Madam’s teacher told me that she (the Princess) was a genius and miles
ahead of the other children (see, proof that hothousing works) and that
really she should go to the next class up but she wasn’t quite mature
enough.� However, she suggested that our immature genius should
spend a morning a week in the next class up and I basked in her
reflected glory.
When we got out the snow had, alas, got heavier.� The Princess was
beside herself with delight and ran around sticking out her tongue to
catch snowflakes.� While normally I would be charmed by this
behaviour, I was anxious to get home quickly before Michael got
hypothermia (Daniel was safely wrapped in blankets and a rain sheet in
the buggy).� I harried her along with middling success.�
About half way home she said “Mummy, I want to do a wee”.� “Can
you wait until we get home?”� Really I don’t know why I bothered
to ask.� Of course not.� We crouched down between two cars,
exposing the imperial bottom to the snow and also wetting the hem of
the imperial trousers, but better than the alternative, I
suppose.� Unfortunately, while crouching, I crushed Michael’s legs
(you will recall that he was in the sling) and he did not like this and
proceeded to bellow in indignation all the rest of the way home.�
The Princess blithely� ignored his protests and dawdled along.
By the time we finally got into the building, Michael had worked
himself into a state of near apoplexy.�� I put saintly,
sleeping Daniel in the lift and turned to the Princess and asked her to
get in.� I could barely hear her reply above Michael’s indignant
roars but I gathered from her hunched shoulders and the fact that she
was still sitting on the stairs that it was in the negative. �
Apparently she wanted to walk up the stairs.� I pointed out that I
could neither carry both boys up the stairs nor abandon them in the
hall.� “I bet you can” she said sulkily.� A protracted
negotiation session followed, Michael bawling the while and eventually
she consented to get into the lift.
At lunch she tasted and then rejected the following foods:� smoked
salmon, chicken, foie gras (stocks replenished and I know it’s
sub-optimal for the under 3s but I was desperate).� She eventually
consented to have “a little pasta with olive oil, Mummy”� and has
finally just gone for her nap.� Daniel still sleeps and Michael is
attached to me as I type but mercifully looking somnolent.� I
think that I will have a restorative cup of tea.
on 25 January 2006 at 14:03
You are a hero. And I’m slightly scared of the Princess’ wisdom. 
0
Sweetie(s) given ���
on 25 January 2006 at 14:25
Would you like to adopt me because I’d love a little bit of foie gras or smoked salmon for lunch. I promise to get in the lift and not to pee in the street. 1
Sweetie(s) given ���
(Homepage)
on 25 January 2006 at 15:22
Oh dear, Waffley, have i told you recently how much i adore you? and the terribly clever princess, as well, of course. and the boys, crushed legs and all. Good luck achieving that cup of tea before another country is heard from. ���
on 26 January 2006 at 14:23
Careful. H is going to pee in the lift. 0
Sweetie(s) given ���
on 27 January 2006 at 09:10
You are kind newshoes and 2 sweeties to boot.
Aw, thanks Chintzy, you’d be even more scared of her, if you saw her dancing on the bed.
HJB, I’m tempted, and, no, pog, I’m sure she won’t pee in the lift, look she gave me a sweetie, nice Heather.
Kristin, ooh, it’s great to be popular on line if not in line at the school gates. Ta. 0
Sweetie(s) given ���
on 05 February 2006 at 23:59
Marvellous. It makes me appreciate my last years of having no children all the more. You rock. 0
Sweetie(s) given ���
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