Best laid plans
So what to do with six small children (three of theirs, one of E's, visiting with her from Paris, and two belonging to their friends C&M)?
And so it was that we squidged into the back of a people carrier and then squidged into borrowed swimming gear (R&J are considerably svelter than we are -- let's just say that if it hadn't been for a maternity two-piece then I'd have been sitting it out) and then found ourselves flailing around with large numbers of shrieking children in a shallow pool of warm multicultural middle class wee at the local leisure centre. And all this before we'd normally have been out of bed. Hang on a minute, said M at one point, how did we get here?
When we got back we had an enormous Syrian lunch, then I rather impressed myself by managing to take a nap in a room full of under fives watching Winnie the Pooh on DVD. I was feeling a bit tired with all the excitement, and my bed of sofa cushions was still on the floor from the night before, so...
On awakening, I was cross-examined by J, who is three and a half and likes making rules.
'Are you a mummy?' she said. No, I said.
'Are you a nanny?' No, not one of those either, I said.
'Are you a *boy*?' No, definitely not, I said.
'What *are* you then?'
A good question. I thought on it for a while, and then said 'I'm a Jo'.
There are days when that's not much fun, but this was definitely not one of them.