Mog Time

Mog has had a really good day today. An early start, and a shout shout kick for coffee- first time she's wanted breakfast since Easter. Home from school later, and still offensively cheerful; singing and shouting and generally being rude in a way only truly possible when you are non-verbal and surrounded by people who can interpret your facial expressions. Kicking my shins (just as well she isn't wearing shoes these days) to ensure her share of our evening meal, and slurping and swallowing a tablespoon sized portion of mash and gravy. More food than she's wanted or managed since last summer I think.

A quiet flop onto the shower bench later, and unprotestibgly shuffled into her nightie. And then big fuss, big tears, howls of outrage at the bare thought of bed. Little Fish by this time tucked up and our sitter here, Mog's protests growing ever louder and more forceful. So we bundled her back into clothes, and into the bus, and I trundled off to Guides with her in tow.

A nice evening for her to reject bed; a campfire and wide game up at a little cottage in the woods. Park the car and push her buggy up the hill and through the nettles, follow the noise to find the girls, and then sit downwind and enjoy Eidelweiss and Campfire's Burning and Everywhere We Go. And embers just right for marshmallows, and the creak and groan of wooden shutters on the windows of the ancient cottage. And a sun slowly slipping from view, and the squeak of bats emerging from their boxes, and the gentle smack and splat of hands seeking revenge on midges. Giggles and woodsmoke and a gentle breeze, and Mog cooing quietly and taking it all in, preparing herself for a week of this at the end of August.

And then home again, and into bed. And suddenly the woodsmoke becomes not the gentle scent of summer but an overpowering smeech; alien and unwelcome within the four walls of home. Three hours past bedtime though, so too late for a shower. Instead as the smoke settles in hair and clothing, a small child now finally settles into bed, welcomes the same bed she rejected with such determination three hours ago, and settles down towards sleep with just a musical coo echoing her contribution earlier in the evening.

It's not a bad life.
Tia