Every Saturday Dylan wakes me up demanding to see The List of Activities I have planned for the weekend. I blame this on cheerful Nanny S who is the Queen of Cupcakes, Park Excursions and Lists. Normally my sleepy response is “Nuffink! Go away! I’m not your Helper, I’m your Mama!”. I’m not very PC when I haven’t fully woken up.
Anyway last week I came up with a great game for Dylan and myself. It’s called “Girl’s Spa Day” and involves Dylan and myself relaxing in a bath of Epson salts, smearing honey on our faces (and in Dylan’s case, eating it straight from the jar), getting Dylan to apply conditioner on my tangled tresses, giving each other “footsie taps” and culminating in a session of luxurious lolling about on my bed with, as Dylan says, “pickles on our eyes”.
You can see the obvious genius in this game – Dylan being happily occupied for hours and me emerging plump, well moisturised, and tenderised, like a glistening turkey ready for the oven.
Recently I ran out of “pickles”, and tried to con Dylan by substituting the thinly sliced stem of a head of broccoli. This was all going fine until she decided to eat the pickles as she is prone to do after 90 seconds. After her squinty eyed surprise, she still ate them both. That’s my girl!
This blessed wonderful game will continue for as long as possible on weekends and is usually only broken up when Daddy comes into the bedroom and tries to reclaim his territory. Much indignant squealing ensues over his invasion of our female goddess sanctuary and his general lack of hygiene. As below.
The last time Dylan was exfoliating my back, she thoughtfully mused “Well, I figured it out. Daddy is MY helper and I am YOUR helper.” What a clever girl, my goodness! I’ve finally gotten one up on Nanny S!
Just running off to stock up on pickles and sea salt now. Ta!