So I decided to take Miss K to a birthday party today. Get all the questions on her arm over in one fell swoop and let her have a bit of fun and return to semi-normal routine and so forth.
I had to take my 4yo boy as well as the husband interpreted “I’ll be needing your help this weekend” as “yep – you run along to the farm and help your brother dip the cows” (its hard trying to speak Husbandese).
Rang the hosts – they know us quite well and were happy to have an extra.
So the 4 yo enters the door, downs about 4 cups of cordial and some treats and then spends the next hour throwing his body around in the hired jumping castle.
Guess what happened next.
So we are home again. I had to go and apologise to the hosts (who were most gracious and were happy enough that their dog had artfully removed the vomit from their lawn) … and then slink out the door.
Never ask God ‘what else could go wrong’ or call him a ‘bugger’ or make a flippant remark about the devil vomiting into your kettle. It may be taken far too literally by both parties.