Awright Treacle

Maia tried and failed to get me out of bed this morning. Hannah is staying, and we shared a bottle of wine last night while watching rubbish telly. Which, let me tell you, is not quite the ideal preparation for a bouncy Maia at 7.30 am.

Anyway, Maia Pie is a big girl now, so I told her to go play for a while. Having failed to get me to get up and play, Maia went downstairs to Mum's flat (where Hannah is staying) and failed to get her to play either.

So, after foraging a banana from Hannah's kitchen (sorry honey, will replace) Maia pottered about, playing with the cat.

She came upstairs after a while with a pretty insistent request that went something like this

"GET UP MUMMY! I am boring with this now."

Her pajama top was covered with a sticky black substance that she claimed was ink. She said she tasted it, but it wasn't that tasty. When she wanted to get it off her finger, she wiped it on her pajamas.

Jolted from my lie-in by a fear that we might have to rush to Casualty with a rather random explanation of how it was that I allowed my child to drink ink, I asked her to come and show me exactly what she had tasted.

We hared downstairs, where she presented me with a pot of Lyle's treacle.

I tasted it too, and it really isn't that nice. Which is a bit of a relief. I think had it been tasty, Maia would have had more than a fingerful, and then would have been sky-high for the rest of the day.

Lesson learnt.

For Ideal Lie-ins, Hide the Treacle...Awright?