Of course, I didn't write oodles of glorious prose, or even a couple of hundred words of a shiterature review. But I am hard at it, and am now only 1100 words behind target! Joy! Rapture!
I was deserted by the husband yesterday; he went away Out West to see his parents. I had to tell the big boy that Daddy was working very late. He is very attached to his father. I decided, a long time ago, that I was going to sing him a song*, so that when he is a big man and I am just a memory, he will sing the song to his own little ones and think of his Mammy, who loves him so much.
The song has been through a few revisions, but is currently "Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird." Because he is the sweetest little boy in town. Sorry. I didn't say it wasn't going to be cheese-ridden. So I bunged him into bed last night, in his Batman budgie-smugglers (and a nappy, I am no fool), and his Spiderman pyjamas, and his DRWHO I LOVES DRWHO MAMMY ESTER MINATE vest. "Sing me a song," says he, for we have this wee routine about it. "Oh yes, pet, what song do you want me to sing?" "Sing me the baby song! Sing me the baby song like Daddy sings it!"
Daddy has sung it to him twice, and has to look up the words on his iPhone. I have sung it until I am hoarse and could write a treatise on the lyrical content.
He is very attached to his father. I am disgruntled. I am away to bed in a huff.
* I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but the big boy doesn't seem to care.
I was deserted by the husband yesterday; he went away Out West to see his parents. I had to tell the big boy that Daddy was working very late. He is very attached to his father. I decided, a long time ago, that I was going to sing him a song*, so that when he is a big man and I am just a memory, he will sing the song to his own little ones and think of his Mammy, who loves him so much.
The song has been through a few revisions, but is currently "Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird." Because he is the sweetest little boy in town. Sorry. I didn't say it wasn't going to be cheese-ridden. So I bunged him into bed last night, in his Batman budgie-smugglers (and a nappy, I am no fool), and his Spiderman pyjamas, and his DRWHO I LOVES DRWHO MAMMY ESTER MINATE vest. "Sing me a song," says he, for we have this wee routine about it. "Oh yes, pet, what song do you want me to sing?" "Sing me the baby song! Sing me the baby song like Daddy sings it!"
Daddy has sung it to him twice, and has to look up the words on his iPhone. I have sung it until I am hoarse and could write a treatise on the lyrical content.
He is very attached to his father. I am disgruntled. I am away to bed in a huff.
* I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but the big boy doesn't seem to care.
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