Tuesday, 6 December 2011


This morning O and I got back from the market at about 10.15, I sat him on my knee to take his shoes off and he snuggled up and fell asleep. So I snuggled up and fell asleep too. Impromptu sleepy cuddles with my little man, when it comes to happiness, my happiness, things don't get much better than that.

Both the mini-beasts love cuddling up, to me, to Fanf, to each other, at any opportunity at the moment. I love it too. I love cuddles. Talking with Vic recently, she said her mother outlaw had told her she shouldn't cuddle her son, Theo, too much. Too much? Is there such a thing as too much cuddling? While my kids want me to cuddle them I shall. And I'll probably keep cuddling them when they don't want me to anymore.

We even have a little mantra in our house:

Kiss, Caress, or Cuddle.

To avoid other less nurturing forms of bodily contact, such as biting, kicking, hitting, sticking fingers up noses (both your own and others) and, most weirdly, licking.

Yesterday, on the phone, Matilda informed her Great Nana Iris that she had 'really cuddles' in her pocket that she was going to give her for Christmas. A pocketful of 'really cuddles', I think that's what I'd like for Christmas too.


  1. I want a pocketful of 'really cuddles' for Christmas as well.


  2. Kiss, caress or cuddle. I like that.


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