Magic moments

I have a week off work. This is a glorious thing, and I decided that I would keep the toddler at home with me for some quality time. By which I mean "for two days of the week; I'm not a fucking saint."

Yesterday we planned and executed a fantastically packed day of holiday wonderfulness. We:

• Made pizza dough
• Went to the country park to look at all the animals. We petted donkeys, ran away from peacocks, and made up a song on the swing
• Came home for a boiled egg with dippy soldiers
• Had a lovely nap
• Got up and went to the library and read lots of books
• Went for a special treat chocolate milkshake at the ice cream parlour
• Fell over, scraped a knee and put a magic plaster on
• Came home and made our own pizzas, putting all the toppings on ourselves
• Had a bath, read some stories and fell asleep after a lovely day.

Sounds good, right? Sounds like the perfect day of glowing childhood memories?

Well, when TheBloke (TM) got home, she greeted him with, "Daddy, I fell over and hurt my knee."

That, ladies and gentlemen is why you shouldn't bother doing anything nice with your children. They are ungrateful little gits.

I'm doing it all again today.

So far, we have planned a picnic. I asked her what she would like in her sandwiches, giving her the choice of tuna or cheese. She said tuna. I asked her if she was sure. She said yes. "I want tuna, Mummy, it's my favourite." I asked again if she was sure. She was. I opened the tin of tuna.

This was immediately followed by, "I don't like tuna! Yuck. Also, I done a poo."

Happy holiday to me!