Another 6:20?

I awoke yesterday morning, unfeasibly early, to the sound of Kit throwing up. No, let my rephrase that. To my shame, I was awoken (yesterday morning, unfeasibly early) by the sound of Beri, yelling at me, 'MUM! KIT'S THROWING UP!' Urggh - what a way to start the day.

As there has already been judging (you know who you are!) I may as well hang for a sheep - my first thought was, '6:20am! Haven't seen one of those in a while, and yes, it's still horrible' and my second was, 'If Kit stays home all day, how the heck do I sneak in my afternoon nap?'. 'Poor Kit' came a very late third.

But hang on, thought I, The Boy is part-owner of a strictly-reserved-for-weekends Nintendo DS Lite Gameboy. If I give him that, then he won't notice me sparked out on the sofa. He wouldn't notice if the sky fell on his head. An earthquake? The lights going out all over Europe? The four horsemen of the Apocalypse? Nah. His battery running out? Hell yeah. But that's what chargers are for. I napped, he stepped closer to RSI and permanently damaged thumb muscles, and we were both happy.

He's better now, and I bought him a book - Louis Sachar's Small Steps. I am a great admirer of Holes, and Kit really enjoys the Wayside School books. He's been reading it for about 20 minutes, and so far he's asked me what 'marijuana', 'cerebral palsy' and 'leukaemia' mean.

Urghh.