It was a normal Thursday evening and we were sitting in the car waiting for my 8 year old to finish football training. “Have you got any food Mum?” said my five year old daughter who despite having demolished two bowls of pasta and a pot of trifle was complaining of being hungry.
“Only the shopping but you have had your tea so you’ll have to wait until we get home,” I said.
She glared at me, but accepted my decree and went back to watching Lego Batman on her Amazon Fire.
At he end of the session I went to collect big brother. I could see the car from the pitch so let little sister stay in the warmth. We were not gone for long. But it was long enough for trouble. I opened the back door and realised that something wasn’t quite right. The car stank of strawberries. And bananas. I looked at my daughter. Her hair was hanging in front of her face like a curtain and her cheeks were shining with sticky, dewy liquid. She was lolling in her car seat drowsily like a baby in a milk coma.
“What have you done?” I asked even though it was obvious. She had climbed into the boot and gone through the shopping, eating two bananas and a punnet of strawberries.
“I told you not to eat any of this.” I said trying to be outraged. Her brother burst into hysterical laughter.
“I was going to make you some strawberries and ice cream at home, but its too late, you have eaten them all.”
“On no Mummy. I didn’t know,” she wailed and immediately started to cry. Her brother enjoyed this immensely – then realised he wouldn’t be having strawberries either. “You are the worst sister ever,” he yelled and began to cry because he was tired, he didn’t score any goals and as it was the end of term and he was generally exhausted. They both cried all the way home. Sigh.