The other night the woman was in Chester's room, shaking out one of those dreadful plastic containers of bedding. Chester, rather than being sensibly frightened, was delighted. He seized one corner of the bag and began waving it up and down, he held it with a foot and tore holes in it, he offered it to the woman to play tug-of-war. In short, he gave every indication of having a great need for childish amusements.
Yesterday the woman went off on a mission and reappeared with something called a Jolly Ball. This one is a pale green, enhanced with apple scent. Frankly, it is hideous and an affront to the senses. It was put in Chester's room where he discovered it when we were let in for our starvation diet. He was delighted and tested it with both foot and tooth. Then he got on with eating dinner.
I was jolted from a deep sleep by a series of thuds, snorts, stomps and the repeated crashing of a solid object into vertical surfaces. There was a loud splash, followed by a soggy squelching sound. I whuffled the alarm - armageddon had arrived. I've been expecting it for ages. An aggrieved and sleepy voice came from next door. "Geez, will you clam up and kid, will you stop playing with that damn ball!" Molly got right to the point, demanding peace and quiet.
It seems that no sooner had we all settled into the arms of Morpheus than the racket broke out anew. Dawn was breaking and a delighted Chester had rediscovered his new outlet for creative play. Honestly, who gives a four year old a ball? I cannot remain sane and healthy with absolutely no REM sleep. I am quite sure this constitutes psychological abuse, or possibly warfare. Chester says he feels fit as the proverbial fiddle.
Herself finds this all very amusing and was still chuckling when she removed the no longer-so-Jolly-Ball to give it a good wash this morning. It was scraped and dented and covered in filth. I will say this - I've never actually seen kryptonite but this ball may well be made of that very substance.