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.
AAAHH! What kind of damage are we talking here? Emergency trip to hairdresser’s? Or just a nick? Either way, this is my BIGGEST fear with P doing the same with a pair of scissors. Even worst would be the hysterics from F if F’s hair got attacked. Yeah, I’ve spent too much time imagining the scenario already…
PS – I do know the exact reverie and resulting conversation you mean. Guilty.
PPS – How pleased does Ziggy look with himself? B’s clone, for sure, in this shot.