Spitters. There’s a certain kind of spider that sends all of the hairs up on the back of my neck. The garden orbital (or Miss Muffett) spider. Brown and black in striped pyjamas, they are the spider I just cannot seem to love. So of course they are everywhere. And not just them, their HUGE stereotypical spider webs. There they sit, in the centre of their picture perfect creation, just waiting for me to walk through it and give them a chuckle as I scream out and smack myself all over to try and be rid of my hairy hijacker.
I won’t pass my fears onto my children and so as soon as I had yelled out “Eww, spider” to Gavin, Jensen asked what was wrong. I explained that I had said “spitters” and I meant the brambles that had spiked Dadda earlier. He seemed to buy it. Pathetic I know, but it was the best I could do at that point.
We all know the biggest and best berries are at the top. Jensen and I spent a good dela of our time lamenting our lack of height and goading Dadda on to reach higher into the prickly punnet.
Baby Dragon enjoyed himself although several vain attempts at blackberry grabbing were made. It brother is doing it, he wants to do it too. His main aim in life is still to be a bigger and bigger boy. Did I mention he is cruising furniture now? CRUISING. At 5 days short of 7 months. I’m terrified and delighted in equal measure.
When the last of the good berries had been picked (we only took a few, don’t fear, there were plenty for the birds and mice) we headed off home for dinner, trying to decide over blackberry pie, blackberry crumble, or just plain ole’ blackberries….