May, 2015
It is so much better living in a house than a caravan during cold and rainy weather, but still impossibly hard to keep the boys indoors, in clean dry clothes. I'm the world's biggest nagger, 'you're wearing socks, get off the wet grass! Oh no, the trampoline is wet! You're soaking wet again! We've run out of pants and socks. Get into a warm shower! You're going to freeze. What?! Maxie is outside in the mud and rain?! ...' And so on.
It is so much better living in a house than a caravan during cold and rainy weather, but still impossibly hard to keep the boys indoors, in clean dry clothes. I'm the world's biggest nagger, 'you're wearing socks, get off the wet grass! Oh no, the trampoline is wet! You're soaking wet again! We've run out of pants and socks. Get into a warm shower! You're going to freeze. What?! Maxie is outside in the mud and rain?! ...' And so on.
The garden is dripping and green. The house is cosy with the fire going and kids' movies playing. The sandwich press is busy making toasties, and the smell is sweet from baking Anzac biscuits. For once, our house is the romantic one with smoke curling out of the chimney.
(A familiar Flack sight, that one, children on the trolley)
(Dusty built towers out of the kindling)
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