"Come down! Now!"
"Ugh. Why. It's early".
I drag myself out of bed, and come down. My head jerks back with shock as I see the horrible truth: the dog, looking faintly guilty, andd crawling, literally crawling, with fleas. I know who the culprit is: it is the CFO's godammned hedgehog which exercises a fatal pull over the dog whenever they encounter each other. He has stuck his head into the hedgehog's house to bark at it in weirdly compelled terror for two minutes and now look. It is fricking revolting. I recoil in horror.
"OH GOD OH GOD, SHIT SHIT SHIT"
"Maman! 20 centimes!" (they have a swearing fund now. They have worked out that they now have enough for a 3 scoop ice cream extravaganza with all our foul cursing).
"Well, look at him! Ewwwwww this is not good. Not good not good not good".
We start de-fleaing the dog. Fleas are persistent little bastards and to kill them, you need to basically explode them with your nail (gross enough? Even nicer at 7am, I can tell you). The children bloody love it. Lashes is actually laughing with joy.
"This is AMAZING" he says , delightedly popping another tiny corpse. "It's like a shoot 'em up game! But real!" (Disclaimer: he has never played a shoot 'em up game, at least whilst in my custody). "It's like the Wii but BETTER!"
Next we go on a trip to the emergency pharmacy. Flea treatment: €28. Standing in line for 45 minutes with twelve elderly gentlemen with lengthy questions to ask the poor sole pharmacists and the local slightly disturbed man who has "had a fall" and needs bandaging up and anti-psychotics: priceless.
When we get back and the dog is fumigated, Lashes turns to me with the sinister cheery smile of a scout leader:
"Now we make a volcano! Out of CAKE!"
"Says who? I did not agree to this".
"Yes you did, you said we could make a brilliant cake on Thursday because Thursday is a holiday. Today is Thursday".
"Sh.. ok. But I'm warning you, I don't think we've got half the ingredients we need".
"I want molten lava! Made from jelly! And a ski lift! And dinosaurs".
"Whoooa! Ingredients, remember!"
"Ca va aller, maman. We will use jelly and Côte d'Or". (Where have I gone wrong, or is it that Belgium has gone right? This child does not like Cadburys, but only Côte d'Or, the spawn of the evil Kraft empire. Serpent's tooth, sharper, child, thankless).
So we did. It is a crime against cake but they are happy. And it is a public holiday, so my inner pastryfascist is en vacances.
I should probably dedicate it to my father who is now an Ash Tsar, but frankly, I think it's the last thing he needs. I was thinking 'Mount Type 2 Diabetes', but Lucy (do you read Lucy's blog? If you don't you are missing out big time) suggests it should be called Popancreaspetyl and I like hers better.
It's ok, it's not a public holiday tomorrow. I hope.