The third to last thing you should do after downing ice-creams and sugar water is to try and drive. The second to last thing to do is to choose a Vespa as your mode of transport. The absolute last thing you should do, though, is to allow a pregnant woman to drive.

Luckily for Peter, Kika does not drive. This was not even her Vespa. Before having three rugrats of my own, I would have warned against hopping on some stranger's hog for a photo op. I know the temper and fury that a preggie in her last week can unleash, though, so I would instead warn Vespa owners to steer clear of any round-bellies straddling their ride. Just leave 'em alone, man.
While hot Papa was cooling off at the belly-button biker bar, Mama was trying to cool down a hot forehead. We could tell David was not feeling himself when he went for three straight hours this morning without breaking shit. Mama's cure was to snore loudly into his ear. I found this remedy a bit odd, especially the drooling bit, but I have grown accustomed to Mama's peculiar quirks. At least it seemed to work; he woke up with enough destructive energy to don his skull cap and pillage the garden.
'I didn't forget my belly button, ok? You forgot it! Where is it, Papa? That's NOT funny! GIVE ME BACK MY BELLY BUTTON!'
I know. I'm an ass.
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I played with Sebastian on the playground pirates.
David: When I play with Peter and Sami.
2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I whacked David in the head with a chair.
David: When Peter bonk me in the head.
3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play 'Dragon' with Mama and play monster, too.
David: When Arman come.
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