This morning I encountered the Right Little Madam on the stairs. “I’ve got a tummy ache,” she informed me.
Now, since the occasion when I babysat for her and she tried to convince me that chocolate was the best cure for stomachache I’ve been rather more wary of offering sympathy than I once was. “Oh dear.”
“Yes, I’ve not eaten all night and that’s hours and hours. My tummy should feel better for breakfast.” There was a pause. “Particularly a small packet of Frosties and a tiny bottle of milk.”
“I see.” And I do. I also understand why the Right Little Madam prefers chocolate to broccoli but don’t tell her that!
We’ve made gingerbread persons with honey rather than golden syrup – tastes very nice, texture a bit ropey and rolling was like some sort of mythical Greek challenge…definitely not Bake Off standard. We’ve made red velvet cupcakes and the Right Little Madam has conceded that beetroot may have its uses. We’ve also made our own yoghurt. Frothy hot chocolate has been made and swathed with marshmallows.
The Littlest Madam proffered a doll’s plate for miniature marshmallows.
“Is that for bunny?” I asked – to be fair she was clutching him in the other hand and five minutes earlier t he had his head stuck into one of the tea set cups.
“No.” She looked from bunny to me and back again. I could see what she was thinking – poor soul, can’t she see that it’s a toy. “Mine!”
So that’s me told.
In other news we’ve inspected fossils, handled hyena teeth and hippo molars, looked at gold hoards through magnifying glasses, had our feet measured, purchased books, created hats for teddy bears, made a cartoon and watched Dad’s Army. So why after all of that was the Right Little Madam still awake when I came upstairs to bed? I’ve been informed that counting sheep never works and that closing her eyes brings on dancing spots but strangely, not to mention a tad optimistically, chocolate might help….