Anyone drinking a third beer at 17.26 on a Sunday is a friend of mine.
Disgusting things I caught Klara eating, listed from “I wouldn’t eat that” to “This makes me want to puke”:
-half chewed food Molly spat out and threw on the floor,
-half eaten burger found next to the trash bin,
-random used tissues,
-half digested pasta someone puked out,
What an insane evening! I just downed a full glass of warm cocoa and wrapped some of the Christmas gifts while watching TV!
I had a missed call on my phone, but when I called the guy back, he said he couldn’t talk because he was in a driving lesson. And he’s not a driving instructor. I’m not sure he understands how driving actually works.
Lesson one: do not answer the phone when driving, especially if you’re still learning how to drive.
Molly casually opened Jay’s underwear drawer and took out one of her dummies.
Where else will we find them?
I was tidying up the kitchen with my back turned to Molly when I heard her laugh out loud. She was taking sips of water and spitting them back out.
I thought I probably shouldn’t encourage her to play with food but it did seem like a lot of fun so I was torn between telling her to stop and laughing along. I chose to smile with my back turned away from her. Until I decided that her happy, throaty laugh and that moment, in general, were too precious to miss just for a sake of discipline so I took out my camera and filmed it all.
Today’s not my day. Instead of having breakfast with friends like we planned 2 weeks ago, I’m 36 km away from their house, having breakfast with Molly at a random bakery in Vaterstetten.
Navigation and orientation are not my strong points.
That awful moment when you have to get out of your warm, cosy bed to make a bottle for the third time that night and only when you hear your baby scream even louder, you realise that you dreamt about making that bottle, you’re still in bed and you have to get up again. This time for real.
A neighbour commented today on “how big our son was” and the woman whose dog Klara sometimes plays with told me that “our boy has really nice blonde hair”.
It doesn’t bother me at all that people mistake Molly for a boy, but I talked to these particular people about Molly at least 10 times in the last year. Maybe my German’s way worse than I thought.
Klara doesn’t sneak into the kitchen while we’re eating breakfast to secretly eat whatever food Molly’s dropped anymore. She now lies comfortably under Molly’s chair, waiting for Molly to actively throw her the food.
All three of us had toast and eggs for breakfast.