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Abstract Sandwiches

1st December 2016

On Tuesday, when I picked Isla up from nursery, she hugged my lap as she sometimes does.

‘I MISSED you, Mummy.’

‘Really?’ I asked.  She’s a Daddy’s girl, see.  I am obviously still questioning every bit of affection she doles out.  To me.

‘Yeah,’ she said

‘Did someone pay you to say that?’

‘Uhm.  No.’

When I’m happy, my eyes kinda crinkle up until you can’t see them.  Like Isla’s.  Because, y’know, I’m her mother.

I did a little dance in the carpark, my day made at one o’clock.

‘Mummy funny,’ she laughs.

Yeah, I s’pose I am, a bit.

Isla’s funny, too.  She has my eye crinkle and my sarcasm.

Yesterday, she was loaded with big foam puzzle pieces.  Her arms were so full she was just a stripey sweater on legs.

‘I LOVE you,’ I tell her.  ‘Where did you come from?’

She cranes her neck and looks at me sideways.  It is my own incredulous face looking back at me.

‘From my bedroom,’ she says.

True enough.

I did the pee-pee laugh with that one.  Also true.

Since Isla’s started nursery, I’ve been doing some thinking.  I’ve also been doing some Math, mostly at 4AM.  Mayhaps, more about that later. For now, I will say this: Don’t do Math at 4AM.

Anyway.  This is what I’ve been thinking.  Since Isla started doing things.  Outside the house.  Without me.

This is how life goes.  I’m proud of her.  I’m allowed to miss her.  We need to keep going. And I’m so fucking proud of her.

I’ve been thinking that getting help to do things makes me no less of a mother.  Because I’m the one who misses her when she’s at school.  And also when she’s asleep.

It doesn’t matter that sometimes, I can’t lift her onto the toilet. Because I’m the one who claps when she pees on it.

I’m (one of) the people who reads to her at night. And in the afternoon. She sits on my lap, in my chair. And I can still find that place on her neck that I’ve loved since before she was born.

And sometimes, still, she falls asleep on me.

We wake up two mornings a week, and I make her lunch. Her sandwiches have holes in them, because I have very few knife skills. I don’t care. She eats her lunch.

I might squirt mayo hearts on the bread.

I send her out and she comes home and hands me her empty lunch box. And sometimes her boogers.

She makes me a coffeeshop and a dragon out of blocks.

She goes into the fridge and gets a snack. I tell her not to ruin her dinner.

And she gives me that sideways glance. The one she gets from me.


Kinda like this.  Isla isn’t sure about empty envelopes.

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No Comments

  • Reply Nicole 1st December 2016 at 7:32 pm

    Nothing good ever comes of math done at 4 a.m.

    • Reply LKD 1st December 2016 at 7:54 pm

      For real.

  • Reply JCR Duff 1st December 2016 at 8:51 pm

    Unless, of course, it is bio-clock calculations. 😉

  • Reply Karen 1st December 2016 at 10:51 pm


  • Reply angelanoelauthor 20th May 2017 at 2:46 pm

    Your post tugged at my heart and made me laugh. Last night my seven-year-old son noticed my struggle to remember how to put the harness on the dog, “It’s okay, mommy,” he said. “It’s because you’re old.” These little gems (both the words he says and the little mind that thinks them) keep me humble and grateful. Your post reminded me of all the goodness, despite the challenges, that parenting brings. Thank you!

  • Reply Overheard In My Kitchen | Gin & Lemonade 29th May 2017 at 7:49 pm

    […] More about my sandwich artistry can be found here. […]

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