Jump Jumps

I was awoken this morning by the sounds of my one year old granddaughter finding easter bunnies my visiting niece had left outside my bedroom door. "Jump jumps," she said. "Jump jumps." She doesn't know how to say the name of most animals yet, so she calls them by their actions. Cats are meow meows, chickens are bok boks and dogs are ... well she just pants for 'dog'.

She brought in two lovely purple cadbury bunnies and placed them on my bedside table where she gazed at them adoringly with the hugest smile I think I've ever seen on her face. She then carted them around the house, one under each arm. I was wondering how long they would survive before melting, but I didn't have to worry... she worked out that if she peeled back the foil, the bunnies were made of chocolate.

Oh dear. Well, I tried to restrict the amount of chocolate she had access to, which resulted in very sad, sad tears. "Jump jump," she wailed. The bunnies went into the fridge, minus a couple of ears, and I felt like the wicked witch of the west. After that, her mother organised an easter egg hunt for her, in which she scored about a dozen little chocolate eggs. Easier to dole out little eggs than portions of jump jumps, but needless to say, I had to let her loose on the beach for a while to burn off the sugar.

In hindsight, do I have any advice to parents of little ones at Easter time? Nope. No matter if you try to keep the chocolate available to a minimum, there will always be someone lovingly trying to bring more into your home. Don't fight it, just try to manage it. Remember rule number 2: Don't take yourself too seriously. And rule number 1: Don't take anything too seriously. Life's not permanent- enjoy it while you can.

Cheers,
Groovy Granny