today, the husband spent more time with his inner child than his biological child.
he sharpened colour pencils, copied out a picture of an airplane, flattened himself on the floor and did some — erm –colouring.
thus went half the morning
and thus went half the afternoon as well…
objective gripe: the airplane looked like a turtle with a headache
subjective gripe: biological child was asked to watch and not colour, and just ward off wise-cracking mums