Three hours

Jekyll and Hyde had their first day of 'kinder' today. Unable to crack open a bottle of champagne to celebrate my three hours of me time without the deafening screams of 3 year olds in stereo, I sat in the car outside the kinder wondering what I should do with my precious time.

Nothing.

With a five month old in tow I was limited with what I could do. The pub was out of the question - I wasn't dressed for it at 10am, and the hint of sour S26 on my left shoulder was a bit off-putting. I went home instead.

Nevertheless I arrived to pick up Lily and Grace feeling fresh and confident and the successful mum that I am. I watched them from the car as they played with their new friends. They danced and sang songs. They sat still and listened to the story read to them. Then Gracie saw me. And it began.

"I NOT GOING HOME!"

I was fine with that. 

I NOT GOING HOME! I NOT GOING HOME! I NOT GOING HOME!

You poo on your head. I tell you every day, you little poo.

I. NOT. GOING. HOME.

RUCK SAKE!

I was gobsmacked. Poo isn't even in my vocabulary. To others in earshot it sounded as if she called me a rucksack. So glad she can't say 'f'.

But she was going home, and closely resembling a child abductor I lured her to the car.

Want a lolly?

160 hours until kinder. I'll have the Brown Brothers on ice.


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