Minty snogs

Up until recently, Maddy's weekday morning ritual has broken down as follows:

Squawk.

Tip the contents of Kate's make-up bag onto our bed.

Squawk.

Try to take a swig of coffee when we're not looking.

Squawk.

Chew on a toothbrush in imitation of Ma & Pa doing their morning ablutions.

Squawk.

And so on.

But just recently, she's developed a taste for minty mouthwash. Not directly, but rather diluted on the tongue of a willing parent. So after we've washed our mouths out with Listerine, Maddy sticks her tongue out for a quick minty snog. Which really sets us up for the day.

These boots are (not) made for walking

Family legend has it that when I was a little girl, I told Auntie Jan and Uncle Col that walking was boring because all you did is put one foot in front of the other.

It would appear that Maddy agrees wholeheartedly with my assertion, preferring to be carted around the Suffolk countryside in a specially built rucksack, rather than getting those squidgy legs moving backwards and forwards.

At first glance, the photo below might appear to show a pleasant Saturday afternoon picnic, mother and daughter busily tidying up after some enjoyable finger food. But look again friends. There are actually three MAN-EATING CHICKENS in the photo, and me and Maddy are in fact attempting to flee the scene to avoid being PECKED TO DEATH.

STD, as you might have guessed, is behind the camera, having decided that it was of greater priority to record the incident for posterity rather than save the lives of his nearest and dearest.

Battle scarred....

...and not just Maddy either. Both me and Soft Touch Dad will forever have imprinted on our memories the image of Maddy’s First Major Fall.

STD had given Maddy a ‘hard to carry’ item, and as she was attempting to negotiate the mean streets of Brent Council’s uneven pavements with the aforementioned unwieldy package, she went flying. And with no hands available to cushion her fall, her face bore the majority of the impact. Cue bloody nose, bust lip and three traumatised people. Picture of Maddy below. Nothing of me and STD, it was too gruesome.

The Big(gest) Sleep

8.40am. Yes, TWENTY TO NINE.

That was one almighty kip. Maddy’s longest to date, in fact.

Needless to say, had Kate or I been compus mentis enough to check a clock prior to Maddy waking us up, we'd have leapt out of bed and raced into her room, legs and arms flailing, fearing the worst.

But instead we had a much-needed lie-in.

Plenty more of those please, Mads.