Rainy weekends with small kids, dontcha just love 'em?
I have, over the past few weeks become a coinosseur - hmm that spelling looks a bit dodgy, maybe lets just say expert instead - of soft play centres. I have to say that they are a jolly super invention, without which I would probably be stark staring mad by now. Or my children would be dead. Or both. So hurrah for all that foam and multi-coloured balls.
I had vague thoughts about taking the children to church on sunday mornings, which I did once, and it was lovely. But I have to say this is so much easier and much more fun for them to barrel about in a multicoloured padded cell. So apologies to God and all that, but churches to tend to have hard corners and they don't tend to be able to rustle up a caramel latte. Sunday is now soft play day, hurrah. This weekend I even managed to get a couple of other families to come along with me (out of pity I suspect, as they know Hubby has gone again and can hardly have failed to notice the whole bad hair/spots/misery thing), so even got a bit of adult conversation along with my latte.
Twins were swathed in snot as usual so I think the entire area probably had to be de-slimed after we left. Oh, and son almost got into fisticuffs with a fat boy in a batman top who insisted on becoming the protector of Twin 2 (she is a bit unsteady on her pins still, bless her) - a job which Son thought was rightfully his. So as the two feuding super heroes slugged it out, the damsel in distress wobbled off to find the ball pit on her own. I suspect this is a sign of things to come. She does seem to have an uncanny knack of making people - boys in particular - want to protect her. Which is no bad thing, but the truth is that the pair of them are as tough as old boots and regularly give other kids the 'Grant Brothers' treatment.