In just over two weeks I'm going to be headed to Faro, Portugal to stay with a friend of mine. I'm hanging out for some of this
and also seeing two of the most adorable kids in the world. The problem is, their mother is in a pantomime in the weekend so the kids were going to be left with a friend. I have however, been offered the dubious honour of looking after them if I choose.
"If you would actually prefer to be terrorized, victimized, have food thrown at you and spat upon you, listen to endless hours of nonsensnical babble about why good boys don't wipe snot on their jumper but ask for a tissue instead, only to see before your very eyes snot being wiped on the afore mentioned jumper, brush each tooth in an evergrowing mouth 25 times to be told you haven't brushed it hard/gently/long enough, read 4 or 5 bed time stories in 3 languages, before being bribed into reading another half dozen, and then when you finally settle down, take your coat off and open the fridge for a bite to eat, you'll be infomed, and not quietly, that the cup is on the wrong side of the bed..."
I honestly don't know what to do. Sean is three, a horrible flirt and at times reminds me very strongly of Calvin. His sister Daisy is just over one and starting to walk. Daisy is, most of the time, a real treat but supercutie can, in the blink of an eye, turn to not-so-supercutie. So I am in a dielma. The point of a holiday is to get some rest and rejuivinate so do I go for beaches for babies?
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
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