Girls' Night!

The firemen came. By three o'clock the chip chip cheep had finally been replaced with a shiny new and blissfully silent smoke alarm (silent once tested; it's not totally silent all the time. This would be less useful). I have a better phone number to ring next time one of them plays up, and am reassured by the fact that it wasn't in fact supposed to do that, so it wasn't something I was doing wrong. Phew.

Tempers were getting a little frayed here by the time they had gone. Little Fish had experimented in making biscuits float in squash, seeing how many packets of lentils could be poured onto the kitchen floor before Mummy's head exploded, working out exactly how many "NO STOPPIT NOW"s could be safely ignored before Mummy managed to swim across the lentil sea to stem the tide, exploring how much paint could be removed by a powerchair being driven inside against the rules and against the discussions we'd had twenty-seven seconds earlier, and seeing how many cables can be pulled out of the computer cupboard before the printer fell on her legs. Fun times.

A new trick - when I pick her up out of her chair to plonk her down somewhere safe so I don't kill her whilst I tidy up, she has started lifting her arms above her head and relaxing her whole body, ensuring that she flows through my hands like, well, lentils out of an upended packet. Catching her before she falls is painful to both back and wrists. She's also taken to calling me by my first name, without even adding the "Mummy" as a prefix. This is surprisingly upsetting; I know she's not intending it to be so but it feels as though she's denying our relationship - and she's the only child who is able to call me Mummy; I waited ten years for that.

So her getting bored, frustrated, and obnoxious, me getting angry, furious, and tired, with Mog laughing at the pair of us, I loaded the bus and we drove out to pick up more supplies for our holiday. Screeches from the backseat driver; a tantrum about the seatbelt, many complaints about my choice of route, and finally three hundred and twelve "why?"s. Air conditioning blasting to cool hot heads, the girls' choice of music rumbling away and drowning out speech, and finally things were calm enough to plan the evening.

Bus unloaded - more tantrums about the order of unloading, fury about the idea of going to the toilet, but inspiration. Three of us all into pyjamas amidst ongoing screams and sobs and "No more pooeys" and "no tubie please no tubie" and "Argh no no cathing me my wee must absolutely stay inside", and then three of us all slumped onto my bed, with a tray of food and Mamma Mia; school having told me this was Mog's current favourite.

And the film began, and something happened. Mog grinned, and relaxed into my left armpit. Little Fish ate some food, and shouts turned to sniffles, a sleeve was sucked, and my right armpit suddenly had an occupant too. And then the music got louder and more insistant, and Little Fish and I bounced Mog on the bed to help her dance, and suddenly we were a family again, laughing at shared jokes, mushy peas smeared across three faces (and the pillows but hey ho) as we became Dancing Queens for the night. Holding hands and snuggling and cuddling, lap swapping and jumping and rolling, loving being together again.

And then the film finished, and two girls subsided, safe in my arms and at peace with the world. And Little Fish went to bed without a fuss, and was asleep before I'd got Mog off my bed and into hers. And Mog isn't asleep, but is lying in bed singing softly to her music. And it feels so late for all of us, but it was barely 7.30. We've had an evening together, and now I have a whole second evening just for me. Now that's what I call music!
Tia