I always hesitate if someone suggests leaving the Great Indoors, but in an effort to wear out the children, we take them to the country park which is filled with glorious puddles of mud. The children are all donning wellies, but I think that I will be ok in trainers, as that that is what Hub, who is an Outdoors Person, is wearing.
However, on getting out of the car, Hub announces that he is going to change into the wellies that he has thoughtfully brought for himself but neglected to mention to me.
We set off on the purple walk, having first checked that it is indeed only the short walk and not the five mile one we had previously attempted in 27 degrees of baking sunshine, when I was six months pregnant and with only half a bottle of water between five of us; the combination of which led to the ineveitable argument over who would have the last drop of water.
So we set off, the children being careful to step in absolutely every mud puddle they come across. Things are going fine until Hub helps Pixie into a particularly gloopy pool, wondering why she is resisting and shouting “Look!” (with typical two year old clarity) in an increasingly panicky voice, but he carries on regardless.
“Oh,” says Hub, with dawning realisation, ”you meant ‘look, you’ve lost your wellie’.”
As we have ventured out in our usual state of unpreparedness, there’s nothing thing else for it, but to just replace the errant wellie over the mud-sodden sock and carry on, with Pixie chuntering on mournfully in the background.