Chocolate face masks


Waves on the surface of the chocolate. 3d render

The first day of the summer holidays everyone was slightly comatose. The baby had been up half the night with teething pain. Everyone else had been up late partying with some friends. Daughter two had finally succumbed to the vomit virus. Just a quiet Monday, then.

By the end of the day, daughter two had perked up after a dose of Nurofen and was up for some sort of activity. I suggested, perhaps foolishly, that we make a face mask. She chose a chocolate face mask. Unfortunately, we didn’t have most of the ingredients, although we did have the crucial chocolate one [we’re still eating through the Easter leftovers]. So the face mask was a mixture of chocolate, chocolate powder, oats, more chocolate, syrup and whipped cream. I am still trying to get it out of my hair.

My mum is on holiday duty. Praise be to my mum. She took daughter three for a sleepover yesterday.

Daughter three got in there early with her request as she is highly strategic. She had been holding backroom negotiations for several days and was emailing my mum instructions about her breakfast and midnight feast requests. She was highly excited. In fact, she packed several days ago and prepared some sort of instructions in an envelope for my mum. Daughter two was most miffed when she found out and is trying to sniff out what the sleepover included to ensure she gets exactly the same, if not better, when she goes next week. In fact, so miffed was she that she attempted an escape from the house via the bathroom window to run after her grandmother’s car and collapsed on the ground in a heap of sobs. “She doesn’t love me,” she wailed in her usual understated way.

Daughter one is also on the case, but is slightly fragile after her goodbye to primary school extravaganza last week and after converting to vegetarianism overnight. She is in preparation for her big party this weekend, to which 32 people or none could turn up. We are getting ready for all eventualities [ie we are stocking up on crisps and preparing a playlist of bands I have never even heard of. I realise now what it means to be totally out of touch. Indeed daughter one seems to know how to use my new iPhone better than me despite never having handled one. I suddenly feel very old].

The baby, meanwhile, has done three steps. He keeps looking like he is on the edge of letting go of the furniture he is shuffling around, but at the last minute he loses confidence. One day he will probably just let go and run a marathon. 

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