“I love you, Mummy,” said Miss5, clasping her mother’s face between her hands.
Tracey had been lying on the lounge when Miss5 decided to make her day. It was one of those lovely moments you live for as a parent because it was totally random.
As was the next bit.
Still cupping Tracey’s face, a furrow appeared in our daughter’s forehead and her eye’s narrowed. She leaned in to get a better look at something.
“Mummy,” whispered Miss5 conspiratorially. “You got a beard.”
But clearly it wasn’t said softly enough because before Tracey could recover from this another of our children jumped into the discussion.
“No, she hasn’t!” said Miss7 at the top of her lungs, rushing over to the lounge and frowning at Tracey in a similar fashion to her sister.
“That’s right,” agreed Tracey in a nasally voice because her face was still held in a vice grip by Miss5, who is surprisingly strong for someone who can’t even manage to carry her own school bag to the car.
Tracey felt a surge of gratitude towards our third youngest for jumping to her defense.
That didn’t last any longer than the warm fuzzy from the original ‘I love you, Mummy’.
“It’s a moustache,” Miss7 told Miss5 knowingly.
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs”