Monday, 8 September 2008
Picture the scene. It is 5.45 in the morning and your three year old son wants to get up and have snuggle pie with his mummy, when you would really rather go and sell your ever so slightly immoral soul to the devil incarnate than have a spiky elbowed munchkin sharing your bed for the duration.
So you get up. You are wearing a rather fetching pair of frilly coffee coloured polka dot knickers and nothing else, rubbing your eyes and trying to think grateful thoughts as you stumble towards the bathroom, when said munchkin informs you that "from behind you look just like a super duper sumo", and gives your leg a bear hug, because in his eyes, a finer compliment he could not bestow on the hormones holding a merry dance in your veins.
You debate having an indulgent little sob and instead choose to tickle the life out of your son on the bathroom floor, then brush your teeth and go down to face the day. Because for once it is sunny and thinking positive thoughts leads to a positive Alison, and we all like her infinitely better than her miserable doppellganger. You dance around the kitchen, wiping this and brushing that and it is 6.15 in the morning and the rest of the world is asleep and quite frankly you haven't seen what the world looks like at this time in the morning for ever such a long time, so you bake vanilla cherry madeleines and eat one divine little specimen with milky coffee for breakfast, and yes it is quite frankly the actions of a japanese wrestler but who cares when life is swimming along oh so very scrumptiously?
I'm happy. Goodness me, the only super duper sumo you know and love is happy. Go bake some cake.