It's been a hectic week, filled with traveling from one end of the county to the other, more paperwork than I suspect I could shake a stick at, children who have surprised me in more ways than one, and structural changes to our home which lasted all of six hours before going disastrously wrong (although that has - fingers crossed; touch wood - been remedied for the time being!). It has also been a week filled with introspective contemplation as I've hurtled from one place to another in my beloved car, 'Daniel'... but perhaps more on that when I've reached a decision one way or the other.
Perhaps.
Most importantly - to me, anyway - this week has been the realisation that my children are growing up. The Boy, who will turn 8 in November, lost his first tooth on Friday morning. It had been wobbly for almost a month, but he'd been warned that if he prematurely yanked it out 'The Tooth Fairy' would not leave him the one pound coin he'd been coveting since first discovering it was loose in its socket, so he left it as alone as any normal little boy possibly could... When it came out, unlike his sister in previous years, he did not cry, he did not wail, he did not almost faint at the sight of blood dripping down his chin (because there wasn't any... yes; The Girl was a premature yanker of loose teeth!). The loss of his first tooth marks a rite of passage though; my youngest child is no longer my baby (although he always will be...) and I may have sighed a little over this fact when he'd been safely delivered to school and I was waiting in traffic...
