OK

so what fun-packed adventure did we get up to today?

Ooh lets think. Between scraping general crud off various surfaces and shoving food down various necks (and wiping various poos off various bums) we found the time to goto Ferry Meadows and for those of you not au fait with this particular area it is a human-made lake with lots of surrounding grass, a miniature train and track, a couple of play areas and lots of paths to cycle on. It also has geese and swans and boats and birds and duck poo and dogs-not-on-leads-even-though-they-are-supposed-to-be and dogs going ape because omigod there is a *duck* in the water and I'm gonna catch it... I'm gonna catch it... I'm ... oh it flew away ... again. Oh but never mind - there are pre-schoolers to chase instead....

So we went there, and in mind-blowingly uncharacteristic fashion I had prepared the day before by making with Boss a KITE.

Yes, people. I made something with Boss. I actually planned ahead. Go ahead. I'll scrape you off the ceiling in a little while.

I found some easy-to-follow instructions off the 'net by some kind of boy scout (and they know their stuff, right??) and we made, out of newspaper, a kite. A KITE. "All you need is a little scotch tape and some string". ... oh wait - and the hurricane to lift that Mamma off the ground because I don't think it could have been heavier if it had been made of wrought iron for crying out loud. We tried it in the garden and, well, I cleaned the path with it.

So DH made a kite with tissue paper. Much better. But I decided I couldn't be assed after all actually FLYING a kite this morning and so left it on the table and took the frisbee, cricket bat and ball and another ball.

It was really windy there today and a couple of people were flying kites anyway so Boss got to see what it was all about without me having to waste any of my own energy doing anything. Always a bonus. And after three seconds he went, "Oh yeah. *bored silence* LETS RUN" OK.

Then we played with the frisbee.

We like the frisbee and who needs a dog when you have a four year old? I threw and he fetched. Oh it was fun. Then I taught him how to throw it, but having a penchant for hurling the caber, the frisbee's line of trajectory was decidedly non-frisbee-like and after nearly missing the crown on my head several times as it descended he decided to just pretend to be a train instead.

Which was good unless we saw a dog on the horizon where upon he wrapped himself around my legs and shoved his head so far up my bum I could hardly walk. So here I am trudging over the common pushing a baby who is almost a stone in weight, wading through mud and having to drag one leg behind me with a human plaster cast hitching a ride. Lovely exercise.

Then we played in the playground and he kept *pointing* at other boys and saying in a very loud voice what they were doing, and how he was better than them and what facial features they had, and had I any energy left I think I would have taken a running jump at him for making me clench my butt in embarrassment that hard. We have had words over pointing. You just. Don't. Point. It is rude. It is also unIslamic. The Prophet (Saw) when he pointed would never, ever use his finger, but use his entire hand to gesture the direction he was referring to. So I have been teaching Boss this since he was two years old - since the day we walked along our road and a Mercedes-Benz with blacked-out windows and gold-alloy wheels and four crack-dealers parked beside us and Boss kept pointing at them and going "MUMMY... LOOK AT THE..." whilst I deflected him for TEN. MINUTES. with things like "Oh, look dear - a bird/airplane/cloud/sky/rocket-ship/pink elephant with enormous big ears hiding behind THAT cloud... you sure you can't see it?? Look harder..." until it transpired that what he was pointing at was the other car parked behind it which had a dent that wasn't there last time we'd seen it... but of course by this point I'd already died a thousand deaths imaging the scenario where both me and my child were hacked to pieces by paranoid smack dealers who thought we were "disrespecting" them or taking undue interest in their facial appearance and/or numberplate - so since then I have been insistent on making sure he doesn't use his finger to point. But he still ignores me and still he manages to make me break out into hot flushes when he yells "LOOK MUMMY... LOOK AT THE..." *O Please God help the next words out of his mouth NOT be 'fat ugly lady'*

So we finish the playground and walk back when THIS happens:



"LOOK AT ME MUMMY - LOOK HOW HIGH I CAN JUMP" but of course he's in a big, sticky, muddy, gloopy patch of gloopy, sticky, smelly, dog-urine-soaked MUD and instead of jumping his feet are stuck in the ground and he just ends up throwing himself sideways into the mess and lies there LIES THERE shouting LOOK AT ME. I didn't photograph his back or head.

So being the compassionate mother you know I am, I instantly ran to the gloopy, smelly child and hissed *GET UP. NOW* and he tried. But he was stuck and he had to pull himself free whilst dog owners and normal people of various description walked past and tutted at the baaaaaaad mother who just couldn't control her kid enough.

I am turning into one of those mothers people tut at.

Then we get to the car and hell no he isn't sitting in MY car like that. So I make him strip before getting in. I wrap him in a blanket and drive home with mud encased all over my boot from the pram wheels and clothes, Jaws screaming like he's on fire and a semi-naked four year old desperately looking for someone out of his window so they can save him.

It's days like these that I know why social services were created.




In fact, no. Don't call social services. Just shoot me.


But the train aint running...

Can you hear that? Listen.... "Wah! I hate the pram! Wah! I hate the outdoors! Wah! Omigod we're near the frigging car - I HATE the car even more than I hate other stuff! Wah! Get me the hell out of HERE!!

The clouds looked just like an oil painting.


Hope you all had a nice day.