|What the f@*%? The kid lost a @!%$^ passport,|
for Christ's sake.
If I say this looks like the #&^!* mother,
this is what the %(%&!@ looks like.
Edward woke me up recently in the middle of the night, hissing furiously that we'd been burgled. Apparently he couldn't find Rose's passport. I found it in her backpack. She went to France on a school trip. In July.
Old friends will remember that the words 'Rose's passport' can turn me instantly into a pillar of salt.
It turned out that my throwaway comment at supper that night 'well, if you want to go to New York, it should be at Christmas time when it's all lit up and beautiful' had hit home. Edward was mid-online-flight-booking when they demanded passport details. Thus turning the lovely surprise into a midnight marital heart-stop.
However, daylight, a few days' distance and an appreciation of the most fantastic family surprise Christmas present in the world have restored my sunny nature. NYC is probably my favourite winter place in the world, and we've got a whole week to walk ourselves ragged and revel in its icy sparkle.
The bots are beyond excited and can't wait to nip over to Hoeboken to Carlos Bakery to make sure Buddy survived the flooding, buy a box of enormous day-glo cupcakes and hopefully hear some of the world-class swearing that the big guy did when they crushed his sugar dinosaur.
Anyone got any more mainstream suggestions for entertaining them?