The Alligator and The Pub

Yesterday, two things happened which are unheard of in our family. Firstly, DH and I managed to have a lie-in; The Small Girl, still recovering from her vomiting bug, didn't wake up until 8.30am (she made us aware of this event in her usual fashion by banging loudly on the wall that divides her bedroom from ours). We very much enjoyed this rare Sunday treat, despite the fact that there was a Very Small Boy passed out in the bed between us.

Secondly, DH announced that he wanted to Go Shopping. DH dislikes clothes shopping - for himself or anyone else - to such a degree that he usually can't even bring himself to enter a clothes shop, preferring instead to loiter apprehensively at the entrance while I, under pressure, make hasty impulse purchases which later have to be returned. But yesterday he decided he needed a new pair of jeans, so we all set out for the shops to help him find them.

Having identified a suitable Department Store, I held up pair after pair of nice jeans for him to choose from, only to have each one rejected on the basis of some minor flaw, apparent only to himself ("the pockets are wrong", "the stitching is funny" etc). Finally, he held up a pair and declared "I like these - what do you think?"

"No, they look like something someone's Dad would wear" I replied.
DH thought about this for a moment. "But I am someone's Dad" he said.

The Small Girl, who had been running wildly around the shop, pulling items off the shelves and trying silly hats on, now came dashing over to us wearing an oversize cowboy hat and shouting "Daddy, where's the alligator?”

Deciding I could no longer pretend that she didn't belong to me, I tried to guess what she was talking about. “Do you mean the elevator?” I asked, pointing to the exciting-looking glass lift.
“No, the alligator, the alligator!” the Small Girl shouted crossly, waving her arms about as she disappeared off in the direction of the escalator.

Some time later, after endless dizzying rounds on the escalator, we managed to entice the Small Girl away by promising a visit to The Pub. She currently has something of an obsession with The Pub, which she thinks is just about the most exciting place one could go (and I’m in agreement with her on this one).

Irish pubs not only welcome children, they often provide entertainment packs much like those you might get on an aeroplane. So with the Small Girl nicely distracted with some colouring-in, we had a lovely impromptu Sunday Lunch and a couple of very welcome glasses of wine. The Very Small Boy woke up and stared with great concentration at his rattle, before slowly raising both arms up, unclenching his fists, making a studied grab for the rattle and missing completely.

Later, DH had to carry the Small Girl out as she writhed and screeched through her tears “I don’t want to leave the pub! I don’t want to leave the pub!”. Thinking of my empty wineglass, I’m afraid I had to admit I felt the same way.