7am on a Sunday

7am on a Sunday and I had been unceremoniously torn asunder from my bed and dragged downstairs in the dark by the Small One once again. I sat on the sofa grumpily watching snowflakes drift silently past the lamppost outside while she shoved an empty Lego box into my retina repeatedly.
In a way I am glad that her world revolves around Lego, Paw Patrol and her desire to eat all the chocolate buns in existence because the world is a scary place and becoming scarier with each day and with each fear-inducing headline. I sometimes wonder what sort of world we have brought our children into but then remember that these children may, one day, be the ones to finally use some common sense and reverse some of the world’s crappiness – perhaps by normalising compassion and respect in place of exocentric twatwaffles preaching hate and intolerance to herds of unquestioning sheep. We can only hope and we can only keep teaching them to be kind to others at home, at nursery and at school before they are unleashed upon the big (yet small) world as adults with responsibilities.
Catrin took it upon herself to consider a world without international trade in foodstuffs over dinner last night.

“If we only ate food from this country and didn’t get food from other countries we would eat fish and chips and peas every day and it would be great! Wait…where do the bananas in my smoothie come from?”
The protests around the globe were heartening yesterday (and some of the placards were frankly genius). A couple of days ago I was concerned that Bethan had staged her own ‘dirty protest’ when she disappeared into the toy aisle of Debenhams and started yelling “Poo! POO!” It turned out, however, that she was just expressing her excitement at finding tellytubby Po in the sale section. The real protest came when she attempted to claim squatter’s rights in the vicinity of the half price Disney princesses and had to be forcibly removed. She was eventually pacified by a My Little Pony t-shirt (or ‘poneeee tee-shit’ as she calls it).
7.01am on a Sunday and the tiny snowflakes in the garden fell onto the first shoots of spring flowers while I browsed today’s foreboding news stories and wondered what 2017 will bring. Next to me the Small One proudly paraded her poneee tee-shit with a giant, carefree, snotty grin.

“Poo! POO!”
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