Monkey Boy dropped off at school, early and excited, for heading off to school camp.
Godzilla had the privilege of getting to school super early, too.
Mild Mother Guilt as I buggered off instead of waiting with squillions of other parents to wave the bus off. Been there, done that; waved it off last year. Wasn’t as exciting as I’d hoped.
That dealt with, back home, load of (child-free) work attended to, Grumpy neglecting to contact me about his movements for the afternoon, and leaving his phone in his pants pockets in his locker at work so he was uncontactable.
Thus, I got the school pickup/swimming duty. He go the pick Chippie up at daycare role.
Godzilla, being brotherless for the moment, embarked on a session of verbal vomiting and chatted away incessantly about anything that came into his mind. The main issue with his mind is that it’s in a parallel universe and he neglects to fill you in on the bits you may or may not know. He picks up another “green, amber, yellow” food pamphlet (one that tells you, more or less, about ‘healthy’ foods, what to eat lots of and what to eat less of; a 2010 alternative to the food pyramid of the previous millenium) and tells me how he’s going to draw pictures of each of the ‘fings’ (anthropoid-ish represenatations of I’m not quite sure what, to be pefectly honest).
And rambles on about some other stuff.
Home we get, Grumpy and Chippie not far behind. I’m totally exhausted and incapable of thinking of how to cook the chicken breasts I’d taken out of the freezer. That they’d been taken out whilst in a state of complete fatigue has no bearing on this inability to make a decision, I’m sure.
Grumpy and I set about trying to decide the best option for our evening meal, and as he’s lying on the kitchen floor attempting to remove the menu for the noodle place up the road, Godzilla is happily drawing on bits of paper and cutting things out.
Some mild distress when he can’t find the sticky tape (*sigh* “It’s in the top drawer where it always is. Go look in there.”) and then, quite suddenly, tears, frustration and whiney requests for help, which I can’t decipher due to level of whineyness.
I tell him so.
“I can’t make a halo for my marble!”
Oh, of course. Why didn’t you say so.
I requested he repeat the problem several times, as I’m sure he had said he couldn’t make a “halo for his marble” which, quite frankly, makes no sense whatsoever.
After establishing this is exactly what he means, I find myself incapable of functioning until have had noodles to eat and a glass of wine to drink. I embarked upon this with much enthusiasm whilst I got my brain around how to solve Godzilla’s dilemma, and he approaches me with a glow in the dark marble with wings he’d drawn and cut out himself taped onto it.
Dilemma solved by use of a yellow pipe cleaner, cut to size and fashioned into a … halo.
That completed, he promplty got bored with the whole thing, and it was placed in severe danger as Chippie managed to get hold of it and place it in his mouth. It was only at this point that Godzilla cared, screamed and ripped it out of Chipppie’s hands how promptly threw the train he had in his left hand at Godzilla, almost hitting him with it and sending him into tears.