Obviously I don’t really think that my children are idiots.
Rose is a world-beating genius who at the age of 3 can count to a billion AND make her own breakfast, Barnaby can make the baby-sign for a fly (waves arms around, wild eyes, mumbles bu-bu-buh) and beat the dog simultaneously, although I’m unclear yet as to whether these two things are linked in his ever enquiring mind. He also has the bite of a piranha and the concentration required to blow raspberries uninterrupted on my shoulder for at least ten minutes. That takes lung capacity too. Such focus! Such discipline!
There is absolutely NO QUESTION that the dog is a massive idiot. I’m not sure I even like the dog, but as husband likes to remind me on occasion, she was here first. Husband definitely has idiotic tendencies which may or may not be revealed on here depending on (currently) how annoyed I get that he is at Glastonbury for a week and I am not. This is the man who once phoned me from his office, less than a mile away, where he sits all day being his own boss to ask me to bring him toilet paper so he could have a shit.
No real gems from them (children, husband, dog) today, although I am beginning to suspect that my iPhone is alive and does not find anything they’ve ever said amusing, as several notes I’ve saved over the last few months with quotes have mysteriously disappeared. So, while I can still remember it, from a few weeks ago, here’s what occupies the mind of my 3 year old…
Rose, astride a rocking horse, holding aloft a stuffed rabbit:
Me and my bubby are going to Ed Sheeran land!
Me: Oh lovely! What happens there then?
Rose: There’s lots of Hello Kitty things, and they are all real live Hello Kitty and they all move around!
How acoustic guitar music and a small, mute, japanese style cat have become intertwined in her mind is anyone’s guess.