Sometimes I have such interesting conversations with my number 1 cherub that I forget she's not even three. And then, suddenly, I get a reminder. Exhibit A:
Tomorrow is our family lunch (or one of) for my mum's side of the family where all 412 of us gather to celebrate christmas to take some pressure off Christmas Day. It will be a bit sad this year after the passing of my grandmother, who loved Christmas, and would start harrassing us all about it each February. Grief is a funny animal. Funny strange, not funny ha ha, as I explain it to BabyG. Just when I think I'm ok, I was flashing through some photos earlier, and kapow, a feeling of loss hit me in the tummy, and I cried for the first time in a month.
I'm thinking tomorrow might be a bit sad, being our first family gathering since Nana's funeral. The only thing that fixes sad (other than time, I'm guessing) is chocolate. One of Nana's favourite foods was strawberries, so my contribution to lunch tomorrow is an (brace yourself) orgasmic cake made from italian sponge finger biscuits and home-made strawberry and mascarpone ice-cream from the ever-awesome Not Quite Nigella, which I will smother with these chocolate-dipped strawberries.
But back to Exhibit A- BabyG and I were dipping away happily, my mobile rang from the other end of the house. Merrily, I trotted off, answered it ('twas The Man), had a chat then remembered the combination I left sitting at my kitchen bench: small child, melted chocolate, wooden spoon. She was having such a good time and the strawberries were all done, so I let her go for it. As per the collage below, she was in raptures. Her eyes were even rolling.