Wet foot

Blipfoto is a HARD hobby. Never mind taking a good photo every day, but you have to think of which photo is more representative of your day and then try to write your journal without saying every day, "I took a better photo than this today (honest!), but it is this one which speaks best of today's joy/trials/confusion/peculiarity/headache <insert appropriate>"

So here you have it. I took better pictures today(!) but for me this was the most representative. We took it in turn for lies in this morning (that's parents, not children - needless to say) and went on the tram into Manchester just in time for lunch. Went to favourite cafe in the Triangle (creatures of habit) and had a (mostly) nice time. Afterwards the agreement was this: husband could look in shop for 5 minutes whilst I had both children and afterwards I would be given 5 minutes to photograph the water fountains outside. Great. I upheld my end of the deal (such as it was) I had literally only taken my camera out of its case and pointed it in the vicinity of the the water, when I noticed out of the corner of my eye no.1 child climbing on the stepping stones across the water. Many wayward children (and adults) do this outside the Triangle. It is a narrow stream of water emanating from 3 fountains at one end and scattered with large flat stepping stones. I'm being harsh, obviously the designers must have had this in mind, otherwise creating flat stepping stones across water with no barriers would have been a completely brain dead and short sighted thing to have done. But given that it's a foot or so deep I figure an unsupervised nearly 4 year old could get a pretty sore ankle falling between 2 of the slippy stepping stones. So, I begin the nagging: "I thought you were watching him.... " Husband begins defensive backlash.... but... SPLASH. Great. No photos and one wet foot. Mr Cleanslate gets terrible fit of the giggles and becomes hopeless disciplinarian. I am stubborn and insist that I only needed to take one bloody photo. Boy is shocked and wet and a little contrite. His father then turns to me for spare socks. Then informs me that he was only laughing because of his certainty that spare socks existed. I reply that I am sure spare socks do exist, but am confident that their existence is not to be found in my bag. We all then become morose. Husband starts bemoaning the cost of socks in Next. Poor, neglected, unloved no.2 son is nominated to relinquish a sock for his soggy elder brother. This is justified on the basis that he at least still has a dry shoe to cover his foot and that it is a sunny day. No.2 son looks perplexed and waves his foot at us. We tell no.1 son that he should be very grateful he has such an understanding/unable to complain little brother(!) No.1 son son pulls his trouser up and flaunts his new sock to brother. No.2 son cries. I stop listening and take 3 photographs. This is one of them.

Later I take the boys to a Ghost Train ride at a nearby park. It's crazy busy and pretty much my worst nightmare. (Should I mention that no.2 son has a full pair of clean socks on now?!) So there's a bouncy castle thing, which against my better judgment I let no.1 son try out. He gets trampled and squished, gets stuck, loses his hat (witches) and generally has the time of his life and as he exits I realise he's still wearing one small, odd, dramatically differently coloured and patterned sock.

One of those days :-)