Brilliant cook

Apparently I am a brilliant cook, according to my daughter.This is even though my best dishes are tuna pasta bake and hot chocolate.

Yesterday I decided to venture into London. I had not, however, bargained for the fact that the way to the tube station is paved with ice and it’s all downhill. Not a particularly attractive option if you are pregnant. It took about twice as long to get to the station and I was already, inevitably, running late. My whole life is spent running late at the moment, mainly because I am trying to fit too much in. Yesterday the reason was that at 2am I was woken up by bonkers daughter, complaining her head [which was punched by a demon child yesterday] was stinging and that she needed to go urgently to the hospital. I took her to toilet to do an assessment. She didn’t feel sick, but the bruise was quite big. I asked her if she was dizzy or confused. She replied: "I am confused, Mummy. I just don’t know why he did it."
We retired to her bed, but, after previous experiences, I took the side away from the wall. I knew it would mean clinging on to the bed, but it was better than sleeping with my head thrust against the wall all night. We had a long conversation about life in general. I told her, I don’t know why, that some people thought my cooking wasn’t too great. "But you and daddy are fantastic cooks," she replied in wonderment. Aw. I also told her that a boy had told me he loved me when I was 10 and I had cried because I knew he was lying. She looked at me very seriously: "I think you’re lovely, Mummy," she said. What have I done to deserve such devotion? Not enough, I figured, so I slept in the bed all night and, naturally, overslept as there is no clock there. Hence we were running late from the offset.

Bonkers daughter wanted to tell her teachers about her punch trauma. I was a bit worried they would call social services, but she said she would tell them "the whole story". After the school run, I caught up on some emails and headed to London, which was entirely snow free. I bet those Londoners think those of us outside the capital are total wusses for going on about the snow. I went to chat to a focus group organisation and was asked to do a test. I had to design a new beauty product in five minutes, including a marketing campaign. Now, beauty products and me are not well acquainted. I have only a passing relationship with the mirror these days. I came up with some outlandish creation which I called "the one minute makeover", a make-up kit which puts the make-up on for you [surely they will be able to produce this kind of thing soon?]. I almost convinced myself it would sell by the bucketload and headed home for more work and the school pick-up. This was followed by a long bout of Excel spreadsheet rage before I served up some beautiful slow-cooked chicken stew with pancakes and a marshmallow tea drink for pudding. Brilliant cook or what?

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