Sometimes Rose sounds like the cutest bad impression of Captain Kirk. At the dinner table tonight, she was describing that some rotten child had punched her – area of the body unclear/not remembered by me – and then ran off laughing. Hold on, I have to put an appointment in my calendar.

Wednesday 7:30am: Find rotten child, get right in his rotten face, tell him he’s rotten and that everyone thinks his knees are stupid and ugly

Siri, please schedule the appointment above and then remove it from this post. Thanks, Siri.

Right, as I was saying, Rotten Child punched Rose, which she described in this staccato, Kirkian rhythm, while flailing her arm in the air in dramatic poses:

“And then! Mummy. He punched me. He really did. He punched me. And then! He ran off. And he was laughing! And he. Wouldn’t. Stop. UGH.”

To emphasise how UGH it was, she slapped her hand completely over her face.

After most of Rose’s statements n’ flails, Sara and I turned to each other to confirm that we were indeed witnessing this hilarious spectacle in front of us. Giggles were kept to a minimum, lest they send Rose into a Flail Tizzy.

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On Sunday, Sara sorted out a Halloween/mega pop smash playlist for a kids disco happening on Thursday. Sara’s got all the hits: Katy Perry’s “Roar,” One Direction’s “Best Song Ever,” Scott Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag,” then 10 songs in a row by Warrant.

We left the playlist on while we were getting ready to leave the house, which was taking its typical 3 hours to do. It was during “Roar” that we came upon Ethan dancing. Ethan’s dancing was, to put it mildly, hip-intensive. These were swerves and juts that would have scandalised just a generation ago. Our Primal Elvis was GOING FOR IT. The couch was set aflame. Shakira was summoned. She declared Ethan’s hips unable to lie. And with a “ole ole oleeeee,” she was gone.