Thursday, April 30, 2015


Minutes after these pictures were taken this fierce warrior stomped off to her room, outraged by some perceived slight, and cried herself to sleep.
At 6pm.

We had a quiet evening with just her sister and some blessed silence.

Near midnight, as I was chastising myself for not having gone to bed yet, she re-appeared - dressed and smiling.
'I had my nap Mum,' she smiled, 'I feel much happier now.'

Er ...

So she had supper, and a bowl of cereal for good measure. She sat at the table and asked over and over, 'Is it the middle of the night Mum?'
A marshmallow for 'pudding', a clean face (I consciously ignored the arms), pyjamas and back to bed.
And straight back to sleep.

This morning it has the quality of a distant dream, and the taste of an exotic adventure. She couldn't wait to tell her sister.
'I was awake in the middle of the night Frieda! I had a marshmallow.'
'Oooo,' says Frieda, 'you were awake in the witching hour!'
'Yes,' she replies breathlessly, her eyes widening a little, 'I was.'

1 comment:

Veronica Roth said...

Oh dear. I remember days/nights like that. The trouble is, the older they get it just doesn't get better, it just gets...more!