Kids Are Beautiful

Kids are Beautiful

Mine are, yours are, they all are.  It's half term, some do not look forward to this and I am certain that come the Easter holidays and the next half term I may be saying something very different but not this week.   

On Tuesday M had arranged a shopping trip to Bath with one of her girlfriends but a family crisis resulted in her going alone.  I think she had fun.  I certainly did.  By eight o’clock I had both kids hunkered down in our bed playing sleeping lions.  As far as I can tell this game has no rules and simply involves pretending to sleep.  Not difficult, even a MAD can play alone with this.  So you would have thought, “Dad your not very good, your should have your eyes closed said Hope.  That’s pretty tough to do when nestled up with you on the pillow are two serene and angelic faces trying to “sleep” but constantly bursting into fits of giggles.

Okay I am not a good judge of a charterer and I would rarely describe my two as either serene or angelic but on Tuesday there was no other way to see them.  It didn’t last long but it was a great start to a couple of real fun family days.

Sleeping lions led to waking the dog, he tried to put a downer on the day by catching and eating a pigeon in front of us all.  Ella’s response was to start a low frequency sobbing that ended in a plea to take the corpse home and bury the flying rat with full floral honours in the back garden.  Hope simple announced she was hungry too.

Once the period of official mourning was over we move on to Waitrose, the fine bastion of  middle class shopping to hunt and gather provisions for the following days picnic.  Good behaviour resulted in a copy of High School Musical 3 being purchased and the angelic behaviour return as they sat rapt in the back of the car watching as we drive home.

Wednesday was kite flying and picnic day.  Careful planning meant that Jane and M could go to body pump prior to a small convoy departing to Hengistbury Head for some kite flying and picnicking.  Not a breath of wind meant the kites stayed in the cars but a genuine British picnic was produced.  In the middle of February, on tartan rugs, surrounded a gentle, but all enveloping sea mist we all sat down and broken out a full picnic.  

I must admit there is a full post doctoral research project in studying the matter transfer that allows sand to pass through a sealed Tupperware box and inhabit a ham salad sandwich. When we solve that on colonizing other planets will be a walk in the park.

The fun was extensive, the dog thought it was Christmas, nobody downed, the kids got wet enough to have fun but not see the first stages of hypothermia set in.  The day finished in the half decent Hikers café with the largest hot chocolates allowed to be served without a license from a nuclear regulator.

Throughout the two days I was constantly struck by how lucky we are that kids exist.  Who else would allow gown ups to have fun throwing stones in the sea or eat olives on a cheap tartan rug, on a beach in February.

Why will I feel differently next school holidays?  Well Michele will have started working and we will be juggling holiday club with two working parents and kids that want to spend time cuddling up to with Mum an Dad.  And in my case a Dad who wants to do just the same.  How that’s a whole new set of angst.