in pitiful spurts, swilling down his front and pooling in the car seat.  “I’s sick,” he said, hair plastered to his forehead.   Oh, but the swimming pool was lovely, the waiters loved children, the sun shone and the Bloody Marys racked up.  The Elegant Aunt and Golfmad Uncle had given us their timeshare, where we’ve stayed before, but had booked themselves another villa a few miles away to see the boys. “You’ll think it’s a bit Footballers’ Wives,” laughed the Elegant Aunt as she showed me around their new find.  Oh dear. I didn’t. I thought it was lovely.  Really lovely.  I didn’t dare tell her.  So we swam and went to the playground and the beach, and then this morning we trailed along the paths towards the hire car, and the boys spotted frogs in the water through the gardens. And I had a massive Pang, because we Just Don’t Get Enough Time Together As A Family.  And then I was Positive, because I know how lucky we are. And I am full of Holiday Resolutions which will Improve Our Lives.

Son 2, sitting in the back,  sang a song about his Ollday. Each verse finished on “Orl day long,” and Son 1 aged 5y 1m and I clapped each time.  Then he started to cry. “I’s sick,” he said.  “We’re nearly there, Son 2,” I said, mentally risk assessing. Garbage In = Garbage Out. He hadn’t had enough breakfast for anything untoward to happen.  The Man piled the trolley high with two suitcases, a sailbag, a hand-luggage-on-wheels-case, two car seats and assorted bits of carry-on stuff, including a Thomas The Tank Engine wheeled suitcase and an Early Learning Centre farm.  He zoomed off to return the hire car.   We paused in Departures. Son 2 threw up. Magnificently.  Great quantities of milk and bits which even I could smell.  I blotted him madly with muslins from the nappy bag, failing to notice that he was sitting in puddles of it in the buggy.  Son 1 had Euros from Golfmad Uncle in his pocket, and whined for the Sweetie Stall.     The Man returned, I broke open a case and found clean clothes. We checked in, sent the stinky buggy into the hold and sprayed ourselves in Wall-E scent from the toy bit of Duty Free.

The flight was a Total Nightmare.  Son 2 is a psychotic flyer and I Refuse To Go On A Plane With Him Again Ever.  It was worse than this: http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/05/17/the-land-of-the-sand/  But it was only two and half hours in a 12 hour trip, there was a sachet of Calpol they didn’t spot in the nappy bag and we dosed him with that. But next time it’s Medised.  On the way we gave Son 1 his first trip to McDonald’s. A Happy Meal. Doesn’t like burgers, doesn’t really do stringy chips, but liked the tomato sauce and the toy.  Son 2 kept up the jeopardy with “I’s sick! I’s sick!” but we put Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on the portable DVD and he seemed to forget. Back home we unpacked. And I have a Triumph. We bought too much wine out there and couldn’t drink it all. So I brought it back.  I am a Member Of Mumsnet.  We can Solve Problems.  In the suitcase, in the hold, and it didn’t break.  Wrapped in clingfilm, a carrier bag each, two of The Man’s tee-shirts which I hate so wouldn’t care if we had to throw them out… and the particular stroke of genius of which I am very proud: Son 2’s swimnappies.  One at each end of the bottles. And one turned inside out on either side in case the worse happened.  6 Euros Over There will be Very Nice Over Here.  And Kim, who is keen on the brand, and has been kind enough to comment, at last I can give you your heading…

Christopher Robin’s Mother

1.   Without Consulting Me

2.  A Golden Gown

3.  Wandering Vaguely

I took Son 1 aged 4y 11m to school and found The Headmaster. At the end of last term The Man wrote to ask if we can take Son 1 out the week after half-term. The Elegant Aunt has offered us her Timeshare week.  Our holiday in May with The Family was a delight for the boys, but this, because of The Man’s Business, would be our first chance this year to go away as a foursome.  “I understand,” said The Headmaster. ”It’s not a problem.”

My last day as The Mother Of A One Year Old. I took the day off work so I could spend quality time with Son 2 aged 23m. So, after I’d dropped off Son 1 I had my hair done. I like the colour, I like the cut – she seems to have made it longer than it was when I went in, even with taking half an inch off.  Although The Stand In Hairdresser says as it’s bleached, it’s got to be short.  No handsome prince is ever going to scale a tower by clambering up my flaxen tresses. I got home at lunchtime to an exhausted Son 2 – Wonder Nanny had kept him up so he’d be awake for my return.  He then refused to sleep in the afternoon.  We played and watched telly, and then I roasted chicken legs for tomorrow’s birthday tea. Son 1 wants Pirate Chicken.  The meat pirates eat in the pictures.

I rang Nanna. “Please can you babysit so The Man and I can take my new haircut out?” She could.  We were late leaving though, after Son 1 first had to tiptoe into the bedroom to put each of Son 2’s presents under the cot. And then, as we read stories about Birthdays, we did Two Presents For Eeyore – the original of course – and his curiosity was drawn to Christopher Robin and The Narrator. “It’s his DAddy.  The stories were written a long time ago by a Daddy for his little boy who was five. And the little boy’s toys were Winnie The Pooh and Piglet and Eeyore and Owl and Rabbit and KAnga and Roo.” “Are they dead?”  “The Daddy is, I can’t remember if Christopher Robin is. He’s a very old man if he’s still alive.” “What happened to the Mummy?”  A very good question I thought. Never heard of her. In fact, now you mention it, I’m also worried about James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George Dupree’s Mother.  She may have Gone Down To The End Of The  Town and was Never Seen Again. But did anyone check the whereabouts of James James’s Father when she went missing?

First Day At School

1.  Starting Gate

2.  School Gates 

3.  Stair Gates

Every bloody morning for the last eight weeks Son 1 aged 4y 11m has been bouncing out of bed.  Today he couldn’t get up. “I’m tired. Who says we have to get up?” We tried to get him to eat a croissant but it was yesterday’s. Wouldn’t eat it. Ate only about 15 dry Cheerios and a few grapes for breakfast.  Into his school uniform, cuteness on legs. “Tell Daddy to buy you a Variety Pack for breakfast tomorrow.”  “And me!” chorused Son 2 aged 23m.  Son 1 trailed downstairs, and I heard him saying: “Mummy says I can have Coco Pops for breakfast.” 

We had a late start because we were seeing the dentist.  I stopped off to get Son 1 a comic. “Mummy why have I got this comic?”  “To keep you occupied while I see the hygienist.”  “But why does it include me?” “Because your dentist’s appointment is after mine.”  A couple of weeks ago a fragment broke off my front incisor leaving a sharp corner.  I asked the hygienist why it had happened. “Acidic drinks?” she said. “Fruit juice?  Wine?”  Ah. The dentist said both Son 1 and I are doing great.   i dropped him off at his school. The children were on break.  His form teacher met us and showed us around. I showed her Son 1’s chest, covered in molluscum contagiosum.  I’ve been worried they won’t let him go swimming. “Oh we had loads of that last year, I think it’s all right as long as it’s not weeping.” The school’s had building work done over the holidays and it’s fantastic. Two new teaching assistants know us from Son 1’s Old Nursery. He scampered off to play with friends from Nursery last year.  And That Was That.

After The Office, I walked in to find The Man was unpacking the fish tank he’s bought for Son 1 and Son 2’s joint birthday present. They were in raptures. “Fish Tank! Fish Tank!” chortled Son 2.  Yes we know it’s ahead of the Big Days… but we have cleaning to do and gravel to wash and plants to settle in before we can even think about fish.  I wanted to know all about Son 1’s First Day At School.  He wanted to wash gravel. He was exhausted and uncontrollable and adorable.  i scooped them upstairs for their baths. Son 2 shut the stair gate behind us.  He is the only one who closes them, and then I can’t get through when my hands are full of cups/washing/etc. The Man took both stair gates out while I read to Son 2.  The house looks very different without them.

Gambolling

1.  Birds

2.  Lambs

3.   Chickens

A Clifftop Charity Day I wanted to go to.  The Man said he’d come.   The forecast was fine-ish in the morning, then rain by the afternoon, so we went off early.  The Man drove, I was in the front seat and Wonder Nanny was squashed between two car seats in the back. Son 2 aged 23m and Son 1 aged 4y 11m slept.  The Man and I were once regular visitors to The Clifftop and the countryside around.   It had been more than five years.  Bracing coastal walks, stopping to watch cliff birds through binoculars, climbing up sheer paths and over stiles, the odd pint at the odd pub… “Come on! Let’s walk lunch off!” “What’s wrong with sleeping lunch off?”  You really do forget what life was like before.

We arrived and checked out the stalls. The Man took Son 1 to a tombola.  A 5 or a 0 and you win. Son 1 won.  Sweets, and a pen with a football on the top.  He was hooked. Nag nag nag nag. “Just let him have another go and he’ll lose and learn.”  He won.  Two prizes on three tickets. Four dinner candles – for the child for whom candles mean birthdays and blowing out – and another pen with a football on top.  Nag nag nag nag nag.  It was like hook a bloody duck. “Son 1 you don’t always win. ” Nag nag nag nag.  We gave him another go. He won a calculator.  Son 1 thinks calculators are as good as candles.  ”And me!” We gave Son 2 a 50p go in the lucky dip. He won a three-way highlighter pen.  The child who likes crayoning on the furniture because of the excitement of trying to scrub it all off.

We walked down the cliffside to the Children’s Farm.  It was windy, the sea was huge and slate grey, crashing high against the rocks. The clifftops were covered in pink and purple heather and thrift and yellow gorsey flowers. It was the same as it had been for a thousand years. Apart from the Children’s Farm. Son 1 skipped from rock to rock, stopped to peer into the rabbit holes, squelched the springy grasses under his wellies.   I watched him enjoying the drama of the landscape, and shared a moment with the Old Me, standing where I used to, staring out to sea.   Our first time in the Children’s Farm. The Man bought a bag of animal food. “You’ll need two,” I said. “They’ll fight.” Son 2 is such a child of his time that as soon as he saw the animals he swung back and commanded: “Food!  Food!”  There were goats and pigs and hens and ponies and sheep and rabbits and ducks.  Even The Man enjoyed it. Back at the top Son 1 demanded another go on the tombola. The little girl in the queue ahead of him won the biggest prize.  He lost.  He did not take it well.

Comme Ci Comme Ca

1.  Commes Des Yorkshiremen

2.  Comme Il Ne Faut Pas

3.  Commes Des Garcons

Before the school holidays, I used to get both children up, dressed, breakfasted, washed and teeth-cleaned, get myself showered, hair done, made up, do my packed lunch, a load of washing, washing up and hoovering, mostly singled-handed, before scooping up Son 1 now aged 4y 10m and his assorted bags, walking half a mile to the car and getting to his Nursery 30 mins away at the madly early time they insisted day began.   Now I’m leaving it all to Wonder Nanny, The Man is home, and I still can’t make it to The Office without a 1950s’ Look At That Clock Why Can’t It Be Wrong mental ringtone haunting me all the way.  So my first Good Thing is the school hols.   Because I have no idea how I’m going to do it all five days a week and lots, lots earlier.

I’d taken the afternoon off, so the whole morning had the same panicky, desperate pace.  I talked faster in meetings as if that would make them end quicker.  It didn’t. It just made my voice get a bit higher, and I got the where-could-she-have-inhaled-helium look from my colleagues.  “I’m really sorry,” I said. “But I have a child’s birthday party and I need to go.”   Oh-good-nothing-important said their faces.  Out late, I rang Wonder Nanny from the car park. ”I’ll see you there,” she said.

It was Son 1’s Best Friend’s brother’s party.  I was first to arrive. The Working Mum So Busy She Forgot To Take Her Children To The Birthday Party.  Best Friend and brother looked unimpressed and continued doing lazy forward rolls on their sofa. Wednesday Mum had prepared a Blytonesque spread, cleaned the house from top-to-bottom and laid on party games. I made her a cup of tea. Other Mums arrived. I made them tea. At last Wonder Nanny, Son 1 and Son 2 aged 23m turned up.    We partied. Son 1 and Best Friend match-fixed the pass the parcel. I was so proud.  Wednesday Mum stopped the music dutifully and fairly so that 10+ small children each got a sweetie as the layers were removed. It took a long time, she got bored, there were still layers left so she gave the CD remote to Best Friend.  When the music stopped, Son 1 had the parcel. He got the chew bar. The music started. The ring of cross-legged children passed the parcel. The music stopped. Son 1 had the parcel.  He got the prize, a packet of jelly sweets. I wish I could say he shared it with Best Friend. It’s Because I Work.

Secret Pictures

1.  Secret Screams

2.  Secret Pictures

3.  Secret Peace

Son 1 aged 4y 9m has escaped Night Terrors. Other Mums have sat there with their screaming, staring children, sleeping spookily bolt upright in bed as they yelled and yelled.  Not Son 1. Until we put Son 2 aged 21m in with him.  And lo.  Last night.  Shouts and screams, loud enough to wake The Terrace.  While sound asleep.  Son 2 – who can be woken by an eyeblink  – slept through it. 

Wonder Nanny has an eye problem, so we were on our own today.  The children were worn out, so we aimed at a Boat Trip, the idea being, as usual, that the chug of the Little Fishing Boat engine would White Noise the lads off to sleep. And The Man and I would get Peace And Quiet.  Son 1 didn’t want to go on The Boat.  Son 1 had seen Mr Maker doing secret pictures.  White wax crayons, biscuit cutters and ink.  He was busting.  We left Son 2 playing with water (”Wa Wa. Wa Wa.”) in the garden while we quickly made the secret pictures. I crayoned. Son 1 inked.  He loved the results.

Son 2 saw some choc rolls going into the picnic bag.  “Choc choc. Choc choc.” He pushed a little green chair across the kitchen, stood up and pulled the picnic bag off. It fell on his head, and knocked him off the chair. He landed on his bag on the floor with the picnic bag on top of him.  Both boys dived for lunch as soon as we got out on The Boat.  I’d forgotten the suntan lotion, which ruled out the beach as an option.  We chugged along the river instead. Son 2 eventually went to sleep. Son 1 didn’t. He painted in the cabin. The Man and I drank coffee. ”Is there any hot chocolate for children?” asked Son 1. Good point. We’ll get some.  The river is wide and peaceful, greenly wooded on each side below great expanses of sky.  Like swimming in the sea, it helps.

Flashing And Frightening

1.  A Storm In The Night

2.  A Storm In The Morning

3.  Sunshine

Mighty thunderstorm in the night. Great big crashing cracks of thunder, sudden bright-as-daylight flashes of lightning. No Von Trapp children skidded into bed with me. I peeked in the bedrooms to check on Son 1 aged 4y 9m and Son 2 aged 21m, tiptoeing carefully, not making a peep with the doors. KER-RACK BOOM. Someone lifted up the roof of the house and let it slam back down again. The children didn’t stir. The storm went on and on. The rain drummed down. i had to close the windows, open against the stultifying heat, to stop us all being washed away.  The storm passed. I went to sleep. Son 1 arrived, at 4am. I took him back to his bed.

Son 1 insisted on taking his Dinosaur Bone to Nursery.  “Ok,” I said. “For a start Miss Lovely won’t let you have it. It’s too big. If she does let you have it, you will hear people all day long telling you it’s not a dinosaur bone, it’s a twig – ” ” – It’s NOT a twig. You can smash it on anything and it doesn’t break. It’s a bone, a leg bone -” “- and when you tell them that they will try and break it and they will succeed. It will be smashed to smithereens. And Mummy will be right and you will be wrong.” “I don’t want to listen to you anymore.”

The Dinosaur Bone went in the car boot. “It stays there. We will ask Miss Lovely if you can bring it in.” Son 1 wouldn’t even come in while I checked. “We have an issue. Son 1 found a Dinosaur Bone on the beach. Son 1 has always wanted to find a Dinosaur Bone. I have said it is Too Big For Nursery. I have said everyone here will say it is a stick, because it looks like a very ornate stick which has been worn down by the sea.   I have said it will get broken. ” A small, expectant face had appeared at my elbow, gazing up at Miss Lovely. ”I’d love to see it,” she said.  Back to the car I trogged. Back to the Nursery. “Oh that looks like a bone from a very scarey dinosaur.” “It’s a leg bone,” said Son 1, his eyes shining. “I can see that. Do you think it’s from a Tyrannosaurus Rex?” “Yes!”

I was back from The Office Very Late. Son 1 was just about in bed. “How was the bone?” “All right. No-one said it was a twig.”    Traitors.