Maia is into racing, or more accurately, winning at the moment.
'I'll race you to the top of the stairs!' is a great way to get her upstairs and motivated for a bath - her reluctance to leave whatever she was doing totally forgotten in the rush to be first.
'I'm going to win!' she gleefully shouts, as the grown-ups luxuriate in the fact that they are winning a bigger game.
This weekend we went for a really cool walk in the countryside. We saw sheep, cows and ducks, and then had a few rousing choruses of Baa Baa Black Sheep and Old MacDonald. We did a mini nature trail and learnt about stinging nettles (the easy way, no dock leaves required), searched for and found pinecones, picked buttercups and tested them against our chin.
After sausage rolls and ice-cream and oranges, we began to make our way back to the car. Maia was on the verge of fractiousness, and was demanding that we carry her. Instead (with a view to an early bedtime) we decided to race to the car. I was winning, and then Maia shouted in a stern, borrowed tone
'Stop, Mummy. It is not a race.'
Then she put on a dash of speed, overtook on the inside and got out in front.
She would have won anyway, but boy, she gets extra points for cunning.
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