I knew when the phone rang it would be bad news.
It's half term. The girls are home 24 by 7. After a morning of noughts and crosses and making everyone we knew a birthday card, I needed a break. I told them to play amongst themselves while mummy washed her hair. I pointed at the toy box and then locked the front door to make sure no one escaped.
After five minutes in the shower (OK, more like ten), and another five drying, I emerged refreshed and ready to face the rest of half term. But my just-blown hair wilted when I saw the war zone living room: Operation parts mixed with puzzle pieces; Twister with unusal Mr. Potato Head constructions in each coloured circle; a pile of pick-up sticks and an entire box of dominoes. Oh, aren't my little darlings creative. No worries, I'll clean it up while they are at tennis camp.
So, the phone call. It was one of the teenagers from tennis camp calling to say it was cancelled because of the rain.
What the ??!! It always rains here. You can't cancel camp. Just put them in rain coats. Did you hear me?! Deal with it.
I didn't actually say any of that. Instead I calmly asked if I would get my £40 back.
Then I cried.
Shrinkles anyone?
Photo credit: nina
