Some people have lazy Sundays. People with toddlers don't. Doesn't bother me, though; instead of watching football from the comfort of my couch, I'm out playing it with my little fellas.
Hmmm, I'm about one fifth of the way to having a full team. Maybe it's time for Zoe and I to have a little chat*.
(*About me taking a trip to the doctor so that ridiculous ideas like trying for a full team become null and void...)
Here's a selection of Zoe's latest work. Extremely talented lady, I think! I love the collage of the old man.
[*Shameless plug alert*] To see some more of Zoe's work, have a look at her website.
The Frangipani, common in the tropics, is one of my favourite trees. If you've ever smelt its flowers you'll know why. We're lucky enough to have this one right outside our bedroom window. Just something to remember home by while I'm fighting my way through the London rush hour.
1. There are no kids with you.
2. Work is paying for business class.
3. There are no kids with you.
And that, my friends, is going to be me tomorrow, because I'm flying back to London on my own to catch up with old friends, drink gallons of real beer and paint the town red for a conference. I'm trying my level best to contain my excitement because I should be feeling sorry to leave the boys for a week. Oh, and to a much, much lesser extent, guilty for leaving Zoe to cope with the little tykes on her own (she forgot my birthday last year).
But the thought of being waited on hand and foot for 10 solid hours while not having to worry about Max running screaming up and down the aisles, or Tom throwing up over some lovely stewardess, is just too damn wonderful. There will be no fight with Max in the airport when it's time to go through immigration and he wants to stay on the Postman Pat ride. There will be no delaying the flight because Tom, seconds before boarding has mysteriously disappeared, only to reappear from behind the vending machine shortly after missing our takeoff slot. And there will be no cringing from the hostile stares of other passengers, all praying "Please God, don't let it be me".
Oh yes,I fully intend to make the most of this and I won't pretend that I wish I didn't have to go. I just hope there aren't any noisy kids on the flight. People are so inconsiderate, travelling with babies and toddlers. Little monsters should be put in the hold...
Tom escapes his cage...
...and makes an astounding discovery: sky.
First, stupification...
...then adulation. All hail sky!
Max and I are best of friends. Until, that is, he gets the merest suspicion that I've picked up his toothbrush. And then the bathroom becomes a veritable war zone. It's akin to what soldiers in the trenches during the First World War called the 'daily hate'; fierce artillery barrages at set times each day.
Our own 'daily hates' erupt after morning and evening baths, when I fearfully go over the top and advance, toothbrush in hand, over the no mans land of the bathroom. While previously inexperienced and unable to resist my full-frontal attack, Max has become wiser and learned how to shield his teeth from the bombardment. He has even begun to foil the majority of my surprise attacks, as he quickly discovered that trust is often abused. As a result, the once successful Trojan Horse method has, too, been confined to history.
He nearly has me beaten. Surrender, at this point, seems almost inevitable. And Max knows it. So this is a plea for reinforcements or, at the very least, for tactical suggestions.
The Caribbean island we live on is blessed with incredible natural beauty. Not only are there beautiful beaches and mountains, but there are also important habitats for wetland wildlife.
Today, I was lucky enough to be able to make a donation from work to one of the wildlife conservation outfits here. Just a couple of the sights from the wetlands they are working hard to protect. Long may they do so.
Bob the car washing guy has already taken me to be the sucker I really am. He knows that I'm the one to speak to on Saturdays when he comes round to do the car. He cottoned on in record time that if he speaks to Zoe, he won't be able to charge 4 times the going rate. Or use our phone to make international calls. Or relax in my armchair while I gather together cleaning materials for him (that I had to buy).
Following our little debacle last week, Bob knows that I'm even more easy game than usual, and he clearly intends to get as much mileage out that fact as possible. So it was no surprise that when Zoe answers the door to him yesterday, he immediately asks to speak to me. Hanging fire until Zoe is well out of earshot, he proceeds to not only ask for the equivalent of a Doctor's hourly wage to spend 10 minutes hosing my car, but he actually asks me to give him money towards buying a house!
"Don't worry," smirks Bob, "I only need $38,000".
"Wait there," I whisper. "I'll just go and get my wallet. D'you want cash or a cheque...?"
My one time sanctuary (the living room):
The Blitz, London 1940:
I detest you, Wiggles, but thank you.
One of the things that makes Max special is his frequent demonstrations of affection. When I've been away from home for anything over 10 minutes, Max will come running over to greet me with a big hug and a kiss. And although even more hyperactive than me, he loves to have a cuddle on the couch.
When I went to pick him up from nursery yesterday, one of the teachers asked me to teach him not to kiss his friends. I have to admit to being saddened annoyed by this request. I think that the social barrier to uninhibited shows of affection descends far too quickly, and it won't be long at all before Max starts to think that kissing a friend is just not cool. So I'm loathe to teach him that a kiss is unacceptable behaviour. In fact, I'd rather encourage it.
I'd be interested to hear others' views on this.
In order of priority, I live for:
1. Family
2. Adventure sports and travel
3. The West Wing
Those who know me, know that I am not imbued with the gift of patience. In a very rare and monumental feat of self control, I've managed to avoid watching any West Wing on TV so I can watch it all on DVD. In one sitting. And when it does come out on DVD, West Wing will take pole position in the above list.
Zoe, who (to my utter disdain) does not like the West Wing, has somehow seen the final episode. And is itching to tell me how it all ends. My world will come crashing down around me if she does. It's like waiting for the bullet to hit, and like a torturess, she delights in it.
