Whilst I was blogging slogging away at the washing and ironing pile, Children of Mine were playing politically correct Native Americans (that’s ‘Indians’ to 70s children like me) indoors with furniture, blankets and cushions making a teepee den. Dressed up in, well as authentic a Native American costume as they could find (under-5-pink-squaw-outfit and Charleston flapper is more like it), the arms of the sofa provided a horse each, and the patio doors became a convenient target for arrow practice.
That is, until Husband of Mine stopped them – firing arrows at the glass that is – not the entire game. “Mummy said we could!” – came back the plaintive cry. Er no, I just think I didn’t forbid it…
So then, discovering it was actually quite warm outside, they decided to venture outside for a dunk in the over-sized paddling pool in the garden.
But they were thwarted again, this time by the temperature of the water. A quick competition to win 20p for being the first to get their shoulders under, then their heads, and they were shivering as much as if they’d been plunged into a pool of ice cold water.
Which wasn’t far off the truth; it would have taken a lot more than 20p to get me in there.