Max never ceases to surprise me; he has done all his life. I can’t explain why, it’s not that I have unrealistically low expectations of him, quite the contrary, he just has a habit of bringing something out of the bag that you’d least expect.
I’ve not been that well lately, plagued by the curse of migraines. Today I just couldn’t make it out of bed. It was just Max and me a home this morning, Max is more than capable of amusing himself, so we were both happy doing our own thing. At twelve noon on the dot, the thump, thump of my eldest son’s footsteps could be heard slowly making his way up the three flights of stairs to our attic bedroom.
Such exertion is quite a big deal for Max, he’d never consider making such a trip if it wasn’t of the utmost importance, and for a moment there I did start to fret. So you can imagine my surprise and delight when he appeared in my bedroom gripping on tightly to a plate of food and a yogurt pot.
‘Hi Mum, I didn’t want you to starve, so I’ve brought you some lunch.’
‘Oh Max! Thank you my love, how kind of you’ I beamed.
Beautifully presented on a white china plate was a couple of dollops of taramasalata and some wafer thin melba toast fanned out all posh. Alongside was a vanilla low fat yogurt and accompanying spoon.
That boy is a poppet.
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
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