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True Bliss

If I have ever known it, it occurred this evening.

Mrs Coastalblog is out for a well deserved night out with the girls, leaving me and the boy to our own devices (consisting largely of him shouting "trains daddy" at me and then playing with duplo). We cook dinner. It's very much a joint effort. Ethan likes to stand on a chair by the stove when I cook. This evening, he decides that it's down to him to make dinner. I merely chop, and hand him ingredients which he then lashes in the pan, occasionally yelling "more chicken daddy" or "more tomatoes", inexpertly stirring and yelling "spoon". I, more routinely used to barking at at k.p's and wait staff am very much the sous to his two foot nine, two year old chef de cuisine.

We dished it up, and sat and ate our dinner in a companionable manner. He ate the lot, then grinned at me and pronounced "my dinner".

Seriously people, if you have a better example of sheer, utter, unnalloyed heaven, I'd like to hear it.

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