Despite what some of my rose-tinted posts may seemingly convey, things are rarely all Boden-clad infants singing kumbaya and frolicking around my ankles telling me how much they loooooove me. There is a reason phrases such as 'winging it' have become mainstream in the parenting fraternity, I can't think of a day when we don't all feel that to a certain extent. This is our household as of 5 minutes ago. I would love to say it's a very unusual apocolyptic scene and my Kath Kidston feather duster just missed one of its thrice daily workouts but truth is: this is home and has been for months. Even when we do get the Pooky lighting and tumbled limestone floor, hmm.. things really won't change much. It's carnage, but beneath the unfengsui/shabby shit - are 3 very happy little humans. They get up, they are kind, they are inquisitive, they eat, they are healthy, they are respectful but they are also spirited and don't care too much about space planning and wanky farrow and ball paint colours. And that is what is important. I think the play room will be staying for a while and my OCD within will have to wait another decade to make its presence known.
And the mini bottle of Malbec? I know it's not cool to blag about booze when on the job but this is me trying to be good. Only I can't find any recepticles so it's a touch of class without a glass.
Cheers xx
