Quality time

I’ve not been very good at reading stories to the girls this week; tonight I went to the track for my monthly 30 minute run-as-hard-as-you-can test, and didn’t get home until La Serpiente was down. Destroyer was happily bumbling around the house, trying to climb onto the kitchen worktops and generally being cute. That .Add it extra heart-rending when I took her to her bedroom and she instantly began screaming for her mother.

The rage lasted for a while, and then came the singing. Cute though it is to hear her going “mummy mummy mummy bun bun bun” (“Mother, mother, mother, bunny rabbit, bunny rabbit, bunny rabbit”) the joy does pale when you’re desperate for dinner and bed. She flopped around, playing with her George Pig nightlight, or with her sheep, or her pink bunny, for a good 45 minutes and then, a propos of nothing, rolled over and went to sleep. I’ll never fully understand my kids. 

This does rather cut into the quality time of the parents. My wife passed out, leaving me to watch movie trailers on YouTube in the dark on my own. Yes, this is what constitutes quality time, allegedly. Why I didn’t cut my losses and go to sleep too an hour ago I just don’t understand. Maybe I feel I need more sleep deprivation, not less. 

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