Rude awakenings

I had to wake Ida this morning. I left it until the last possible moment – Zeph and I had done spellings, sandwiches and biscuits and she was still curled up like a possum. When I lifted her out she sleepily lashed out and began wailing.

I gave her a big hug and inhaled that amazing sleepy child aroma, a bit like vanilla biscuits. “I was ASLEEP!” she howls. I laugh in a hollow fashion as a million 4am’s spring to mind.

There followed a ten minute tussle with her refusing to relinquish her pyjamas and then having been stripped rejecting violently even her favourite purple owl dress.

It doesn’t bode well for those future teenage mornings.

My mum used to lunge into my bedroom, fling back the curtains and trill “what a beeeutiful day!” It didn’t help.

Things got worse downstairs where she threw a bowl of cereal at me. Hmmm. Not a morning person then, just like her mother. I am always cheerier when I wake up on my own. It’s usually early as my body clock has been steam rollered into submission by two early bird babies. Alarm clocks, noisy dressers (pointed look at Steve) and rambunctious children leave me feeling grouchy. Zeph went through a hideous phase of creeping into bed with us and then gently peeling up our eyelids.

Still the day went up after that. Ida and I made a chicken pie with pastry top and bottom. I am sure I can get four meals out of Sundays roast chicken. (It was free range – it has to stretch) We did some gardening, varnished a pig woven out of willow, looked at ladybirds (it was a sunny day and our garden was full of them, all yawning and stretching their wings) and bought a pineapple for pudding. I sliced it up at the table and shared it out. Now we’ve all got tingly tongues. Steve has told a charming story about its flesh dissolving enzymes and Zeph has gone upstairs to brush his teeth.

Ah – all my beautiful things.

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