I'm not raising Princesses anymore!

The day started much like any other. I only realised that the alarm was going off about an hour after it is set to ring. (Thank heavens for that SNOOZE button!) To be accurate, it was the infected bunny scratch on the palm of my hand itching like mad that woke me, and not the whine of that damn digital rooster. Whatever it was that woke me,  it did mean that, once again, we were late.

The breakfast rush, school run completed, I set about making the most of the last of the warm weather, before winter settles in. Three loads of washing hung out early (most of it pink!), aiming to dry out in the sunbeams filtering into my garden.

The day was highlighted for the girls with a long bike ride and a visit from a close friend. The friend's mom, a close friend of mine, and I sat drinking coffee while the girls played outside.

We were embroiled in a conversation about raising our offspring  to be the little princesses we hope they will, when in rushed T-Bird squealing at the top of her voice, "I'm wet! I'm wet!"

"What happened?" I asked, noting wet sleeves, wet pants, wet shoes. I was half expecting a swimming-pool related answer.

"I weed on the grass, and I missed! Now I'm wet!"

Die, I could just die!  No, really. Firstly, what the freak are you weeing on the grass for? Secondly, why do you have to do a completely donkey thing like that when you have a visitor? And thirdly, and this I am quite interested to know the answer to, how the heck did you get wee on your sleeve? (Yes, I did check it with a quick sniff before I actually thought about what I was doing - that whole action without brains thing again!)

The visiting mother was gracious enough not to roll her eyes at my daughter's delinquency, while trying to make me feel better with a sweet smile and light-hearted conversation. I do appreciate that, but oh my word! What monster am I raising? Just put me out of my misery now, someone, please.

I tossed the muppets into the bath shortly thereafter (the visitors made haste to leave - hmmm, was it something I said?), and went to bring in the washing. That bloody on-the-verge-of-winter-sun did a very lousy job of getting my washing dry. Damp armpits, crotches, toes of socks. I HATE bringing in wet washing - aargh! Now I have to sort the dry-enough stuff from the have-to-hang-again-tomorrow stuff - oh pooh!

Dinner was unremarkable until AirBear, sitting on my lap for the last few mouthfuls of her supper became mildly malodorous. I gave her The Look.

"Mom," she resigned herself, "I think I might just poop on your lap." Sweet smile.

Perhaps I have set my goals to high. Maybe I should look at losing the whole princess goal and opt for something more realistic. Barfly? Beachbum? Pop group roadie? Stamp Collector? Organic Clothing Wearer? (Hmm, it's starting to sound vaguely like my extended family...)

I give up, really I do.