Except, of course, that when you have a kid with the trots, not so much with the outings, right? Right. Not that he's had any trotting today.
By 10.45 am, the Eldest had played 'horsie' with the Toddles, helped him spread a few bins of teeny toys across the floor (and down the stairs, o joy), managed to require an icepack, and was asking about lunch. Having eaten, mind you, breakfast *and* a snack.
Feeling a strong urge to indulge in a round of the it's not faiiiiiiiir! wail, I've hidden myself upstairs to do something very mature: ogling chocolate. And just when I've discovered that the glorious, lovely Alpha Confectioners do not ship to the US, and I've managed to deal with/ignore (thereby allowing the sibs to build relationship problem solving skills, dont'cha know - it's what all the cool? sane? mamas are doing. no, really.) the umpteenth sib crisis, and I'm about to consign my two to offspring perdition, they go and do something like this:
Okay, says the Eldest, checking a book. We're going to need a potato, two metal forks and two plastic forks.
(I choose not to ask why. It feels safer.)
I'm ready! says the Toddles. I have a big pad of paper and a pencil! I'm ready! What do I write again?
The Eldest looks at me, fractionally hoping that I'll rescue him from dictating to his brother. I grin back, ruthlessly. He pauses, sets his shoulders, and turns to his brother, who is now bouncing alarmingly with a freshly sharpened pencil. (eeeeep?)
Okay, the Eldest begins. First, you write 'potato.' Then, 'two metal forks.' Then, 'two plastic forks.' Got that?
The Toddles looks game, but how does the potato word start? His brother explains.
One careful 'p' later, the Toddles grins proudly, and the Eldest applauds. But do you want to write the rest? asks the little. You're better at it - you've got more practice.
Oh, no, says the Eldest, earnestly. You are a great writer! You can do it - it's just going to be slow, because you are a new writer. But I'm very excited for you to do this writing.
Chocolate urge vanished, I trotted off for a nice, triumphant cackle. We might've been catapulted early into summer, but this? this I might be able to handle. Of course, it would help if my stomach stopped heaving about like that....