Holidayz iz boreding...

The brat is on vacation. And used as he is to the double barrelled on the run daily routine, he is finding the laid back life, well, rather boreding. Said loud and often enough in the course of the day to ensure it drills holes into mamma's earwax.
Starting at the bright and sparkling hour of 5.30 am. Mamma feels heavy weight on her chest, and the sound of brat's voice coming at her at the perceived volume of approximately 200 decibels.
"Wha.... wha....What...?" shouts Mamma, jumping up and patting the bedside table furiously for her spectacles without which the brat is only an outline in the semi darkness.
Brat helpfully pries her eyelids open wide. "Gerrup. It is dark morning now. I wanna go dansklass."
Mamma grunted something undecipherable and curled back under the covers. The brat, proving himself to be a true irritant in the finest tradition set by mamma in her youth, persisted undeterred.
First by peeling off the thin dohar Mamma used as shield and second by jumping up and down using Mamma's jelly belly as trampoline. "Gerrup, gerrup, gerrup. Why you is waisting time?"

Scene 2
The brat goes to the intercom in the dead of the afternoon and dials furtively. Mamma can hear some snatches of an animated discussion. "Okay bye," he says loudly and clearly and puts the phone down.
Five minutes later the door bell buzzes insistently and the brat bounds off to open the door, and welcomes a pack of his pint sized mates looking at mamma expectantly, with an expression that only says, "Bring on the treat."
Brat joins them in giving mom the look. "Mamma, my frenz is come. Make Chinese chicken manchurian wid hakka noodlez."
Mamma never knew such diplomatic skills existed in her normally leaden tongue when she manages to fob off an army of brat sized Chinese Chicken manchurian expecting guests with popcorn and wafers and juice.

Scene 3
Dbrat moping in a random corner of the darkened house. With full west exposure in every room those wonderful french windows and balconies arent really being praised for their view anymore these blindingly hot summer days. "I wanna go down to the park to play wid my frenz."
Mamma raises a sluggish head to indicate a no, so much has the heat caught her and wrestled her down into somnabulism.
"Its too hot. Its three oclock in the afternoon."
Brat picks a curtain up and gingerly peers out at the glare. "Doesnt matter. I pud on my sunglasses and cap. And take an umbella. Mamma, you take the sunblock."

Scene 4
It is night. The brat is back home after three hours of what Mamma euphemistically terms as unstructured play, but what is in essence mini rioting. The brat yawns and stretches. "I is very tired. I don like night. Night is boreding. When it will be the mornin?"