What I really needed to do this weekend was rest up and play with my son. What I actually ended up doing was going on a Reebok PR jaunt to trial the new Reetone shoes. I wasn't planning on blogging about this today but after 45 minutes walking around in them, my legs are killing me.
The first thing the spud said to me when I got home wasn't "Hello Mummy" it was "Let's make gingerbread!". I keep forgetting that he's not a goldfish, he has a memory like a steel trap and even though we've not made gingerbread for ages, he's clearly spent some time selecting this activity from the list of possible tarifs I might usefully be expected to pay out.
What I love is how things like this show changes in him; last time he was content to stamp out shapes and claw them, broken, to the biscuit tray. Now he carefully wiggles the cutter until he's got the dough out intact - or he did until I made the critical error of letting him eat a broken bit of dough. The next half a dozen biscuits he cut out were, sadly, broken.
I learned something else about him today which is that he has entered the magical world of swearing; apparently I am a poo face with a bum-bum on it. What I learned about me is that I still think this is actually quite funny. We made a few poo-shaped dough-balls and then he ate them. I went 'eugh' a lot and he killed himself laughing.
After we baked them we all sat down and scarfed back a bucket-load of gingerbread and then I magicked some dinner into him and put him in the bath where he spent some time pretending to do poos and cracking up.
I've been looking at my computer for several minutes now trying to work out a funny closing line but my legs hurt, my tummy hurts and I rather think I need to drag myself into bed next to my nice warm frog.