The Price of Peace

It is 8:00 pm.

Miracle of miracles, the Snot Queen is not running rings around the house high on batteries (or whatever it is that she runs on!) Instead, about a half hour ago, she disappeared upstairs with her dad for stories and bedtime.

Now, she did not go quietly. If I recall correctly there was much objection and demands for juice and "Ballerina Dolly," who is not, as the name may suggest a ballerina or any sort of dancer for that matter. She is instead the armless, knickerless, rather manly looking knock off barbie doll we picked up at a shopping mall for 3 euro last Saturday when we were naive enough to leave the house with her doll buggy but no dolly to ride in it.

Her wardrobe consists of a rather garish (is there any other kind?) silver mini dress and a pair of what, were she a real life woman, would probably be 9 inch hooker heels in scarlett red.

Very age appropriate.

Combine this with the pink faux fur coat she likes to regularly sport around the house whilst wearing mammy's heels that are far too high for even mammy to walk in and not much else, and I occasionally get a sinking feeling in my belly when I think about my eldest daughter's future career prospects.

But that is soul destroying fodder for another day...

Tonight is all about the sleep. The Snot Queen you see, has given up her daytime nap.

In exchange for a slight (re: MASSIVE) tendency to turn into something of an antichrist between the hours of 6 and 7 (am and pm that is) we now have a child who falls asleep each night at 7:30pm with nothing more then a couple of stories from daddy and the brittle presence of a plastic, amputee, drag queen to keep her company.

It took 2 years, 9 months and the better part of my sanity, but as I sit here writing these words and waiting for my husband to come back from the shop with a celebratory bottle of white and some cheese n onion crisps and , I can honestly say...

It was worth it.