Here's a real example of Murphy's Law (aka Sod's Law) in action. This morning, the kids slept late, letting me sleep late. "Late" being 8.30 instead of 7.30. Not that I really mind 7.30, frankly, which is a nice change from 6.30, which is when I used to get up, when I had to work. So, I had a nice leisurely lie in, got up, had a shower, came down, started breakfast & had a look at the calendar to see if there was anything happening today. Which is when i noticed that Olivia had an activity booked for 9.15. Guess what time it is? If you're thinking, oh, about 9.15, you'd be right. Sigh. So, we dashed off & got her there about 15 minutes late (as it was a whole morning - 9.15 to 12.15, this wasn't a big problem, luckily.). Annoying, though, as any other morning this week, we would have been up well before then...

So, we're off to visit Geoff's parents tomorrow, and coming back Sunday. It will be interesting to see how well I cope with that many days without internet access :) Seriously, though, we'll hope that the weather is nice, as it's hard for the girls to be away from all their stuff (and hard for their mum to keep them entertained away from their stuff), particularly if we get stuck indoors for long periods of time. If the weather is nice, or at least tolerable, there are ducks to feed, a canal to walk along, a playground or two, and other things of that ilk. Last time we visited, everyone got sick, so at least we will (I hope) avoid that one. Poor Sarah spent most of that visit curled up in a chair half sleeping, half watching videos and pausing every so often to throw up - nasty virus, which everyone got, except me. (gloat gloat) This time is bound to be better than that. (Or perhaps I'm jinxing us by even saying that...)

There is, of course, something more perverse than small children. Those of you who live in the same country as me, or who have lived here, or heck, even visited here, will of course know that I'm talking about the English weather. It's August. It's raining. Every day, practically. This is not a surprise, of course, but it's still something of a disappointment, particularly with small children at home who would really enjoy a trip to the playground pretty much every day. We did manage it briefly yesterday, in the hour long interval between rain and more rain, but it's a bit hit and miss. It also means that despite now being home during the day, I still have to hang the laundry up inside. The trials and tribulations we endure...

Toddlers, on the whole, are really lovely. They can be bad tempered, it's true, and they can be highly stubborn, but on the other hand, they are fascinating to watch, learn incredibly quickly and very sweet. It's a great age to deal with, in general. The one thing I could do without, though, is the vast quantity of time spent discussing going to the toilet. Yes, that's right, potty training - everyone's favourite. I can accept the whole discussion explaining that you need to learn to go to the potty before you make wee or poo and so on, but sitting with a toddler while she's on the potty & hearing her give you progress reports about where the poo is precisely & what progress she's having pushing it out, isn't really what I'd put at the top of my "must do" list for the day. Particularly when the incident occurs in the middle of eating lunch. And when there's really no poo anyway. Still, the advantage of waiting until they are almost three to really potty train intensively is that they are quite quick to catch on to the whole thing, and have pretty good control. Beats trying with an 18 month old, where you have to put them on the pot every 15 minutes, all day long. And hey, it's still better than work...

Maybe I should retitle the blog "The Unbelievable Perversity of Children" as I sense we've got a recurring theme going... You know, for the past who knows how long, the morning routine has been for me to stumble out of bed around 6.30, have a shower, get dressed, then spend 10-15 minutes attempting to drag the children awake & get them started. It's not just a matter of shouting "time to wake up" at them, it frequently involved physically removing them from bed and threats of sticking them under the cold shower (well, for Sarah, anyway - that girl could sleep for England, I'll tell you). And usually, we managed to get downstairs to eat breakfast by quarter past 7, so that was alright. So this morning - Sunday - I wake up to Sarah's voice in the hallway saying "Come on Olivia, let's go see Mummy & Daddy". It was 6.25. Did I mention it's Sunday?

Sarah's gone back to sleep, but once Olivia is awake, well, that's it - and I'm a bit like that, too, so we've let Daddy have a bit more kip and we're downstairs. But at least the kids' telly is good Sunday morning. Olivia will be thrilled, as Barney is on at 7.30 - they don't normally get to watch it, as I can bear to be in the same room as it, but if it will keep her occupied while I have a cup of tea and do stuff, she's welcome to it, as long as she doesn't get in the habit of waking up early Sunday mornings for it. Luckily, I think she's too young to understand the concept of time, so we're probably ok there.

The up-side to being awake this early (besides a much faster net connection) is that I'll get everything I needed to get done for the day done by about 10am - not normally compensation for sleeping "in" to at least 8, of course. But you can't have everything - as the man says, Where would you put it?

Well, the news of the day is that Motorcat has died. Yeah, I can see the reaction there - a huge "eh?" going across your faces. Well, for those of you who never lived in the DC area, and in particular, in Takoma Park, you probably won't know Motorcat, who is this cat that used to ride around on a motorcycle with the Catman. She had her own helmet. Lots of Washingtonians probably knew about her, but only a few of us have actually seen her. And having spent several years in Takoma Park, I can proudly say, I'm one of the privileged few. (obituary article at the Washington Post - don't know how long they keep up their archives, but this was Tuesday's paper, so I'd guess at least a month or so.) The irony is that she didn't die in a bike accident, she died of cancer. She was never in a crash, so far as I know. There's a better picture at this site. Oh, and as Dave Barry is so fond of saying, I am not making this up.