4th time lucky

Mog's passport is here! We're all free to cross borders for the next five years, hurrah. Not that we have time to zip under the channel to stock up on wine and petrol experience the joys of French cuisine any time in the next few months, but good to know we have the option. And even better to know that it won't be passports causing the problems when we go to Italy in August.

Little Fish has her priorities straight. Shopping today, we bought a muffin. The cashier handed this straight to Little Fish, in a nice paper bag. Little Fish tucked her muffin in its bag under her arm and cradled it with both hands. We bumped into another pupil wearing school uniform and chatted for a bit. Well, other child, parent and myself chatted. Little Fish guarded her muffin "that my cake". We talked about names, classes, medical appointments (took a long time to make the coffee apparently). And Little Fish answered all questions with a suspicious look at the other child, a tighter grip on her bag and a repeated "That MY cake". Drinks sorted, we went our separate ways. I had to leave Little Fish on the pavement and move our van in order to fold out her ramp. This is usually a cue for her to panic and scream and sob, causing many people to rush to her rescue and glare at me accusingly. I not entirely sure what they expect me to do about it - fold the ramp down onto the bonnet of the car behind in retaliation for not leaving the space perhaps? Or lift small child (not a problem) and large tankpowerchair (problem) in through the side door? Anyway, this time Little Fish looked around as I reparked, no unhappiness at all, just an even tighter armpit squeeze on her muffin and anyone who approached her was told very firmly "that MY cake". Definitely better than "MUMMY GONE WAAAAAHHHH". I may have to consider providing her with a paper bag full of cake for all future parking manouvres. Possibly. Loaded up the van and tried (but failed) to wrestle the muffin bag away from her, in order to open it up and give her a handful of cake crumbs. No luck - "That MY cake". Gave it up and drove off. Turned around to find she had carefully leaned across and parked her cake bag in the empty seat next to her, as close as she could get it to the seatbelt. Serious stuff, this cake guarding business.

Got home and she collected her cake in its bag from its car seat. And clutched it to her, demanding dinner. Ate her dinner, leaving cake untouched in its bag. Refused her pudding and clutched her bag to her. Fell asleep (early) this evening, exhausted from her day and full of broccoli casserole.

Readers, I have eaten her cake (and very good it was too).
Tia