16 January 2005

All that stuff.

My Imogen, the youngest child at 8 years old, has gone through a two year period of thinking that 'kissing and all that stuff' is seriously yukky. If there's a happy ending kiss on the telly, even in a Barbie cartoon movie, she covers her eyes, cringes and asks to be told when its over. Walking home from school, the number of boys from her class that call across and wave is remarkable, all of them with sheepish grins, yet she waves back innocently without half the enthusiasm.

Anyhow, she has sorted her life out again.

She wants to be a teacher and a mummy and a pop star and an actress. She is also, she tells me, going to adopt a child so as to avoid all the kissing and getting married nonsense.
The joy of all this is that her little face frowns slightly and her squeaky little voice takes on a slightly serious tone, as if to say that this statement has been well considered and it is incredibly hard not to smile as she speaks.

I hope this blog is still here when she discovers boys!

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