Page 33 of A Manny for Christmas

This morning, I’m on fire. In fact, you may call me Mrs Doubtfire.

I overlapped briefly with Molly and the kids yesterday afternoon. Her early start in the kitchen allows her to finish each day in time to pick them up from school. Before I went off to find my brother and have a drink and then dinner with him, we all sat down at the kitchen table.

Molly made us all grilled cheese on toast that was so bloody good I nearly lost my mind. She’s sticking with her promise to bake me a bread and butter pudding this weekend, using chocolate chip brioche, no less. I’ll be the size of a house by Christmas if I’m not careful. Thank God my brother made it clear last night that there’s plenty to keep me active on the farm, namely helping with the annual repair of miles of dry stone walls.

The kids seemed pretty knackered after school, especially Daisy. Nevertheless, Molly and I forged gamely ahead with a parenting chat centring on how to make the mornings more pleasant and efficient for everyone.

And yes, sitting around a kitchen table and playing happy families with the once-love-of-my-life and her two kids was deeply, deeply unsettling. It reminded me of that movie with Nicholas Cage. The one where he wakes up in a parallel universe where he married his first love…

Oh, yeah.

The Family Man.

Enjoyed the movie.

Not remotely interested in reenacting it.

Anyway, I did what I thought was a decent job of pulling my weight. It felt important to put on a united front for these two monsters (mainly the smaller one, to be fair). To show them they didn’t have us outnumbered. That Molly and I were on the same page.

‘This morning wasn’t fun for anyone,’ I told them. ‘Daisy cried. A lot. Toby didn’t cry, but he looked very sad. And I kind of cried whensomebodykicked me in the nose. I had tears in my eyes, anyway.’

This earned me a giggle. Daisy splayed her fingers over her open mouth, half in horror, half in delight.

‘How about we make it our mission to have fun tomorrow instead?’ I asked.

Toby’s eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of fun?’

‘TV?’ Daisy piped up.

‘No. No TV. But fun could mean… pancakes.’

The kids gave me a gratifyingooooh.

‘I can confirm that this guy makes seriously good pancakes,’ Molly told them. ‘But I’m not sure you’ll have time for that.’

The kids emitted a comedic groan in unison.

‘If you guys promise me that you’lltryto bring a positive attitude in the morning, then I will promise to get up early and make a stack of pancakes before I wake you up,’ I said.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ Molly protested, but I shook my head at her.

‘That’s okay. I’m happy to do it, if it means I have a chance of seeing some smiley faces, instead of faces that look like this.’ I pulled my lower eyelids and mouth down at the corners into a grotesque sad face. The kids screeched.

‘That was both of you this morning,’ I said, and Daisy guffawed.

‘Was not!’

‘Was so.’ I pulled the face again and did my least flattering impression of her, pitching my voice to cartoon levels of shrillness.‘They’re all twisted! Argh!’

Toby practically fell off his chair with laughter while Daisy’s mouth made an O of horrified amusement.

‘You sounded like a mean baby,’ she complains.

‘Yousounded like a mean baby this morning, too, to be fair. But let’s not dwell on it. What else? How about some Christmas music and silly dancing while we get dressed?’

Molly raised her eyebrows. ‘Should be interesting. Why don’t we show Max how to put your tights on properly, Daze?’

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