Two is for tantrums.

Well it makes a change. As I type Ida is lying on the floor drumming her heels about me taking her out of the pushchair. Normally it’s the putting her in that causes all the trouble. As usual with this level of tantrum temper I can’t understand what she’s trying to tell me.

It’s a weird thing to say but tantrums provoke some of my strongest rushes of compassion and sympathy for my kids. Obviously rage and annoyance too – I’m only human, but I so empathise with that whirl of fury and misery and feel for them caught up in this passionate, frustrated maelstrom of emotion. Maybe the late release of my inner child – and dear god, she’s got a lot of rage, means I’m so emotionally unevolved I can easily identify with them.

Right now I’m waiting for the fury to subside and the howling to change to sobbing so we can move on to the huggle stage. This is a photo from the beginning of the temper storms last summer. No less furious but a lot shorter and she tended to just go to sleep at the end…

Poor darling, she was so woebegone by the end. She’d cheered up hugely by the time we collected Zeph and we came home via the swings in the broken glass playground, oh the rich tapestry of urban life.

 I bought a tray of lychees in one of the local grocers for a bargain £2. We had greedy handfuls after tea and lined up the shiny stones. The joy of peeling back the pink nobbley skin and biting into the smooth silky flesh. It’s like eating perfume. Definitely todays best BT.

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