The shortness of life is a thng which is always true - but seems to come home with greater force at some times than others. It's not just funerals. like my Grandmas which we attended recently, that enhance that feeling either, the progress of my kids has the same effect.
Young Boris is busy planning his first holiday without us (off to the Grandparents: London branch), Norris has his first wobbly tooth (but surely he only grew the first set a few weeks ago!), and now today little Doris is three years old!
The speed of the passage of time suddenly dawned on Mrs Hideous, when at church this morning, little Doris marched off with the Sunday School children for the first time. "I am a big girl now" she will very seriously inform anyone who asks. Mrs Hideous also pointed out that for eight-and-half years we have deposited children in the creche room at church - and that particular era has drawn to a close! Is the accompanying wistfulness representative of a love of young children or an inward horror at such tokens of the approach of middle-age?
Little Doris is completely unaware of such parental emotions. She has been given a dressing-up costume which is a flouncy-Cinderella, complete with golden-tiara. She is parading around the house fully persuaded that she is a princess, a view endorsed by the delivery of a huge pink 'princess-castle' birthday cake, personally sculpted by Lord and Lady Lucan.
Happy Birthday little Doris!