Those of you who don't have a dishwasher may understand what I mean when I say I was in the middle of a "doing the dishes reverie." Scrubbing breakfast off cutlery is a mind-numbing task and one survives it only by going elsewhere in one's mind. I can't tell you exactly where I had been but I was really there when my youngest son's voice broke through.
Ziggy: Mumma, I blah blah something.
Me: Mm hmmm.
Ziggy: Mumma, I cutting blah something.
Me: Okay, honey.
Ziggy: Mumma, I cutting mine something.
Me: Hang on, what? You're cutting WHAT?
Ziggy: I cutting mine hair.