Toddlers are good at throwing you curve balls. Just when you start to think arduous tantrums have become de riguer, they go and surprise you by behaving like joyous, giggling delights.
Today I whisked Samuel off to Vauxhall City Farm where we laughed at cute gambolling lambs and chased chickens. Shortly after that we were unceremoniously thrown out of Vauxhall City Farm, because it turned out that Vauxhall City Farm was not actually open to the public today and we had, to all intents and purposes, broken in. I thought it was a bit quiet, to be fair, but they really shouldn't have left that gate ajar.
Anyway, we were in Vauxhall to say hello to my fabulous old work friends and Samuel didn't half love the attention. He didn't grumble once on the train there or back, and then when got home he instigated a raucous rolley poly game on the disco floor tiles in our kitchen. Today I felt pretty darn lucky to have this little partner in crime. Breaking and entering, to be precise.
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