Boy #2 has found a Union Jack flag left over from our trip to London during last summer's Olympic festivities, and is rushing around the house reliving last Augusts' past glories.
We are still stuck in the tail-end of Winter here (no, Russians, I am not listening to your bleats that we have reached spring. Is there snow on the ground? Yes. About a foot of it? Yes. Was there a blizzard this morning? Yes. Well then. I rest my case...), but in spite of that Boy #2 is currently obsessed with the summer Olympics. So you find me in the middle of a conversation about when the next Olympics will be, where they are happening RIGHT NOW (repeated assurances that they only happen once every 4 years for about 2 weeks are falling on deaf ears, since he believes that if there is an Olympic torch somewhere, well then that means there must be an Olympic Games, right? RIGHT, MAMA?), and how we are going to get there. So he can wave his flag, obviously.
The news that we have over 3 years to wait - and that when they do happen, they won't be in London - was not welcome, I have to tell you. It was, if anything, greeted with outrage. The Olympics - not in London! What kind of craziness is this?
Boy #1, whilst very much able to understand the 4 year hiatus between Games, has decided to jump on board and is now lobbying for a torch shaped like a parrot in honour of the Brazil connection. He knows very well that to make such suggestions is simply adding fuel to the flames of Boy 's current pet topic, but is merciless in this matter, to the extent that he is now suggesting various toilet-humour themed additions to the sports we can expect to see in Rio 2016.
So here I am, stranded in Narnia, waiting for spring, desperately trying not to laugh too loudly at my older son's outrageous suggestions for poo-related olympic sports, and ducking as my younger son waves a Union Jack in my face.
I shouldn't think life gets much more glamorous than this, does it?
We are still stuck in the tail-end of Winter here (no, Russians, I am not listening to your bleats that we have reached spring. Is there snow on the ground? Yes. About a foot of it? Yes. Was there a blizzard this morning? Yes. Well then. I rest my case...), but in spite of that Boy #2 is currently obsessed with the summer Olympics. So you find me in the middle of a conversation about when the next Olympics will be, where they are happening RIGHT NOW (repeated assurances that they only happen once every 4 years for about 2 weeks are falling on deaf ears, since he believes that if there is an Olympic torch somewhere, well then that means there must be an Olympic Games, right? RIGHT, MAMA?), and how we are going to get there. So he can wave his flag, obviously.
The news that we have over 3 years to wait - and that when they do happen, they won't be in London - was not welcome, I have to tell you. It was, if anything, greeted with outrage. The Olympics - not in London! What kind of craziness is this?
Boy #1, whilst very much able to understand the 4 year hiatus between Games, has decided to jump on board and is now lobbying for a torch shaped like a parrot in honour of the Brazil connection. He knows very well that to make such suggestions is simply adding fuel to the flames of Boy 's current pet topic, but is merciless in this matter, to the extent that he is now suggesting various toilet-humour themed additions to the sports we can expect to see in Rio 2016.
So here I am, stranded in Narnia, waiting for spring, desperately trying not to laugh too loudly at my older son's outrageous suggestions for poo-related olympic sports, and ducking as my younger son waves a Union Jack in my face.
I shouldn't think life gets much more glamorous than this, does it?
