Those readers who are keen for the details may recall that in last week’s Cowprint, I mentioned that I was shortly going to London for a night on the tiles. The night happened and it was marvellous, enough to leave me feeling a little fragile around the edges over the weekend.
On Saturday we’d planned a lovely, docile trip to the zoo, seeing as we have annual passes and that bastard winter is around the corner, topping up his shares in Calpol and Vicks.
Mouse was a bit of a shit, truth be told. Whingey, disobedient and generally uncouth. An array of negativity sprung forth from her lips throughout the day, including such hallowed phrases as:
“Don’t touch me mummy, I want daddy to hold my hand.”
“My legs are tired, I don’t want to walk.”
“I don’t want to see the zebras.”
“I want to go back and see the zebras.”
“I want to go on daddy’s shoulders.”
“Put me down, I want to run on the grass.”
“The grass is hurting my feet.”
“I don’t want that roll.”
“I don’t need to go for a wee.”
“I’ve got a wee coming out.”
“I want to go in the buggy.” (You’re fucking three!)
Anyway, I’d pretty much had enough mid-afternoon and we strode purposefully back towards the car with me uttering “she can fucking piss off” under my breath. Then, as she always does, she did a cute thing and I liked her again for a bit.
Moo and I have just started sing and sign classes which are fantastic – Moo is rapt and the signs are easy enough for me to remember and teach to Mouse. This week we learned about animals and I was able to gesticulate through a large proportion of animals at the zoo.
Mouse ducked into this glory-hole shrubbery and posed beautifully, signing “hippo” and not moaning about it. Two seconds later we were sparring again, but just for a moment, all was well.