Speaking of Daddy’s truck: where else would you sit for lunch after falling in a muddy puddle? (Clearly Mr 3 does not take after his beloved Peppa Pig.)

I’ve been parking my car downstairs in the garage lately. Within seconds, this little man – fresh out of the bath, usually – jumps in, determined to extract a few minutes of play in “Daddy’s truck”.

While other forms of communication are under construction, opening the fridge, pointing, and saying, “mooore?” is always an option.

I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have enjoyed those pickles, though. Eww.

Given how much difficulty I had persuading my own son to allow me to take this photo, I don’t think “child headshot specialist” is likely to appear in my marketing materials anytime soon.

Then again, there was a slide nearby. And swings. And… a slide.

My desk is rarely this tidy, but I do try to leave it looking semi-respectable on Friday afternoons.

Meanwhile, energy drink is rarely absent from my desk – it’s part of how I’m coping with my achalasia. Not that many people seem to believe me.

Marijuana is supposed to help, too. Hopefully a surgical fix will be organised before I need to hit the streets for a dealer…

1 May = Wednesday = small group night = the first of a “this is my life” mini-series.

Also, the first night our electronic Bibles outnumbered our paper ones.

Thankfully, plenty of paper remained on-hand for spill removal.

Speaking of sleep, I believe this was Miss 1’s first night out of the cot. Given this is Mr 3’s bed, we’d better start looking at bunks…

It takes her a while to wake up after a long night keeping watch over us. And/or barking at bats.