The Four Little Seymours like to make their own entertainment. Well, the Naughty Two do, anyway. Hence why they are commonly known as The Buggers.
After heeding my nagging about getting off devices for once, Mini and Boy went into the garden at the weekend, and discovered an incredibly large puddle. After getting one set of clothes thoroughly wet and muddy, they came back into the house, trailed filth all over my nice, clean-ish tiles, and left piles of oozing garments on the floor.
I tried not to shout at them, for they had been outside, playing. This was good – surely. I could cope with two small heaps of fetid clothing, if it meant The Buggers had been out in the fresh air for a moment, treating their synapses to rich and rewarding stimuli.
Alas, they had not finished their game. Two minutes later, the wotsits reappeared. They were dressed unusually. Base layers, thermal vests and cycling shorts were worn beneath orange trunks (Boy) and a floral swimsuit (Mini). Their feet were bare. They may even have had goggles on. I was confused for a moment, but there had obviously been some sort of team work and collaboration going on, so I tried not to be too critical…
Then suddenly, their plan dawned on me. They were off for more muddy fun – only this time, they meant business.
I nearly protested – but I refrained. After all, I am not supposed to be shouting at my children at present – I have a play to do. If I lose my voice, I’ll be in trouble.
So off they went to have their japes. They waded in the ditch, skidded on the wet grass, shrieked, rolled about a bit and returned six minutes later, shivering.
Soon, two more piles of wet clothes littered the floor, as two naked Little Seymours dashed back off upstairs to find another outfit to soil.
And as I scooped up the filthy, dripping heaps of sodden grot for a second time, I had one overriding feeling: thank heavens we are no longer living in The Shed.
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