Though to be fair, I did stay up til 12.30 last night reading the trilogy of novels I picked out for my husband to take on the summer holiday, because a bored husband on a holiday is a grouchy, bloody annoying specimen of humanity.
Further, I did go on an emergency jaunt to the doctor last night with Monster2. It was not a remarkable success. A low point is when I had to carry her back to the car, then get her out again so she could throw up in the car park (sorry about that car park). Several hours later she improved remarkably.
The dear husband slept on the floor in her room for the purposes of bucket cleaning, etc. What a lovey.
Then the Monster fought with her sister all morning, in between bouts of high grade surliness. I considered calling her exhasted and keeping her home but frankly it is her last day at this school and it would kill her not to say goodbye to her friends. So I gave the teachers a warning (sorry teachers) and packed her off.
And now I have all her bedding on the line. Good thing cheap quilts like a regular washing.
Looking back on her year at preschool, I am bemused it took me so long to realise that the plot formed between the Monster and two other vague sweet little things at the beginning of the school year (they were all 4) to dig under the school and blow it up was my sweet pip's idea. The other two are even vaguer and sweeter than her. I should have realised straight away. It only became blindingly clear as I got to know the other two girls. I blame Wild E. Coyote, or the parents.
The books were good, though. Pity I am babbling.