This morning I am learning all sorts of interesting things. Like, I didn't know that Squiglet is actually a boy (I thought he was a girl). And Mr Tumble has a hamster called Harry.
I am sat in front of CBeebies because Munchkin is poorly. She was sick (all over our new carpet) earlier this morning, and is currently sat on the sofa looking peaky, although she is managing to eat a cracker (update: during the writing of those post the cracker has re-emerged, all over the sofa). Despite her insistence that she is not going to be sick again, and can we go to Run Amok now, I'm not so sure.
Which is a shame, because tonight was possibly going to be the poshest and most exciting night of the last three years. Maybe even the poshest and most exciting night of my life. Mr Pickledweasel and I were due to go to Gibbon Bridge, for a champagne reception, dinner in a private dining room*, and bed and breakfast. In a suite. All for free, courtesy of Mr Pickledweasel's work.
Grandma pickledweasel was due to babysit, but I can't leave her with a poorly child who'll ask for me all night. So instead of amuse bouches, Moet and a uninterrupted nights sleep with a lie-in guaranteed, I'm facing a night on my own with a vomiting child. The cheery pictures that accompany this post are Munchkin modelling her new snowman snood made using Kitschy Coo's tutorial, just to try and lift the mood a bit. No, those aren't tears in my eyes. They're just bits of melting snow.
* I'm imagining it'd be like that scene at the end of Layer Cake, where they all have cigars. Only without the guns and shooting.