Well, Friday. It's taken me three Schuberts and a Chopin to get over that one. I'm exhausted. And I still can't talk, which is part of the problem, I suppose.
It all started with Elizabeth dressed and ready for playgroup, steaming slightly beneath her hat, coat, scarf, gloves, fleecy top, jumper, blouse, t-shirt and vest. We have this rule: you can watch CBeebies if you've had breakfast and cleaned your teeth and are definitely all ready to go. So there we all were, watching CBeebies and feeling somewhat ahead of the game when I suddenly realised...
Due to a communication error, my Lovely Friend was not, after all, coming to collect Elizabeth. Which meant that I had approximately 4 minutes to get everyone else similarly bundled up and out into the snow to complete the 20 minute treacherous expedition to playgroup. Let the fun begin.
Francesca took great exception to this. I believe some stomping occurred. And some scowling and shouting. She was not, she informed me, going to go out to playgroup.
This stalemate was only broken by me declaring that in that case, I was not going to take her to Stagecoach tomorrow.
We left the house.
Then it was Elizabeth's turn to be unenthusiastic.
"I'm too tired," she said. "I don't want to walk any more."
I told her we had to decide. If she wanted to get to playgroup, we would have to keep walking. Or we could turn back.
"I want to go home," she said.
And then I had a brilliant idea to rescue my morning. We'd go to town.
A quick trip home for a toilet stop and some money for the Metro, then we were on our way. Because who could fail to be cheered up by a Metro ride?! They were thrilled. I was able to dispatch with a few troublesome errands and be back in time for lunch.
We sacked off Maths and English but hey, it's Friday. The perks of the job, eh?
This afternoon, we had a card-making session. There are a few birthdays coming up and Sebastian's 'thank you' cards are somewhat overdue.
So here they are, getting creative:
Note: Always wear a hard hat when painting next to Sebastian. Anything could happen.
Francesca spent ages delicately designing Abuelita's birthday card, complete with a view inside a rabbit's burrow, where said rabbit was taking tea from a blue china tea set.
I did sponge painting with Sebastian, through a template that I had fashioned from a piece of card, earlier. Alas, that could not be photographed, requiring a photography stunt too far. I would have had to hold a camera at the same time as the clean cards, the filthy template, a wayward sponge and someone enthusiastically high-speed daubing.
Then it was time to go to the violin lesson. I shall name no names when I say that one of us didn't start to get ready when asked. I shall skim over the doorstep debacle with a teddy bear and a screaming 5 year old. I shall barely mention the white-out blizzard and screaming 5 year old. Suffice to say that we arrived at the lesson looking like three snowmen and a screaming 5 year old.
I guess she didn't want to go.
I think it's because she knew she hadn't improved. Sure, she had practised every day but perhaps it was the wrong sort of practice. Perhaps it was the sort of practice where you just quickly play your scales and pieces without really caring whether you hit any of the actual notes or not, and where, if interrupted by someone - a helpful parent, say - pointing out that you might like to try that again, in tune, you simply scream at them that you will do it your way and you don't want to be interrupted. Perhaps it's that.
The teacher suggested that I be allowed to help with the practices and Francesca agreed and looked like the sort of child who would never scream, "Go away! I'm doing it how I want to!!!" at her own mother.
We shall see.
Hence the piano playing. Quite fiercely, for quite a long time.