Monday, 31 January 2011

Please leave a message

Long chats on the phone are my specialist subject. I can settle into an hour plus of chin wagging with pretty much anyone: my Dad, an old school chum in the UK, a friend who lives a few roads away and I see pretty much daily or someone I have never met and am supposed to be interviewing for a magazine article. I thoroughly enjoy the downing of tools and immersing myself into a conversation. This luxury is being somewhat curtailed by my littlies. The lad sometimes answers the phone himself, loses interest, chucks it on the sofa and doesn't tell me someone is patiently asking 'is your mummy there?'

If I get to the phone first I immediately commence a continuous lap of the garden and house as I try to shake the twins off. They trot behind me wailing to pick them up/get them some milk/put on their sparkly shoes for the duration of my phone call. I try doubling back on them, locking myself in toilets, going out into the road and shutting them inside our garden and any manner of anti-tailing techniques which spring to mind. They are impressively dogged in their pursuit and I often succumb to their insistent bawling by irritably hanging up and allowing them to swarm over me like ants.

My clever friend http://www.mareewilkinson.con/ took this pic of twin1

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