After a fairly eventful afternoon the other day, to which I conceded defeat to a 2 1/2 hour nap time battle, I knew that evening had a fairly slim chance at being pleasant. You know those afternoons where you wish you could make a public service announcement to the neighbourhood that your child isn’t actually an abuse victim, as the screaming would suggest, but instead she just doesn’t want to be in the cot? One of those days.
I accidentally forgot the dummy so knew I didn’t have a long time to make a choice and glowing on the shelf, like a sign from the heavens, was a newly returned xylophone keyboard. I grabbed it, and a DVD that said ‘SMART BABY’ (why not?) and hit the pavement to walk home.
That afternoon we sat on the floor, with our glitter-rice-mineral-water-bottle-shaker (that I got the inspiration for after fishing her out of the recycling bin in an absent minded mummy-moment) bells, that my mum sent down, and two wooden spoons with a saucepan and we were the greatest band that ever lived. That didn’t pay for a single instrument.