When I am not busy chasing adverbials followed by ‘noun phrase + to-infinitive clauses’ I occasionally throw the odd glance at my children, and ask myself how they’ve been in the past months. Right now, I confess,  they are a couple of short people living in the house. Their rooms resemble the junk yard of someone’s uncle; their shifting glances suggest they’re not so sure about who I am or what this lady represents any more (other than screeching on about having to absorb cultural obligations like reading A Christmas Carol, because it’s appropriate this time of year).

Speaking of motherly love, I pulled a mean trick on my youngest son today. It was late afternoon and he was having an early supper of macaroni with a tomato sauce I made this morning in between wrestling with assignments. It was nice, but he didn’t want it because of all the grapes he’d eaten already. I said: “if you don’t want it, I’ll eat it” and so, good son that he is, he brought the half-eaten plate to my desk, where I was working.

The moment I received it, I knew I wanted him to stay long enough to also take the plate away again, so I grabbed it and at the same time said, “I have something for you, don’t go away.”

Children are wonderful creatures. Shall I take a moment to digress, and tell you that their simplicity and spontaneity is what turns our world, makes the bitterest histories sweet, reminds us of our mortality. As I sat there, eyes bulging and scoffing like a baby elephant, my son thought he was going to get a present. He lingered, thought about it for a moment, and then asked:

“Is it something useful?”

Oh dear, sweet deception. I knew I was mean. A trickster, a conniving, mischievous mother with hidden agendas. He waited while I ate, trying to swallow my insidious laughter all the while. When I was done, I triumphantly passed him the empty plate, and he knew he’d been had.

Well, it’s almost Christmas anyway.