Finje's kindergarten is situated next to our village voluntary fire brigade. A small but efficient set up dedicated to the safety of the village inhabitants. Last week the kids were given a tour of the station and by all accounts it went down very well. Indeed, the little ones had a ball. They got to try on helmets, slide down the pole, fire water out of hoses and this fantastic group of people even set up a mini role play situation so the children could see what happens when the phone rings to report a fire. They loved it and Finje hasn't stopped talking about it since. All harmless fun one would think.
Now clearly the fire brigade is not to blame, but the fact is I don't have as much sex now as in my pre-child years. It's true. I think it's normal (please tell me it is) but I don't have to like it. With the addition of a new bambino to the household come sleepless nights usually caused by thoughts that previously never entered your formally child-free head. What can I do to persuade her to eat something green or even vaguely healthy? Is that back chat normal? Am I being a good mother goddammit? Ponderings not particularly conducive to an evening of romance.
Occasionally though, the mood takes us and a desire to bump our fuzzies takes over. After Finje's exciting day at the fire station she was well and truly pooped. She struggled to eat her supper without slumping over the dining table and, for once, fell asleep within seconds. A sideways glance from my husband was enough to make clear his carnal intentions.
Finje usually does us the favour of sleeping through the night, normally tramping into our room demanding breakfast at around six in the morning. Though frankly I'm still of the opinion that any time before eight is quite uncivilized and should still be considered night time.
On this, our somewhat unanticipated evening of four-legged frolic, she decided however, to stomp her way in, disturbing our adult activity, yelling at the top of her not inconsiderable voice,
"ACHTUNG! ACHTUNG! Feuer Feuer, this is not a drill!"
We succeeded in maintaining our decency and I'm pretty sure we managed, be it through red-faced giggles to convince her that nothing was amiss.
Needless to say the moment was lost. So much for harmless fun!
Any more red-faced parents out there?
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