The chidders are on vacation for a week so we are going down to San Diego for a few days, to the zoo and Sea World and stuff like that.
Yesterday, I told the girls that, if they weren’t on their best not-running-away behaviour in the zoo park, we would feed them to the hippos. I said this in a loving way – there was really no need for the authorities to have become involved. The tear-gas was just uncalled for, and I told them last time that I need hypo-allergenic handcuffs, otherwise I come out in a terrible rash, forcing me to sue them again, which I hate having to do. One is forced to ask the question: is having a Child Protection Agency really the best use of our tax dollars?
Anyway, this morning I had a conversation with ProblemChild 2 about what clothes to pack.
Me: Have you chosen some t-shirts to take with us?
PC2: I want to take the blue iceberg one.
Me: But you just put that out for washing last night. Why don’t you take your green one?
PC2: No, mummy! I’ll look like lettuce and it might make an animal try to eat me.
Me: (laughs) Ah, sweetie-pie, just stay close to us and you’ll be fine. There’s nothing going to eat you, I promise. The animals can’t get out.
PC2 (Looks at me, clearly uncertain.)
Me: We were only kidding about the hippos, you know.
PC2 (Looks at me as if she’s never been entirely sure about me)
Friends, I am now experiencing a rare moment of self-doubt. Does such a look signify a maternal failure? Or should I continue with my current parental theory of Keeping Them On Their Toes?