Self-Service

It was my turn on school run this morning, which means feeding and dressing the Little Ducks.

'Can we have little cereal boxes for breakfast?' pleads Tiddler, my face buried in his tousled, golden hair in my first babysmell fix of the day.

'No Tiddler, they're just for treats and you had them yesterday. If you have them every day, then it won't be a treat. You can have Weetos.'

As a deprived child, we NEVER had Variety Packs, despite endless pleading to Mrs Duck Senior and promises to eat them all - even the Bran Flakes*.

Who in their right minds would include Bran Flakes in a Variety Pack? Unless Kellogg's has a grudge against big families and is keen to punish child #8. Oh, and 6 and 7 if you count the disappointment of ending up with Rice Krispies or Corn Flakes or any other non-sugar/non-chocolate-coated variety.

Anyway, authority established, I sent them downstairs. Following a few minutes later, I enter the kitchen to find them sitting like angels at the kitchen counter, munching happily. My first thought is that Mr. Duck has prepared it before leaving and I resolve to look kindly at golf items on the credit card bills, but JP pipes up 'Look mummy, we got our own breakfast'. They both smile.

My heart swells with love and pride, until I notice that they are eating Coco Pops and Frosties - and the tell-tale small packs are strewn across the counter as evidence. Devious little sods.

I melt a little when I realise they have sourced bowls, spoons, climbed chairs to reach high cupboards, opened packaging, and acquired and poured milk without spillage - all by themselves, for the first time.

Epiphany! I no longer need to provide meals. They can fend for themselves, provided the culinary inducement is sufficient.

So, Little Ducks, if you're reading this:

Tonight there will be chocolate spread sandwiches, ice-cream, green pringles and Easter Eggs for tea. Help yourselves!



*Obviously lying here.