There’s something comforting about routines, with the familiar. And it invariably is the small things. My toddler wakes up in the morning and he no longer wants to be in his crib. He wants to get on to our bed, lie there and warble. Kick his leg against the headboard, against us. He is thrown if one of us gets up before he has finished with his baby-talk.
It is not just babies. For me it is getting up in the morning and putting on the water for my ginger lemon tea. Pouring it out into my old chipped mug that screams coffee on all sides. Sitting at the table, sipping the hot liquid, doing nothing, be undisturbed for a few minutes before the day begins. And I am happy. In control.
It is not just babies. For me it is getting up in the morning and putting on the water for my ginger lemon tea. Pouring it out into my old chipped mug that screams coffee on all sides. Sitting at the table, sipping the hot liquid, doing nothing, be undisturbed for a few minutes before the day begins. And I am happy. In control.
My morning cuppa.
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