Petra’s been tired and a tad crotchety by dinner time for the last couple of weeks, so I thought a nice quiet day at home was in order.
Little did I know. We’ve had a lovely day, but quiet doesn’t really do it justice.
We danced to The Clean, and Sam Cooke in the morning, and to Weezer in the afternoon. We had a big tea party. We cooked with play dough. Petra sang, while I danced and clapped along (I wasn’t allowed to join in the singing). We read Petra’s new book about 57 times. We stuck stickers. We went through every item in her box of baby treasures. We took the babies for a drive to Porirua (my bed doubled as the car) to look at an open home (Petra’s bedroom). I listened to a long and complex tale about her dolls and soft toys. We ran around outside in the cold wind arranging stones in nice lines. And in amongst all the play, we folded washing and hung a gazillion t-shirts on the rack, as well as cooking several meals.
I’m knackered. And Petra’s pretty damn tired as well. It turns out that staying home is exhausting work.