Paul Davidson
Weeknotes 054: It must be broken, Daddy. Baby shark is broken
We started the week childless and lying in bed. It’s always a pleasure to lie in at the weekend restricted opportunities makes the rare joy all the sweeter.
Once up, The Chef did a reccy over to Brew and bite for cruffins while I finished off hanging pictures, tidying our DIY, planting out the last of the border plants and getting the salt beef on before guests arrive this week.
With the furniture displaced, we tried rearranging the living space. After 30 minutes of contortions, it ended up where it started. At least the pictures moved around.
The moving left us hungry for Sunday lunch at Grandma and Grandad’s. Piglet always hold a minor grudge against us when she sleeps out. When we arrived she turned and fled upstairs. She ascends the stairs with a climbers musicality. There’s a rythym to her legs and a springy bounciness in the balls of her feet.
Tuesday was supposed to include a visit from the roofer and an evening with Laura Veirs. Neither happened. The roofer left a voicemail and Laura Veirs—worried by the plague status of our island—has rescheduled for next year. Because ticket websites are all horrible price-gouging scam merchants, Gmail took the chance to send the useful email to spam. It’s my fault, but I still blame them for being skeevy enough often enough to be auto-flagged as spam. Will I learn? No. Will I avoid doing it again? Also no.
We think Piglet licked a farm animal at the weekend a.k.a. she’s ill again. Remembering and reflecting on baby Arthur she wanted to be a baby and have a baby cuddle. Mildly delirious in my arms she asked me, “What’s the Chinese for baby?” And answered herself, “It’s baby cow.”
Two unrelated links offered without comment: Macs are Catholic and circumcisions should not be a thing any more.
When the roofer did show he left saying he’d get us two quotes. In as many words, the eye watering cost of doing it properly or the acceptable cost of a bodge. I feel we’ve bodged too many times to no avail so the aptly named rainy day fund will get a hammering.
The combination of illness and excitement of a visit meant a nearly 10 pm bedtime complete with “Nigel? Nigel! NIGEL!” and “How are you Daddy. I’m, hmmm, 21!” Me neither. We are worried that the guests aren’t going to get any sleep if this keeps up. We’re certainly not.
Through cosleeping, I now have a snotty nose. But, importantly, negative lateral flow tests.
Our friends arrived safely but the toddlers do not see eye to eye. One is an extroverted people pleaser and the other is an introverted misanthrope. And the misanthrope didn’t have a good nap, putting her in the fouler of her moods. And the first (of too many) choruses of
My daddy!
No my daddy!
No my daddy!
Things calmed down out of the house, without the territorial machinations of sharing toys. We even managed a Saturday visit to Wylam for the Thai food event. Dancing with toddlers and bumping into friends in the figurative and metaphorical.
What happened to low strength beers though? The girls are heading out Durham and me and the other Dad want to be sober enough to parent.
We needent have worried about Piglet disturbing them though. If anything the other way around. Loud friends aren’t conducive to getting a toddler to sleep.
It’s lovely though. Let’s just keep testing negative.
17 October 2021