Don't ask...Just don't ask.

Upon arriving home from an extraordinarily meeting-filled day, one's mind drift ever so urgently to the possibility that the small members of the household will sit quietly while allowing you to drink a bottle glass of wine.  And of course, the darlings were willing to comply...

Of course, first I had to do the following:

• examine the mangled hyacinth and the trail of individual blossoms scattered across the yard, while agreeing that the crumpled, bedraggled mass was "pitty Mum-mum".
• determine whether the ants under my four year old's sneakers were "dead or just pretending, Mama?"
• Take a small rock out of the 18 month old's mouth
• Explain why Mommy couldn't read "Sing a Song of Sixpence", while pouring juice and extracting two gummy vitamins from the childproof jar.
• Explain why we don't have "Nakey" time in the front yard
• pull a baked bean out of the 18 month old's ear
• give a dissertation on the varying sizes of underwear on our clothesline and judge whose are prettiest
• and finally, try to work up some enthusiasm when the four year old says "Don't you think it would be lovely to have a nice bath" 

(Why, thank you, yes that would be perfect.  Please let me know when it's drawn!)