Butts

Both our children seem obsessed with the phrase "my butt, my butt, my butt" and as an unfortunate consequence, so are my wife and I, now inserting it into conversation like some unhelpful verbal tic.

We took a bus into Seattle, planning on meeting our friends, but arrived three hours early so we went to REI and bought winter clothes instead. The girls scrambled around the tree house and I debated different colours for wool hats (eventually the girls voted for grey over caramel).

That done, I moved my butt, my butt, my butt down to Serious Pie for lunch, arriving at the same time as our friends, who had all driven or taken the train down from Vancouver to see us. We had a couple of hours of eating, then walked over to the Space Needle, took the monorail down to downtown, and then ate more food at Tom Douglas’s Dahlia Bakery.

Between the Palace Kitchen, Serious Pie and the Dahlia Bakery, we seem to be eating exclusively in Tom Douglas restaurants at the moment – tomorrow we’re off to Lola’s for breakfast.

But we took the bus home again today and the girls played in the park for an hour, before dinner and a special treat: watching a movie about an orphan who goes to Paris to sneak into a ballet school. This was meant to be a treat, but between La Serpiente being reduced to tears by every plot twist, and Destroyer yelling that she wanted to watch something including Barbie, I felt our children didn’t appreciate it as much as us. Ah well. At least they were quick to put to bed.

They weren’t quick to put to bed. I eventually escaped, claiming I was going to the toilet, after both girls crawled into the same bed and then became uncooperative. Onwards.

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