Home Days.

Readingboy

Every night after I have kissed Finley good night and shouted "sweet dreams" a few hundred times, I close the door behind me and go to creep downstairs, when, without fail,  my Babba bedtime bliss is shattered by a question screeched from the innards of the cosiest bedroom in the world "What kind of  day is it tomorrow Mummy?"...

There are various answers to this question, not all them quite as welcome as the next;  a  "Daddy day" always goes down well, as does  a "Nana and  Gangan " day;  a "school day"  is merely acceptable,  while a  "shopping day" elicits groans, and a "best friends" day (playing with Eleanor)  occasionally finds him jumping out of bed and throwing himself  about  in pre-emptive excitement...

But  my favorite answer to this question is  a  "home day" , because my little rugrat, nearly always follows this with  "Just me and you, Mummy?"  and when I say yes, he says "Oh lovely..." and I go down to make my tea and smile at the television in a haze of something I think is known as contentment...

It's a home-day today. Because he is plainly his Mothers son, Finley, due to a rather vicious little throat infection, has lost his voice, and in-between croaking like a frog, and doing his 60 piece puzzle in record time (Don't you just love it when Mummies show off??), he climbs on to my knee for a snuggle and I lean across him and tap away on my computer happier than I can remember in a while.

Heck, could this be the early onset of Munchhausen's by Proxy? Owning up to enjoying the days your son is suffering, bestest of all...?

On My Wishlist...