I like cake.

I’m pretty sure you’re not surprised. Soon the labels in my clothes will match my age. 30. Maybe that’s how it works? The boys wear clothes age 2.

This afternoon I wanted a sweet snack but not a biscuit. The boys had had a biscuit round in the morning and although I’m a promoter of such snacks I try and keep then on a healthy balance. But me, not so much. Knowing if I had a biscuit there would be a cry of outrage and instant abandoment of their grapes and strawberries, I hid. I hid in the only corner of my kitchen, right up against the tea towels, where I could snack unseen, and ate a bourbon. I really wanted cake. Or what would have kept us all happy; Aldi’s chocolate covered rice cakes.

There was only one solution to my desire for cake, I sent the boys to the shop. The shop is at the end of our modest garden and looks an awful lot like Daddy’s shed. Ruru had a puzzle box with string quaintly swinging from the crook of his increasingly tanned little arm, Eddie won the race for the real (toy) basket, and off they ran, “Mummy needs cakes Mummy needs cake quick QUICK!” They returned excited and rushed spurting out all kinds of cakes they bought for me. We filled the cupboards. It was a moment of sheer joy. And then I realised, this is madness, silly, obscure madness and I was loving it. Where would I be without my imagination? I’ve needed it my whole life. I’ve needed it to get through days of hell and occasionally it’s provided me with days from hell. Then I hope, whilst my boys return from their umpteenth shed shopping trip, I really hope for them to have good imaginations, even if occasionally, like mine does, it scares them. I often need to wake my poor husband Jon in the night, just for reassurance that I’m not in a scene from Taken, laying in the dark awaitng my own abduction. But mostly my imagination provides me with the ability to never be bored. My Mum would say, “Only boring people get bored.” I get glimpses that they’re building little imaginary worlds. Tonight during dinnertime Eddie made me a cake, perhaps still wishing to fulfil my earlier request, he gently sandwiched a slice of cold sausage between 2 slices of banana. It was so gross, but beautiful, I felt very guilty that I couldn’t even look at it, let alone eat it! So I have decided, I shall throughout my time as a parent endeavour to help my little chaps, medium chaps and big chaps develop a good imagination. There’s an ambition.

So this evening, after the boys were tucked up, Jon was sent to the real shop, with very specific instructions (we needed essentials too, honest) he returned with cake and 3 packs of moreish rice cakes. I wish it were 30.


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