I'm tear arsing round Yorkshire in school-holiday traffic (which is a blessing if you read between the lines), juggling so many balls I'd be surprised if I could find my own arse in a snow storm amidst all the chaos. And yet when I walk in the door after the journey home from work, collecting child and Husband en-route, I put on the 'face' as I like to call it, and prepare a meal while supervising the painting of great works of art by the little one (which apparently include her face).
At the precise moment I realise I'm burning the sauteed spuds because my back is turned to feed the dog and open the post, I see THIS big smile of Grace - splashes of paint and joy across her face, and I think for a moment how it's all worth it.
(And then of course I set the alarm for 5.30am again tomorrow morning and I dig deep in the basement of my being to breathe in the joy and let go of the stress of quick-fire round that epitomises my Monday to Friday life).
Chardonnay? Because I'm worth it!
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