Mog's Morning

A lie in today; no carers until 8AM. Bliss. Mog woke up ready for the day somewhat earlier than that, but decided a good stretch and a kickabout in her bed sounded like fun. And it was, and as the carer and I soaped Little Fish's neck and wondered for the hundredth time how it could get so filthy as she slep, so Mog rattled her cot sides to the rhythm of her beat. And then it wasn't fun anymore, and a great purple-headed Fury replaced her. Sun up, and one superheated bed.

Carer having left, Little Fish and I stripped her off and dipped her superheated body into a beautifully tepid bath. I say LF and I; advocates for the emancipation of young carers need not write in; I stripped Mog and tossed her clothes on the floor, LF ran them over in her chair to ensure they really were ready for the washing machine. I carried Mog through to the bathroom, LF got herself tangled in the feed pump. I dunked Mog into the bath, LF dropped her DVD player on the floor and screamed. You get the picture.

Anyway, a nice bath, and a placated Little Fish gently pouring water over Mog's tummy and helping to spread the bubbles about her body. A window open to catch the faintest hint of a breeze, and wonderful calm over the household. Until I looked down and realised the tepid bath was now cold, and the mild breeze was now savage, the blazing sun outside had given way to menacing clouds, and Mog was blue and shivering. Pass the heated towels.

So in the space of ten minutes our day's plans moved from "mmm maybe a picnic" to "don't care where we go but it needs to be indoors andhave air conditioning", and from there to "actually I really quite like it just here, let's stay".

And so we did. And it was probably wise; three code browns and several refluxes and I think we did pretty well to achieve anything at all. The title says Mog's morning, and I really don't know where the afternoon went - Little Fish was still scraping the last of her lunchtime icecream from her dish when our evening carer arrived to put her to bed. Not that I mind late lunches, but she started this one at 11. Roll on Septemver and school dinners; she'll surely eat faster with the threat of missing play. Won't she?

Tia