I swear to you, readers, I wasn't sure I was going to make it through this afternoon with les enfants. J was in one of his moods in which he repeats himself constantly and never -literally, never; how does he breathe?- stops talking. He used the word "deploy" about 400 times, mostly to describe some invention he was putting together in his mind but describing to me real time. J is a narrator of life in the truest sense of the word. He literally narrates his days as they unfold. Sometimes this is fascinating, other times hilarious but on a number of occasions, it is boring as all get-out. Like mind-numbing, I'd rather be doing pretty much anything else, dull. He was also trying to control the most inane of everything: whether or not O could pick up the giant vat of perling beads we have and where he could or could not set it down; was the proximity of O's legs to his too close or too far because, I can assure you, it was never just right. I finally had a brief come-to-jesus with him about how, in fact, he was not the parent or in charge, and frankly, he seemed a little taken aback.

O was in a slightly whiny mood which adopted slightly antagonistic overtones when J started trying to manhandle his every move. I could understand this response but was really annoyed by how many times I had to intervene simply to save my own nerves. Both were in psychotically needy moods and acted fairly put out when I couldn't meet their demands simultaneously and right NOW, as if I'm some sort of servant octopus with no mind to do anything except agree. I think not.

Also my chest aches, and it seems I've acquired whatever has had T hacking up a lung for 3 days. No good.

To counter all this nonsense, I made a giant apple and brandied fig crumble from Melissa Clark. It smells to the nines and I do believe it will assuage some of my vile humour.