I Am A Stick

>> Apr 8, 2010

'Mummy, I am a stick.'

'Yes dear, of course you are.'

'No, mummy!  Mummy, I'm a stick!'

'Yes dear, that's nice.'  I mutter absent mindedly as I reach for another potato, washing it under the tap before starting to peel.

'Mummy, look mummy.'

'Ummm.'  I put the peeled potato down and pick up another.

'MUMMY!  I'm a stick mummy, look!'

'Umm.'

'Mummy!'

'Yes.'

'I'm a stick!'

'Yes dear, and a very nice stick you are too,' I say lifting my head in the direction of the noise, eyes still on the potato.

'Mummy!'

--

'Mummy!'

--

'Mummy!'

--

'MUMMY!'

-oh for Gods sake!

I grit my teeth and try to count to ten.  I get to three.

'MUMMY MUMMY MUMMY MUMMY!'

'What!?'

'I'm a stick!'

I throw the potato and peeler in the sink and turn to face my daughter, the little vein in my forehead throbbing.  'Yes dear, you are a super stick, now leave mummy alone whilst she...oh.'

She wasn't a stick.

She was stuck.

She'd somehow managed to wedge herself between the arm and seat of her little arm chair and was stuck in a rather awkward and uncomfortable looking position.

I bit back the urge to laugh.

What? It was funny!

I started towards her and then faltered biting my lip as an evil thought came over me.  I glanced at the camera.  It was tempting.  She did look rather ridiculous.

'Mummy!'

'Yes dear, mummy's coming.'

I left the camera on the side and went to help.

Five minutes of twisting, squeezing, under the breath swearing and the liberal application of olive oil, and my eldest was no longer a stick.

Still wish I'd got a picture of it, mind.
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