Loading the Very Small Boy into his car seat recently as we were about to set off to the supermarket, I noticed that all the hair on one side of his head appeared to have been dyed bright pink and then styled alarmingly into sharp, crunchy spikes.
“Sausage?” I turned accusingly to the Small Girl (who was already strapped into her car seat and looking over innocently at me) “did you put nail polish in your brother’s hair?”
“He told me to” she replied sweetly, and then, by way of explanation: “he wanted Jedward hair”.
“She did it on purpose”, added the Very Small Boy, pouting dramatically and enjoying an excuse to use his latest phrase (which to his delight he has recently discovered he can use to get his sister into trouble).
“Oh for God's sake.... well it’s too late to do anything about it now” I sighed, and got into the car.
Once again, the summer holidays have passed in a languid blur, and we all felt grateful for the arrival of September, bringing with it a return to reassuring routine, and a welcome relief from feeling obliged to engage in the futile Irish pastime of Hoping For Decent Weather.
I love Autumn and Winter: crisp, bright days, warm jumpers, long dark evenings in front of the fire and the satisfying anticipation of Christmas. In fact, the only thing that clouds my enjoyment of September is the threat of snow and ice forcing me to suspend my outdoor runs in favour of the much less satisfactory gym.
However, for now the cooler weather is perfect for running and I have been increasing my distance runs to up to 10k at a time, surprising myself with my strength and endurance. So much so that I’ve decided to run the Dublin marathon next October (which thankfully is still a whole year off - because the four-month training schedule looks so gruelling that I fear I will actually have to train for the training).
“Mummy?” asked the Very Small Boy, as I was bundling him out of the car and into the shopping trolley seat.
“Yes darling?” I replied, hauling the Small Girl into the main part of the trolley and locking the car.
“You’re a poo-poo head on purpose!”
Before I could react, the Small Girl (who had collapsed in hysterics in the shopping trolley) sat up frowning, put her hand theatrically to her brow, and, in a brilliant imitation of me, said in mock exasperation “oh for God’s sake…”
And we all burst out laughing as we made our way to the counter to buy the children a Chocolatey Treat for the shopping trip.
