Porridge, anyone?

A dodgy start to the day, one way or another: bit sleepy and slow to get going so didn't realise that while I was washing my face in the bathroom, Isabella was busy helping herself to breakfast in the kitchen. I had popped her on the floor to play for a minute or two and somehow managed to forget that she is now able to crawl (oh, didn't I mention it - finally cracked it on Saturday morning at the grand age of eleven months!).

Unfortunately, Dave and I had long since ripped out the disgusting eighties fitted units and replaced them with open shelving hung with curtains in place of doors. Very country, but not so very chic. Oh, the fabric is beautiful - unfurling scarlet rosebuds on a white ground - but the manner of hanging leaves a bit to be desired; a bit of old curtain wire threaded through the hastily sewn channel at the top would have just about sufficed and not particularly drawn the eye to its inadequacies in the style department; no, it is the unfortunate lack of support given to the centre of the wire length which does not cut the mustard, leaving a gaping gap (do gaps always gape? No matter, I like the alliteration) through which can be spied the many treasures of our food cupboard: colourless tins (ah, Smart Price!), cans of coffee and a large box bearing the legend 'OXO' on its side despite containing nothing more than fresh air, all vie for space on the top shelf. At least they offer some resemblance of order. The lower shelf, however; now that's another story.

And, of course, it was the lower shelf that Isabella the Explorer uncovered on her maiden voyage across the kitchen floor. I imagine she viewed the curtain pulled hastily across much in the same way as Rider Haggard's protagonist in 'She' when confronted by a wild, unchartered land: as somewhere to conquer, somewhere to master and somewhere to empty of all its treasures. Which she did, in no uncertain fashion. I arrived back from the bathroom, which is only along a short corridor, to find one beautifully dressed and formerly clean babe sitting in the midst of a scattering of porridge (dry fortunately) and clutching a box of weetabix hard to her emaciated bosom - poor soul, I hear you cry; to have to feed herself in such a manner at so tender an age! What kind of mother is she? Clearly, not a very wide awake one I would say and where are the dear child's siblings when you need them? Probably on the computer as their irresponsible mother has vacated the area for once.

The rest of the morning ran fairly smoothly in comparison: cleaned the sticky porridge from hair, face, floor, etc and even managed to get to the school on time. It was just lucky that no-one wanted to chat as I sat in the car by the school gates, for in the back sat one angelic baby wearing a butter-wouldn't-melt smile on a face covered with melted chocolate. Now who left That in the car, I wonder...


Photo above (carried away by eventual success of yesterday's photo-posting!) shows Isabella looking cleaner than she really was. Oh, and by the way, thank you for all the lovely comments on the picture of me and baby on the beach - not glam really, but you don't think I would show you a front view do you!!!

Have a good day everyone x