The competition - interpret what Little Fish was asking for for lunch today. Her request?
"Red Pish and Moany Cheese".
The prize? Take your pick - I'll recreate the dish she was requesting for you if you're local, for those living further away only the Red Pish is transportable. But I'll send some your way if you're interested.
Oh Sundays. A sermon on Zacchaeus, or rather on what we can learn from Jesus' response to Zacchaeus. A resolve to attempt to be more like Jesus when reacting to my girls and others. And then collect the girls from their morning groups, and attempt to park them whilst I queue for coffee. Little Fish gets stroppy and upset, so naturally I calmly return to her to reassure her that I will never leave nor forsake her and will be with her always, even to the end of the day. I'm sure that happened somewhere in some universe anyway. Meanwhile back on this earth I find myself leaning over her whispering "If you don't stop I won't be able to get any coffee and YOU WON'T GET A BISCUIT" in that particularly loving freeze-a-small-child-whilst-hopefully-no-one-else-sees-you-being-mean-to-the-poor-little-girl-in-the-wheelchair manner which I hope other parents know about. Small child gulps down her weeps and clings onto my hand begging me not to walk away. I take a deep breath and remember I'm supposed to be being patient and she is only small and fairly insecure still. And start again with the "let's be more like Jesus less like myself" resolve. Consider Jesus' response to money lenders in the Temple but suspect small child wanting to hold my hand and be loved is probably not sufficient justification for me to get away with throwing tables and shouting loudly. And breathe, and calm down, and watch the queue for coffee get ever longer. Think dark thoughts about how some of the other people in it could model Jesus to me and get me my own cup of coffee. Reflect that probably, if I asked one of them, they'd do just that. Prefer to stand steeped in an internal sulk, until I realise how stupid that is, notice that the queue has now vanished entirely, and finally grab my coffee and a biscuit for Little Fish. And she has food, and I have caffeine, and the world is the right shape again. Squash down thoughts of a 40 day fast.
Walk home wondering if that was the fastest ever broken resolution and thinking it's a good job forgiveness is eternal and unlimited. And Little Fish requests her Red Pish and Moany Cheese for lunch. I only have one of these to hand, and halfway through the preperation she decides this is not what she wants. She wants it hot, I heat it up and then she wants it cold. She wants something else entirely. Except she doesn't, and she does, and she just wants to scream. And the patient kind forgiving Tia who lasted for most of the walk home has disappeared, and Incandescent Woman is here again. And then suddenly Little Fish is in bed, in a nice cool bedroom, eating the food she was adamant she didn't want. And Mog is in bed, in a nice cool bedroom, stretching out and easing off her muscle spasms. And the world seems to be moving at a slower pace again. I'm off to down a long cold glass of water, and then we'll all start again. I don't like being Incandescent Woman; it burns me out.