One for the road?

It's the first day of Boy #1's Christmas Break, and already I resorted to a DVD (The Incredibles - which means, of course, that Boys #1 and #2 are now Dash and Jack-Jack respectively) in the afternoon.

Bad mother.

Mind you, in my defence, this was after an action-packed day which started with a suitably picturesque sojourn in the garden first thing this morning when everything was prettily covered in ice. We don't get this often in central London, so I tried in vain to interest my Boys (I think the clue to my lack of success is in the name 'Boys' here) in the way Jack Frost had worked his magic; how crunchy the grass was underfoot, how the plants glittered in the morning sun (which, by the way, was so low in the sky it almost needn't have bothered getting out of bed) and how the veins on the leaves stood out in sharp relief with their ice highlights.

And then I thought; they're two and four years old. And they're Boys. What the hell are you playing at?

So we played a game of hide and seek or two, some football, they fought over who got to use which swing, and complained their hands were cold (which of course they would be if you won't wear your gloves, my darlings), before being driven back inside by the seasonal freezing temperatures.

Not before, however, we passed a cyclist sitting on his bike with his feet still on the pedals, leaning against a post-box with his eyes closed.


Boy #1, at the top of his voice: Is he DEAD, mama?

Me (struggling not to laugh too loudly): No, I think he's just taking a rest.

Boy #1, not bothering to lower the volume: But why is he sleeping out HERE?

Me (as the cyclist sighs heavily, props his eyelids open and wobbles off into the distance): I think he's probably just feeling a bit under the weather.


How do you explain 'hangover' to a 4 year old, by the way?