Little Fish and I spent the morning cooking. She stirred, I measured, she poured, I cooked, she tantrummed whenever the meal reached a stage where heat was involved, I stayed firm and prevented the toddler from immolating herself.
Her stirring skills contributed to a rather tasty colcannon-esque leek and potato thing, a nice bowl of stuffing, and some very tasty pears with chocolate sauce. Her tantrumming skills added nothing whatsoever to the roast pork and parsnips.
I spent the better part of an hour hunting for the potatoes, which I knew were somewhere in the kitchen (the kitchen is not that big). Only once I had given in and decided on instant mash instead of roast potatoes (and actually mixed up the mash) did I find the sack of spuds under Mog's nebulizer. Grump.
Both girls were delighted to have my parents here for lunch, and Mog's turn came afterwards. Dad arrived, armed with hammer and drill, ready to hang Mog's new CD player in her princess bedroom. The CD player has digital radio with it, and apparently there's a children's channel, Radio 7. Mog may never leave her bedroom again! She spent the rest of the afternoon and evening sitting staring up at the new CD player, listening to silly stories and songs and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
Little Fish meanwhile managed to break into the party bag of Maltesers, spread general chaos and devastation around the sitting room, pour foul smelling water over the bathroom (I'm not entirely sure how), and strip all her dolls naked then hide the clothes.
Surrounded by domestic devastation I should probably go and tidy up. Instead, I am off to make myself a roast pork sandwich and thence to bed.