Christmas I love, new year I love, spending time with my family all together I love. For a few days. Unfortunately (or fortunately in other cases) Brat and I are very much creatures of habit. Even though she’s only three Brat has inherieted an extremely strong and forceful personality from both her parents. *grin*

This means that on a day to day basis we have ‘rooms’. I inhabit the dining room, her territory is the living room (our downstairs area is pretty much open plan so I can see her at all times despite being in a different ‘room’) - she stays in her area and has what she likes on the TV (or TB as she calls it, she’s short tongued bless her) and my domain is the dining room where I can work and put whatever music I like on (as long as it doesn’t drown out the TV, usually I use an Ipod with just one earphone. Having worked for years in a noisy environment using music to drown out the sound of machinery the earphone never hurts my ear).

And we have our routine. Like breakfast is between eight and nine, we have a bath or shower at around eleven. Lunch is at twelve to one if Brat’s hungry (somedays she just snacks all day and somedays she wants set meals, she’s a grazer like her father) and one to two is nap time if mommy’s lucky. (Or argument time if she’s not)

But christmas, any holiday that has daddy around all day just throws us all out. He’s no respecter of routine and Brat just gets all excited and wants to play all day. This leads to no naps and a very very ratty brat.

However *VERY evil grin* I often get from the other half ‘how hard can it be looking after her? she’s an angel’ (Anyone with a small child will know this is a ruse, they are in reality small demons that just look like adorable children. That amount of cute in anything is just a defensive mechanism to stop you throttling it. Face it, cats can be mean SOB’s but they’re cute so we let them get away with it. If they looked like frogs it might not work so well. Well, it might. If you found frogs cute.)

So…. OH got Brat for the day as I hid in the kitchen writing. Door closed, music on full blast, coffee pot right behind me. Fridge with the chocolate a step away. I was in HEAVEN!

OH did well, for about three hours. By one o’clock he was looking frazzled. By two o’clock he had more grey in his hari than he had when he woke up. Three o’clock he burst through the door and shut it behind him, six foot frame braced against it as though all the hordes of hell were behind him. Wildeyed he just looks at me, “That’s it, I can’t TAKE it.”

“What?” I ask, I’ve fairly seen Mr Carter so put out you see. Ex military he’s the kind that takes charge, don’t sweat it alpha male sort. Trembling in fear of a three year old ALPHA toddler (seriously they exist. If there’s ever a toddler that’s destined to take over the world, it’s Brat).

“Talking animals,” Mr Carter wails. “I can’t take any more talking animals. Or fairies. Or or or…”

What could I do? He was in a state of imminent mental collapse at the overdose of kiddies TV (there is a reason I use music to drown the background out you see. And like with vampires eyes, you must never look a TV showing kids programs in the face so to speak, it warps your mind).

I packed him off to bed, went and dealt with Brat’s imperious demand of ‘DADDY!!’ and normal service was resumed.

Mostly. Mr Carter still twitches if he happens to see a talking animal on TV.