By 20 June 2012 No Comments

So, after yesterday’s school run debacle Jake and I set off this morning, leaving the triplets behind with their Papa who’d come round to visit. We crept out of the house while they weren’t looking, ran to the car and leapt inside like two armed robbers on the run. ‘Did they see?!’ said Jake flinging his school bag onto the backseat. ‘No,’ I gasped, slamming the car door behind me. ‘Quick, seat belt, let’s go!’ And we were off – a precious ten minute journey giving me some much needed one on one time with my eldest. We chat a lot, Jake and I. He likes to ask a lot of questions – I invariably tell him that we’ll look up the answer on the internet and, on the whole, we have a pretty special relationship. He’s observant too. Scarily so. Sitting at the traffic lights he chatted animatedly away about a certain friend of a friend. ‘He’s a handsome boy,’ I said picturing this particularly sweet faced nine year old. ‘He’s really nice but he’s got the tiniest fingers!’ said Jake. ‘They’re like this big!’ He held up his hands and pointed out where he reckoned his poor friend’s fingers came to a premature end. ‘Goodness, that is tiny,’ I replied. I should have left it there, steered the conversation away from physical imperfections and onto a harmless topic like football. But I couldn’t resist, after all, I was feeling pretty chipper for a Wednesday morning, freshly washed hair and bright pink toenails and so I foolishly continued. ‘What would you say about me, Jake, if you were describing me to someone? ‘ He looked a little nervous but I wouldn’t let it go. ‘If you were saying to someone, my mummy’s really nice but -,’ I smiled lovingly at him and wondered what he could possibly come up with. He studied my face hard for a good few seconds, tilted his head to one side and said, ‘I’d say my mummy’s really nice but she’s got holes in her face.’ Winded is the word that comes to mind. ‘Holes in my face!’ I cried trying not to crash the car as I frantically studied my complexion in the rear view mirror. What can I say? The little sod was right. It seems that children and mirrors never lie. Pass the open pore cream somebody, anybody…

Emma Campbell

Author Emma Campbell

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