It’s nearly 5 pm on this Sunday afternoon. After an exciting morning to London we are preparing for our First Advent Sunday dinner: I’m chopping vegetables while Max is sitting on the kitchen counter next to where I stand. He is taking the carrots I chop, putting them in his cup and then tipping them into the steamer. At 17 months he understands not to touch the knife. When he moves his hand too near I say “Ouch!”, he repeats and pulls his had away promptly.
Hugo is lying in the front room on the rug in front of the roaring fire. He’s doing Reading Eggs on our new tablet, a Surface 2. (I love that we can finally do Reading Eggs on a tablet and it isn’t such a hit and miss as on my Nexus) He is getting on nicely. We’ve agreed that he finishes three lessons before he can go to the Reading Eggs Arcade or Shop. It’s lovely listening to him repeating the words, the spelling and hearing “well done!” from the app so often.
Angelina is upstairs floating in a bath full of water and peppermint scented bubbles, courtesy of Olbas. Poor Poppet has been ill all day, any food or drink has come up shortly after consumption. She’s even missed out on the much anticipated Moshi Monster Movie premier. She’s been in the bath for the past hour and asked for a story CD when I went to check on her just before I started chopping vegetables. She’s listening to the stories from Animal Tales, a Barefoot Book collection.
Poor Dadonthebrink is also ill. He’s in bed. He’s held the fort with an ill Angelina this morning.
Half the family will just be sniffing the gorgeous foods I’m making and sticking to plain boiled potatoes
It’s not how I imagined this Sunday afternoon, the first Sunday of Advent.
Yet I am still grateful for all we have, the quiet moments and the opportunity to sit down as a family to a special candle lit dinner little later.