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Dear Olive,
Our weekend was mixed. Saturday was torrential rain, (more) sleepless nights, arguments with Shane. In an attempt to alleviate our growing case of the cabin fevers, I made playdoh. It was my first attempt and I must say I was surprised when it turned out the way it should. The boring part was that we only had one colour and no shapes or rolling pins to play with. I wouldn't describe myself as the greatest playdoh free form modeller. And it ended in tears when you decided to eat it. The weather turned around on Sunday and with it, so did our moods. Well, slightly anyway. I stayed in bed till 11. That was nice. You and I visited friends for hot cross buns and beers in the afternoon which was great. I really need to remember to make more plans on the weekend, I've been leaving it too late and by then, everyone's already busy. 
On an unrelated and far cuter note, you've learnt to say please. You'll bring me in a book to read and say "book ... pease pease pease pease". So polite. 
On another unrelated note, I have grave concerns regarding fastidious tendencies I may be able to see in you. Wipe and wash have become two of your most used words and when you get your hands on a cleaning cloth you'll spend 20 minutes wiping down a surface. I've also noticed you've become very discerning over which flowers you'll pick up off the ground, discarding many of the dying, brown-tipped choices as "dirty". I know where you get it from. Let's just say, your Dad is a man who's not afraid to travel with a microfibre cleaning cloth. There are legendary stories of him being on tour with his band and while the others are all cracking beers upon arrival, your Dad's there ironing his shirts (the one he wants to wear, plus options!) and hanging them in the closet. I'm of the more lax approach to cleaning. So this is a big worry.
Anyway, Shane's on two weeks holiday and while I'm working a bit next week, we've got this week to hang out as a family. Yay.