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Posts Tagged ‘Mothers Day’

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Just before dawn yesterday I had one of those very special nightmares where you wake, unable to breathe from the horror, saying to yourself, ‘It’s all right, it was just a dream. It was just a dream,’ before going back to sleep and having the bastard dream resume exactly where it left off. That’s not supposed to happen. It was a classic anxiety dream, the details of which I will not relate because nothing is more boring than other people’s dreams.

H disagrees. He likes hearing about other people’s dreams, presumably because he is a psychologist and it’s some sort of revealing diagnostic tool. Often in the morning he’ll ask me if I had any dreams. I like to answer, with a sad, faraway stare, ‘Once perhaps. But not for years. They’ve all crumbled into dust now.”

I think maybe I’m supposed to ask him back about his dreams, but I rarely do. He tells me anyway, and they seem to frequently feature me being way more fun than I am in real life. (more…)

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On Sunday morning, H took me to brunch at a very fancy seaside restaurant to celebrate Mother’s Day. We ate what small morsels of a ricotta and herb omelette and a plate of corned beef and swiss chard hash with poached eggs and hollandaise sauce remained after the Tardis child had had her merry way with our meals. We were sitting around, savouring our coffee and nibbling on the superb house-made baked beans that we’d ordered as a side dish, when May Blossom picked up a bean between her thumb and forefinger and regarded it solemnly.

‘Poo.’ She declared. Then, in case I was in any doubt of what she was referring to, she pointed to the bean with her other hand and said again, ‘poo.’

‘That’s not a poo, that’s a baked bean,’ I replied, uttering a sentence I am fairly certain I have never said before.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Poo. Granddad’s poo.’ (more…)

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