A Room Of Teeny Weeny Chairs

I had taken the day off for the 2 year olds hospital appointment. After our trip I deposited him with the OAP childminders.

I had 4 hours to myself. Did I go and treat myself? Pamper myself? Go shopping? Just sit and stare into space knowing that I had 4 hours to myself? Eat something without having to part with half of it to stop the whining?

Nope, I went to help at the 4 year old's school.

For weeks she nagged ... and nagged ... and nagged "Everybody elses parents [in the whole wide world and universe] go into school to help".

I had to explain that I work whilst she's at school and only if I were to take holiday would I be able to help. That was my first mistake. My second was taking pity on her. She's been very clingy of late when I drop her at school and I felt sorry for her. So I arranged with her teacher to go in for the afternoon.

We had a discussion on the way to school in the morning about us being 'sensible' at school. She couldn't cling to me like a leech, show me her bottom or lick my face like she does at home. Similarly I couldn't fart the theme tune to Peppa Pig*, lick her face or dance like Baloo. We made a deal.

I arrived just as they were finishing lunchtime play. The children came in and sat on the carpet. The 4 year old walked in, looked at me, walked past me and then blanked me. She was perhaps taking our deal too seriously. I can't remember a clause in the deal that said 'pretend you're an orphan'.

When the teacher arrived she sat on a little persons chair and introduced me to the class. Three of the children (who have been for a fishfinger tea at our house) chortled at having to call me by my 'Mrs' name. They were probably having a flashback to my Baloo dancing. The 4 year old shuffled closer to my legs which were almost under my chin. I too was sat on a very small persons chair.

I have always liked the 4 year olds teacher. She is 'firm but fair'. The sort of woman you think is lovely but you wouldn't want to cross. I was in awe of her ability to work with one child at a table and see five children at different points of the classroom misbehaving. Without missing a beat she shot them a look which made them stop dead in their tracks. Genius.

I have made a mental note; At next parents evening ask teacher for tips on how to perfect the 'stop them dead' glare. I wouldn't need to write to Supernanny if I could do that.

I helped some children with numeracy. At any one time I had a maximum of four children in my group. Each one had a different agenda. The child who wanted to be out in the playground, the child who wanted to draw cyclopses instead of cars, the child eager to please and the child who completed the task before I'd even told them what to do. It was hard work but we got there in the end.

After playtime the children sat on the carpet for some religious education whilst I helped to tidy the classroom. At story time I returned to my teeny weeny chair and watched the children sit silently listening to 'Mog's Christmas', a month late.

Then we said the going home prayer. Setting a good example I clasped my hands together, bowed my head and listened (as all good athiests do at times like this).

As the children mumbled their prayer I heard the teacher in a cross voice say to the child to my right;

"John you should be talking to God, not Elizabeth**"

* I really didn't do this, but wish I could. At the point of reading 'theme tune to Peppa Pig' I imagine you were working out how many farts and of what length it would take to accomplish.

** Names have been changed to protect the not so innocent

A Pony Is For Life, Not Just Christmas

The 4 year old got a pony for Christmas, a pretend one I might add, that requires batteries. The pony, named 'Lady' flutters her eyelashes, neighs when stroked, moves her neck and munches on a plastic carrot ... or your fingers, she's not fussy.

It was love at first sight on Christmas morning. She carried Lady everywhere with her.

However, 4 year olds are fickle and the novelty is wearing thin. I know this because when I went to bed last night I found Lady in our bed ... like a scene from The Godfather.

Tonight for the first time since Christmas, Lady dined elsewhere. Over dinner, and may I add, 2 weeks after Christmas, the 4 year old turned to me and said "I cannot believe that Santa didn't bring me a Nintendo DS. What was he thinking?" Followed by a big sigh and her head in her hands.

Me? I'm passing the blame, I agreed with her. There's only so much eye fluttering one pony can do.

The big guy with the white beard has a lot to answer for.

From Amazonian Tree Dweller to Jabba the Hut

I was given a large box of Green & Blacks (the contents: 4 boxes of chocolates, 7 large bars, and about 50 miniatures) for Christmas.

The jumbo box which I thought would take months to devour (who was I kidding?) is getting lighter by the day, so light in fact that I have used the outer box to store our Christmas decorations. This weekend in a desperate bid to save my flabby choco-paunch I offloaded one of the boxes of chocolates onto friends who invited us for dinner. After a lovely meal and several glasses of wine we scoffed the contents of another box of chocolates as a post meal snackette. I was being sociable.

My husband likened me to an ‘Amazonian Tree Dweller’ when he first met me which is, umm … nice. I am tall with big boobs so nothing really ever fits right. I have never been skinny and never fat, somewhere in between. I have never dieted or obsessed about my weight and I was lucky enough to lose my baby weight plus more when I breastfed. For those of you who are now vowing never to read my blog again after that snippet of information, just wait … once I had finished breastfeeding the weight returned.

Times are a changing and I am officially concerned about my weight. During Christmas I have overindulged and eaten anything and everything. I am surprised one of the children is not missing a limb and shortly I will be wearing our ‘four pod’ family tent as it will be the only thing which will cover my engorged frame. The 2 year old has suddenly started requesting that I lift my top to show him my belly and then laughs whilst prodding the flabby choco-paunch. This violation is a daily occurrence. I have decided to cut back; smaller portions, no puddings or alcohol during the week so far so good. I decided this morning to keep a list of what I eat during the day. Here is what I have eaten so far;

- 3 slices of toast smothered in butter and jam
- 2 apples
- 1 mince pie courtesy of a work colleague – out of date, so doesn’t count
- 1 chicken, basil and pasta salad from M&S – low calorie version so only half of it counts
- 2 pieces of broccoli left by the 2 year old after tea – vegetable and second hand, so definitely doesn’t count
- Nachos covered in lardy cheese

This is a fifth of what I normally eat and I’m feeling faint. I actually have a headache from thinking about food.

My brain is panicking and telling me to eat the remaining Green & Black’s chocolate as quickly as possible, because, if I can no longer see it my body won’t realise what is going on and will therefore be fooled into cancelling the fat content.

If anyone has seen the film Madagascar they will understand what I mean when I say that I have been eyeing up the dog, and she just looks like a huge double chocolate chip muffin.

It's Been An Epiphany

Over the Christmas break we have transformed into a relaxed and smiling family.

Without our usual routine; get up, shout at each other, eat breakfast like it is our last meal, rush kids to school (hopefully dressed), rush to work realising I am dressed but haven’t brushed my hair, work, rush to school to pick kids up, referee arguments, make tea, an element of cleaning, put kids to bed whilst refereeing a fight, collapse on sofa, turn brain off and stare at the TV, perhaps grunt at the husband, go to bed … repeat as necessary.

We have rebelled. Some days we haven’t dressed till lunchtime. We have used the Christmas DVD’s as a babysitting service some mornings to gain an extra 30 minutes in bed, Wii’d till all hours, eaten rubbish, played hide and seek and laughed, lots. We have only been out on two family outings and one of those was to the supermarket because we had run out of rubbish to eat. Usually family outings are a stress filled event making my husband wish he’d had a vasectomy 5 years ago.

I’ve reacquainted myself with the 2 year old and realised he has many more endearing foibles than first thought. He likes to sniff everything, not just food and his sister but the kitchen floor and his toys too. He likes to line things up in order of size and colour. He likes to have a conversation about the colour of the sky every morning over breakfast. Most of all he’s happiest when he has more time to explain himself.

The 4 year old and I didn’t really need reacquainting. I am fully aware of her personality traits; she’s just like me with an extra sprinkling of stubbornness from her father. She has become funnier; she’s been telling more jokes (as they can loosely be termed). She’s discovered she loves prawns, beef and cheese (?) sandwiches and telling tales on her brother (granted, he was on the kitchen worktop hanging out of the biscuit/sweet cupboard at 7.30am).

The biggest change of the holiday is that the husband and I have been exchanging more than just one syllable grunts. We have been speaking. That’s right, having a conversation (talk between two or more people in which thoughts, feelings and ideas are expressed, questions are asked and answered, or news and information are exchanged). It’s been an epiphany.

In the past I’ve been excited about the end of the school holidays. Frazzled and short tempered I bid farewell to my children and rush to work for a break. Now it is three sleeps till school/work and I want it to be three months. I want the 2 year old to sniff my apron strings and the 4 year old to tell a joke about an orange crossing the road to buy a jumper (it’s a grower!). I want to keep my new and improved family close.

Cinderella Spilt the Pheasant Stew

This will probably be my last blog of 2008, so I’ve decided to do an update on a few things before slipping quietly into 2009 …

I’ve neglected my blog this past week. I’d like to say I’ve had ‘Bloggers Block’. In part I have but we also got a Nintendo Wii for Christmas which has been slightly distracting. We’ve had a ball, quite literally. We bowl together on wii sports … usually betwixt the hours of 6 and 7am. The 4 year old is the family Kingpin. I on the other hand have all the grace of an elephant and have nearly taken out a glass overhead light fitting on more than one occasion with my over exuberant bowling style.

The 2 Year Old still has the original batman t-shirt and now a long sleeved version which he refuses to wear, a Batman figure, the notorious cape (which he has worn for approximately 40 seconds) and some wrist cuffs which were the cheapest but most successful of his Christmas gifts.

Another spate of undetected ear infections are over so his hearing is up again and his speech is coming along. He has had five ear infections this year alone – they last between 2-3 weeks. There are no outward signs until his ear pops and gunk comes out. We visit the Dr – they say ‘Oh yes, I see, but he’s fine now, goodbye’ – I say ‘Oh yes, he’s fine now, but this is the 5th time this year. That’s around 15 weeks of living in a bubble. His speech is affected! Do something about it’. Reluctantly they have referred him – we only have to wait another 4 months till we go to the hospital to speak to an ‘ear professional’ (who I’ll probably have to cry and blow snot bubbles at) and then another few months until something will be done. With my calculations that’s another 3-4 ear infections and many weeks of deafness. Oh well – at least he can say cracker coherently now.

He is doing really well with his OAP childminders – after all my stressing. He is always happy to go to them – and equally happy to return to the bosom of his mother. In his first week I had to explain the 2 year olds ear problems to them so they didn’t think he was rude and ignoring them. They in turn told me a long, drawn out story (5 minutes before I was due at work) about their son. He suffered from a similar problem during childhood and to summarise ‘had his ears off twice, but it is fine because, although he needs a hearing aid and is dyslexic he is also a Dr’. To add insult to injury ‘his feet are so big that he couldn’t buy a Citroen car’. Although reassuring to hear about his triumphs I had to rush off, I then spent my day at work haunted by the vision of my boy having his ears removed TWICE.

The 4 year old is still bossy and has decided she will call her first born ‘Jesus’. She got a Cinderella dress for Christmas and has worn it for approximately 36 hours out of 48. The only reason she hasn’t worn it for longer is because she spilt pheasant stew down it and I had a three day laundry strike during the festive season.

She’s had a terrible hacking cough over Christmas and I am sick of saying ‘cover your mouth when you cough’ every 45 seconds. After 3 sleepless nights I relented and gave her some ‘night time’ cough medicine. I say relented because as you know the 4 year old has a bad reaction to sugar and additives. Cough medicine is full of colourings and sugar. We were desperate and it promised us that she would sleep soundly. No such luck – the man visited and she thrashed about all night whilst shouting and screaming random sentences.

The Husband got Guitar Hero : World Tour for the Wii, so spends his evenings strumming to an imaginary stadium of thousands in his band ‘Jumbo Ballsack’. I have learnt not to speak whilst he is ‘performing’; it makes for an easier life. We are planning his birthday party for January and he is seemingly unworried by hitting the big 40. His only concern is that overnight his pubic hair will go grey.

Me – I got the BIGGEST hamper of Green & Black’s chocolate for Christmas. My body is currently 70% cocoa solids. I’ve had an eye infection, usually I wear contacts but I had to forgo them for antibacterial eye drops and my ‘Evil Edna’ glasses. My eye was so sensitive that on Christmas Eve I had to watch TV with one of the 2 year olds socks wrapped round the right lens. I would have been much better off with an eye patch.

On Boxing Day morning I was sat with my sister on the kitchen floor watching the kids racing mini santa’s on sleighs. The children were arguing about which Santa they wanted (there was a choice of 12). My sister watching them said “I remember thinking it would be great to have my children close together” (she has the same age gap between her kids as I do – my niece and nephew are now 12 and 14) she pointed at the 2 and 4 year old who were grappling with a shiny green sleigh and hitting each other “but often I wondered if I’d done the right thing – this is one of the worst ages”.

I on the other hand think there is probably far worse to come and I look forward to sharing it with you all!

Happy New Year!

Nigella Does Jamie At Christmas

We were invited to see Polar Express (in 3D) at the IMAX in Bradford this weekend. Unfortunately we had to decline. We were on a mission to IKEA for 8 x 250ml kilner jars … as you do, the last Saturday before Christmas. Let’s just say that the husband has watched too much ‘Nigella Does Jamie At Christmas’ this week and our kitchen is a veritable hubbub of festive produce. As I type he is polishing his jars for his cranberry and apple chutney.

Luckily we decided to pass on the Polar Express and return directly home. I say luckily because later on my friend (teacher friend mother of three) told me that she had had to leave the IMAX with her eldest child (age 4). She was scared and they had to stand in the foyer where there was an exploding poo situation in the toilets (hopefully the 4 year old and not her) and a host of Cliff Richard Christmas songs being piped out. On the way home she asked her 2 year old son if he’d had a good time, he replied “No, I had a scaredy time”. Once home her husband admitted that they indeed have the film in their DVD collection and could have, instead, been scared in the comfort of their own home. To add further insult to an already expensive and frightening injury it is also on TV on Christmas Eve.

Meanwhile, I had snuggled on the sofa after our IKEA scramble for some pre bed cartoon fun, when I noticed The Goonies was on Boomerang. Caught up in childhood nostalgia we watched, and laughed at Chunk’s ‘truffle shuffle’. I thought we’d struck gold; my little munchkins cuddled up in their pyjamas, the fire roared and the smell of cranberries wafted through the house. Once the nostalgic thoughts had cleared I actually fast forwarded the film in my mind and started to remember it in more detail; skeletons, scary Italian mafia types and the character Lotney ‘Sloth’ Fratelli … then on our TV … cue dead body falling out of an industrial freezer on top of a child.

4 year old –“Mummy that man is FAST asleep”

Me – “BEDTIME!”

I don’t think we’ll be entertaining anything more perilous than Tom & Jerry from now on.

Free Willy

Incident 1

We were snuggled on the sofa watching Channel 4's ‘Willie’s Perfect Chocolate Christmas’ and drooling as he made these.

The 4 year old was engrossed, she loves cooking programmes, moreso if they involve chocolate.

She gets up and points at the man on the TV “Is his name Willie?”

“Yes it is” I confirm, knowing exactly where this is going.

4 year old – “Really? WILLIE?”

Me – “Yes, now ssssshhhhhhh”

4 year old – “BUT, boys have a willy!” she shouts in astonishment as she falls back onto the sofa in fits of giggles.

… closely followed by Incident 2

4 Year old – “Mummy, Mummy come and look at what he can do with his willy”

At the time I was washing up. As I dried my hands and rushed to my 2 year old, my thoughts were as follows;

• Oh my god – he’s chopped it off with the scissors (after all we haven’t visited A&E in over a month).
• He’s allowed the 4 year old to felt tip on it and add festive glitter (modern art?).
• He’s trapped it in something (we haven't had a really embarrassing A&E trip yet).

Nothing would surprise me anymore in this house. These options may seem farfetched, but not as farfetched as the 3 year old (friend of a friend of a friend's friend) I am aware of who was able to proudly put a whole mini diecast dinosaur in his foreskin before his mother drummed the perils of sharp objects and nether regions into him.

Fortunately it was none of the above.

I walked into the living room to find him lying on the sofa watching Lazytown.

4 year old – “Show Mummy what has happened …”

My 2 year old casually revealed himself, not taking his eyes off the TV.

4 year old – “Look Mummy it’s pointing upwards”

Me – “Oh yes, so it is. It’s Scooby Doo next, does anyone want a biscuit?”

She only licks the icing ...

I have always been very conscious of the amount of sugar that the 4 year old eats. Anything more toxic than chocolate buttons and her head is guaranteed to spin as she bounces off the walls. I kid you not; she even has nightmares (usually about the man) when she’s overdosed on sugar. Don’t even get me started on fizzy drinks or Fruit Shoots. Snack wise I always try and lean towards the raisins/fruit option before the sweets and biscuits. This has thus far worked and makes life much easier. Both children have their fair share of sweets and biscuits, just in moderation. Control freak? Me? Never.

I am already twitching at the start of the ‘silly season’. Christmas is a time of many parties … out spring the guilty pleasures of my 4 year old; Cheesy Wotsits, buns (of which she only licks the icing) and unsolicited party bags brimming with a variety of sweets.

I recently discovered that the forces are against me; the force of Daddy. On the way to school we saw a sign outside a local shop advertising ice cream. As I had just scraped ice off my car I thought it amusing and made a comment to the 4 year old about it not being the sort of weather to be partaking in a 99 with sprinkles and sauce. This jolted one of her memories from her ever random memory bank …

Her - “Mummy, once when you were out Daddy said we could have an ice cream and some sweets. Then YOU rang to say you were on your way home and he said we couldn’t have anything because you’d tell him off”.

Me - “Do you think I’m mean?”

Her - “Yes”

Me - “Do you think Daddy’s mean?”

Her - “No”

I may be mean but he’s busted and he doesn’t even know it (until, that is, he reads this).

My husband would live on Midget Gems if he could. He has learnt to conceal his quarter bags of the little buggers from the children. Unfortunately, even the 2 year old who we suspect suffers from periodic deafness can identify the rustle of a paper bag filled with sweets. On the occasions they have discovered his stash they beg him, with their big eyes for a hit of the good stuff. He of course crumbles under the weight of his heart being tugged and the gentle whine of his beautiful babies. This, I have found, often happens within half an hour of bedtime and also coincides with the nights I am on bath and bed duty.

This, I refer to as ‘Daddy writing cheques that Mummy has to cash’.

Skidders

We joined our friends and went on Santa Express yesterday. We BOOED at Scrooge and cheered for Santa. We sang for Rudolph and looked at the clown, that well known Christmas icon, with bemusement. The 2 year old who is frightened of adult sized rabbits, dogs and reindeers didn’t cry as in previous trips. He was brave. Most importantly, the thimble full of sherry was of much better quality than last year.

Everyone piled back to our house for lunch; in total eight children and eight adults. We had a great time and the children managed to spread our collection of toys throughout the house. Will Mr Potato Head ever be reunited with his left arm? Will Barbie ever wear her swimsuit again? Only time will tell.

The 2 year old and his friend nearly flooded the kitchen whilst helping themselves to a drink. The 4 year old girls argued with the 4 year old boys and were then reunited over a spot of trampolining on the bed, monster fighting and bun eating.

The highlight of my daughter’s day and my own, apart from meeting Santa of course, was the new game … ‘Skidders’.

The rules of skidders; You stand at one end of the kitchen and when told to, by the bossy 4 year old who is recording the event on her plastic camera, run and then skid on your knees or feet to the end of the kitchen (which is fairly long). Finishing in a flourish earns bonus points.

My husband’s inner 4 year old couldn’t resist and he too joined ‘skidders’ for a short while.

When they had finished, the 4 year old came through with her friend O and announced very proudly that he was the winner. “O is the winner, he has done the best skidders!”

Oh the naivety of it all. My inner 12 year old though it was hilarious as did O’s parents who are now proudly nurturing ‘Yorkshire’s Supreme Skidder 2008’.

A Damp & Slightly Smelly Masked Crusader

Batman has loomed large in our lives for six months, maybe longer. Batman is a t-shirt, a greying, once black t-shirt, with the word Batman and picture of Batman himself.

The 2 year old is infatuated with the t-shirt. He is so obsessed, that at any given time he can tell you at what stage in the laundry process it is at; washing basket, washing machine, tumble drier or ironing pile. He is only truly at peace when the t-shirt is touching his skin; no other item of clothing comes close. My son has his foibles; Batman is one of them along with wearing socks in bed and using a giant spoon to eat yoghurt.

We had a Batman related accident this evening. Everything was rosy in the house of Laura. The snow was falling, the house was roasty toasty and the children were playing nicely (No, really!) whilst I made tea … until the 2 year old visited the toilet that is. My newly toilet trained boy must have forgotten to aim because tonight he peed on Batman. He came out of the downstairs bathroom upset and half naked (he always strips from the waist down when he goes to the toilet). I tried to wrestle the wet t-shirt off him which turned into a violent struggle with me tugging the t-shirt and him fighting to keep it on. I won; he collapsed in a fully naked heap on the carpet near our front door, as fat snowflakes fell on the other side of the glass. I foolishly offered an alternative garment which was instantly dismissed (with shouting and probably the odd snot bubble or two). I left him to it. He continued to blubber until hunger got the better of him and he joined us at the table – now naked from the waist up. The chill had evidently reached his nether regions and he had sensibly put his underpants and trousers back on. Whilst he ate he looked at me sideways with disparagement as if it were me who had urinated on Batman.

On a shopping trip a few months ago I saw a Batman jumper – which would be much more appropriate for this time of year. I was torn between buying one for every day of the week and not buying one at all. I decided that I must stop feeding his habit and chose the latter option.

However … I had a weak moment at a recent church led toddler group. A woman was selling Batman capes. Not just any old common or garden Batman capes …. Feel good; give yourself a pat on the back ‘Fairtrade’ Batman capes made in Africa. All thoughts of not encouraging the ‘Batman habit’ were gone as I buckled under the pressure and purchased one. It is a thing of splendour, all the more so because it was handmade by someone in the developing world (pat pat). It is now laying in wait in my Christmas present hidey hole, ready to KERBOOM and POW its way through the festivities.

When he starts school I will be the mother trying to coax her child out of the fancy dress outfit and into his school uniform in the cloakroom … telling him that “Batman never wore his cape to school” and then whispering slyly “If you shut up and stop yelling you can have a Batmobile for Christmas”.

A two pronged carving fork ...

“Do you know where the office drawer keys are” came the shout from our home office. My husband works from home. The office is situated between the kitchen and the living room and is frequented regularly by the children. It is the hub for his business. Important documents, cheque books and other vital items are kept in the drawers.

I didn’t have a clue where the keys were but I knew a 2 year old who more than likely did. I had witnessed him playing with said keys which were hanging out of the drawers at the time. Leaving the keys in such a desirable place is tantamount to leaving a big sparkly necklace in full view of a magpie.

Having been in similar situations to this on several occasions I realised I had to tread carefully. I have lost many items in the past; money, mobile phones and kitchen utensils to name a few by going in too heavy handed. Cross words or a face like thunder would not retrieve the keys. I had to be like Kevin Spacey in the film ‘The Negotiator. I had to play the game, talk him down to recover the bounty.

So I approached the 2 year old with caution and said in my best Mary Poppins-esque jolly voice “Do you know where Daddy’s drawer keys are?”

There was silence, he was thinking, weighing me up, working out if I was really jolly or whether I was going to frog march him to the naughty step. Staring at him with honourable and trustworthy eyes I waited with baited breath.

“Garden” he simply replied and continued about his business. He’d admitted his guilt with just one word, I wanted to bollock him but I was still in negotiator territory.

We have a fairly large garden with more hidey holes than a piece of Swiss cheese. I knew this magpie; I knew he would not put them in an obvious place. If I had said what I wanted to say … “Go and find those keys immediately and then return to the naughty step where you will stay until a week on Wednesday” then they would be lost forever; or, until, we’d had a trip to IKEA to buy a whole new drawer unit when they would miraculously appear just as the flat pack instructions were being sworn at and ripped in two … isn’t that what always happens? Law of sod.

So I morphed once more into my Mary Poppins alter ego and with a look of sugar coated glee said to him “Mummy would be absolutely delighted if you could find the keys”. That was all it took, he was off, like a sniffer dog. I watched from a distance not wanting to put him off the scent.

As he walked towards the playhouse I felt relief, a sensible hidey hole. Then he stopped short of the playhouse, knelt on the decking and pressed his face as close to the wet wood as he could, moving along the 1cm gaps between each plank until he stood up and announced in his solo-word style ‘Gone’ and shrugged.

Like a member of the SAS I moved in. Kneeling on the wet decking, which is quite unpleasant, I set about looking for the smallest glint amongst the soggy leaves which lay beneath. A few moments later I spotted the little buggers. My next task was to retrieve them. If I were a real member of the SAS I would have had a length of string with an elaborate magnet attached to the end which I would keep down my undercrackers for such situations. I had to improvise. A magnetic fishing game would have been invaluable at this point. Alas, this is probably the only toy we don’t have. Instead I had to resort to a two pronged carving fork.

Triumphant I returned the bounty to my husband who wasn’t as amazed as I would have liked after the aptitude I had shown. He was probably relieved that he wasn’t going to have to crowbar next month’s gig tickets out of the drawers.

If anyone is wondering what to buy the 2 year old for Christmas, a magnetic fishing game would be perfect.