I’ve had a tiring day being on emergency services call for woodlice.
Ida recently discovered woodlice. She’s not that keen on ants, centipedes, the millions of little wolf spiders who sun themselves on our walls but she loves woodlice. When she sees one she has to follow it peering at it very closely. I don’t know if you watch woodlice a lot but they’re pretty clumsy. Often they tip themselves up and lie with their many legs wiggling helplessly. This is Ida’s cue to sprint to wherever I am and insist I come to their aid. Often by the time we arrive, panting, one of us hysterical, (odds are even as to who, can a person no longer even pee in privacy?) it’s usually gone. Bloody sensible woodlouse. I wonder about a world inhabited by a blonde giant who likes to loom over you.
Although slightly exasperated at the twentieth call out I am secretly enchanted at her growing observation of her surroundings. She spent the afternoon mostly crouched in the classic Shirley Hughes toddler squat playing with moss and leaves, mixing mud sand and water with a stick and watching insects.
I have felt worried that we’ve been too skint to do many exciting things this holiday but reflection shows our backyard is a smorgas board of exciting experience when you’re two.
Some friends are coming for an egg hunt and barbecue tomorrow so we’ve done a bit of tidying (scraping rust off the battered old thing and unearthing the half bag of mouldy charcoal from last summer) We’ve also made some darling cakes decorated with mini eggs for the stand (internal whoop) the icing turned out a little greener than I planned, more grotbags than pistachio. Ah well.
I have flashes of light heartedness today in the sunshine, I try and note them all, storing them up for the early hours like an emotional solar panel.
I’ve even managed to wash up. Lawks a mercy.