Went to cafe in nearby village today.
Youngest ordered huge hot chocolate and croissant.
Promptly spilled hot chocolate all over croissant.
I clear it up, in seconds. Two decades of spillages has made me deft and speedy.
Find cloth, new plate, new knife, new spoon, plonk old croissant on new plate, hot chocolate on new saucer, wipe around table, check Youngest for detritus. Sit back and sip coffee. Get admiring looks from New Mother over the way. I acknowledge her admiration with a friendly nod. Youngest still looking Cross and Grumpy.
Oh, not again, think I.
What?' I ask, somewhat impatiently. 'I've mopped you all up. Eat your croissant and drink your chocolate.'
'Can I have sugar in my chocolate?' he asks, hopefully.
And I Mean No.
'Because there is already half a ton of it in there,' I explain.
'I won't finish my drink,' he threatens, menacingly. For a five year old.
Finally he twigs. As he always does.
She Means It.
Puts his face in his arms.
In Tragic Tones, deep from the depths of his sleeve,
'Mummy,' he moans,
'You just Don't Understand Me.'