I love Sunday mornings. While most of my friends are languishing in hangover hell with the exceptional few hitting the gym or going for their morning jogging sessions, my hubby and I are usually having a half asleep squabble revolving around who is going to make the morning tea. This usually starts out with a loving good morning followed by me insisting that it surely must be his turn and invariably ending with a game of rock-paper-scissors which I mostly always lose. I know the game is rigged.. I just don’t know how.

This Sunday morning is a bit different. At the moment Hubby is away  for a few days which makes even little routines like that seem extra special and are therefore missed terribly. Instead I woke up this fine Sunday morning (still dark, 6 degrees, I swear I can still hear the popping of fireworks) and Jimmy was snuggling next to me and still asleep. My initial motherly reaction of ‘Ah cute look at my little angle sleeping peacefully’ was quickly slapped in the back of the head by the morning grump muttering ‘tea, must have tea to live!’. I decided it would be a good idea for me to be a good parent and encourage the development of responsibility into my child while also encouraging his love of tea making and suggested that he pop on over to the kitchen, switch on the kettle and get his dear old ma a cuppa. I was greeted by a snort that sounded suspiciously like he was laughing at me followed by “no thanks it’s OK love you bye”.

While I couldn’t help but marvel at the 11 year old semi-conscious balance of rejection mixed with charm that is sure to come in handy for him in later life, I sighed loudly, shuffled off to the kitchen, and after playing rock paper scissors with the kettle, reluctantly made myself a cuppa.