jasper is racing around the house shouting "TAMPAX TAMPAX!"

not a little concerned, i follow him, taking quick peeks to determine

a) clear orifices

b) siblings

because if anything is going on with a, the b's would know.

instead, i see jasper holding a people magazine. (mine).

the girls grab it, (they might have said please) and jasper shows them a TAMPAX advert. sadly, they do not lose interest because the ad is for TAMPAX pearl.

PEARLS? queries sela, immediately interested.

TAMPAX PEARLS corrects Jasper.

Can the girls have tampax pearls for a necklace? asks Carys.

AND EARRINGS? shrieks sela.

I decide to ignore them all and focus on the good child, sebastian, who is reading peacefully. i walk over to him and rub my hand across his head. WHAT A GOOD BOY HE IS. how much do i love my sebbie sebbie so so. when was the last time he requested a tampax?

he puts his book down and tells everyone else to be quiet.

thanks for the support but no. they're not going down without a fight.

i remove the magazine from jasper's hands and he is a bit upset because i think he wanted to read the article on celine dion. the girls wanted to look at her babies.

i ask if rooms have been cleared up. no they haven't, but there are many excellent reasons WHY they have not. and they would all like to explain to me why, simultaneously. on your marks, get set, START.

MUMMY – APOSERITUJ V[ERTOUR[PO;IAJON UHA'PNOZJV;X/POW835=0[93q8v

but mummy – a ostiyuqhevp0uby[a'q907y3[=]bg09vun

well i tried mummy but – apw rotnqbv6=]-98    -q978=5 op9yhuil

you see mama – a[0per9 ntq[0987    =[9u\]-08nm[0=wmq9- 09-=\ 97nq9v68ym,p

rooms have not been cleared up. i explain, again, that this is their responsibility.

this is not a thought that pleases carys, who denounces the evil practise of folding clothes by removing hers.

Jasper takes to his room and tries to convince me he has cleaned up his room by moving one pile of clothes to his bed. Does he think I just fell off the turnip truck? Seb sighs, and isn't a great deal of help either.

This seems like an endless time. It is Sunday. I eventually send the kids downstairs and tell them to run around the playground 10 times before they can come up. Our neighbour, the saintly Brian, whose kids seem to be doing the exact same activity, offers to take them swimming with his kids. I agree. HOW SELFISH AM I.

silence.

The kids come back a few hours later, very happy. I admit, so was I.

So much so, that when my first memory of the day, Sela announcing that everyone hates her pierced into my MAD MEN fogged memory, I only cringed a bit before bringing her into me for a cuddle.