The early part of today went amazingly fine, with a lovely trip to the park and a remarkably peaceful supermarket visit. At the supermarket when we walked along the biscuit aisle and Rose was at eye level with the chocolate digestives. I agreed to buy some but had to tell her the McVities ones she’d picked up weren’t as nice as the Sainsburies ones the next row along, also 80 p more. She asked if she could eat one in the car. No she could not. Most of the way home she was talking about chocolate biscuits and planning how she was going eat one as soon as we got home.
Shortly after we got in, I looked round a door to find her colouring in the end papers of a rather posh edition of the collected tales of Winnie the Pooh with felt tip pens. I did some shouting and then because she has been drawing on a lot of walls and books recently, I said right, no biscuits for you my girl. There was some crying and then a quiet pause which an idiot might have taken to mean that Rose was reflecting on her misdeed and resolving never to repeat it. But actually, she was musing on her sense of outrage and planning a violent revenge. While I was ambling back into the kitchen to collect various drinks and crackers to feed the troops, Rose hurled a wooden trivet at Sylvia. Shit flows downhill you know. I rushed back in to collect screaming toddler. And then, in an act of almost inhuman cruelty, I gave Sylvia a chocolate biscuit.
Sometimes I do feel like a bit of a bastard. Oh, and someone else who hates me is the lady who runs Sema’s cafe on the high road. They like giving little treats to children so she asked me if it was ok to give Rose a creme egg. When I apologised and said no thanks, you could have used the look on her face to clean the floor. Seriously though, if you scaled up a creme egg to be the same relative size to you as a regular one is to a three year old, you’d probably be looking at a chocolate egg about the size of a pineapple. Just imagine consuming all that sugar paste and then contemplate the gigantic sugar rush followed swiftly by crash, misery, wailing, a black mist followed by coma. That my friend is why I said no and why the lady at Sema’s thinks middle class people are cruel to children. She’s right though, isn’t she.