-Mommie, I want another freezie.

-But you just had one! Your poo will explode- remember?

-You’re an evil Mommie! I hate you! I’m going to bite you! I won’t be your pet weasel anymore, I’m a nasty weasel who bites his mommie and hides. OK, I’m hiding now, you can’t find me, evil Mommie…

After 5 minutes, I give in. “OK- you can HAVE ANOTHER FREEZIE. BUT THIS IS YOUR LAST ONE, OK?

-Yay! You’re the best mommie in whole wide world!

Repeat the above, 6 more times at least, throughout Saturday.

… It’s 3 am. I am woken by moaning sounds. The pet weasel is having a bad night. Suddenly he sits upright, and begins making vomiting noises.

-“Not on the bed!” I scream. “No- not on the bed!” Like Batman, I swoop down by the side of the bed where we keep the emergency bowl. “In the bowl! Not in the bed!” But even Batman couldn’t have caught up with the barfing- Already freezie-coloured vomit has blossomed on the pillows and duvet, as the weasel clutches his tummy and moans.

This is our weekend entertainment schedule, more or less constant through summer.  Freezies on Saturday, barfing through the night, endless laundry and lack-of-sleep grogginess and more freezie diarrhea through Sunday. In our household,  freezie vomit is the herald of warm days.


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