I took the girls down to Ballard Farmer’s Market today, having promised them their weekly hot dog. To their consternation, the hot dog stand was absent today, and so La Serpiente mournfully repeated the phrase "hot dog lunch" all the way to the doughnut shop, rueful of what she’d missed out on. (I did suggest we just cooked her a hot dog at home, but that wasn’t as good, apparently, which is even stranger when you consider the girls only like totally plain hot dogs, sans any sauce or toppings whatsoever.)
We rode home via the supermarket, and the girls played in the park most of the afternoon. It had been gloomy in the morning but sunny later on. The girls made a new friend and rolled down the grassy slope that is one half of the park, again and again, finally persuading me to join in. Rolling down grassy hills is a lot of fun: the last time I remember doing so was in 2005 at the hill outside my office; oh, for those days again.
By evening time the girls were tired. Destroyer hid under the bed and I found her too quickly for her to jump out and say boo, so she wept into a pillow for fifteen minutes. I read them an Edward Gorey book (The Unstrung Harp) and another chapter of The Faraway Tree, and both girls were asleep by 830, without melatonin or anything.
I’ve had a dodgy belly since Friday morning. I seem to be better now, but now my wife’s getting it too. So the next few days may be a little tougher than we’re used to …