There's always a moment when you look up from what you are doing and realise that the house is quiet. Too quiet. It's happening now. Pud and Pickle have disappeared off up the hallway and I've been sitting in the loungeroom Facebook-stalking. I think I can hear some quiet singing but I know it's not going to be good.
I could casually saunter up to their room and cop a squiz at them... or I could sit happily in front of the heater and imagine they're playing nicely and that those flying pigs won't crap all over me. Hmmmm, choices....
Yup, I'm going to stay here and hope for the best. Probably the worst thing they can do is dress themselves. And of course that's disastrous for someone like me. Although Pud, from time to time, does tell me that she can wear a particular pair of trousers with a specific shirt because they share a common colour. So long as it's not fricken' pink, I don't care. I've told her that if she touches pink things she'll get a rash. I don't think it's worked.... she doesn't know what a rash is.
Oops, gotta go... Pickle has arrived saying "Mama, Mama, Mama"... and that usually means she wants to dob on her big sister. You've got to love a dobber.... actually, that's not it... it's a stinky nappy that's brought her here. Bloody hell. Perhaps the mung bean stew wasn't such a good idea.... no naked flames, folks.