Gold fish, silver fish, big blue pond

Yesterday Audrey picked up a piece of paper. It was a leaflet with a picture of a fish on it. "Oh no!" she said. "Got to put it in the pond!" We were supposed to be heading out. I'd struggled to get her dressed, struggled to get myself dressed, struggled to get her to put her welly boots on and keep them on. We had things to do, Important Things by boring, grown up standards. I was tired, we were late. I was boring and grown up and fed up. "I don't think we've got a pond, darling," I sighed.

"The pond!" she insisted. And I had a quick and slightly stern mental chat with myself about exactly what is really important, about the kind of parent I want to be and the kind of life I want to live and... well, long story short, we've spent the last 24 hours constructing one freaking awesome pond in our living room, guys.

We did still go out. We did still get things done. But in between those boring, grown up things we dyed rice blue with food colouring. We cut big pieces of sugar paper and taped them together. We've ripped up tissue paper, we've spread glue around with a little plastic red glue stick, and we've stuck fish shaped stickers onto paper fish.

What's the point of all the grown up have-to-do stuff? It's this, isn't it? Paper ponds and fancy fish. Mess and creativity and pretend, crammed into the spaces between all the ordinary brickwork of our ordinary lives.

This morning Audrey is adding some finishing touches to the pond while wearing nothing but a rocket ship pyjama top and a pair of sunglasses. She accidentally hit me in the face with a plastic red glue stick, and when I flinched she laughed. "No," I said, let her hearing how sad and hurt I was that she found my pain funny. I tried to use her own language. "That hurt me. Big bump, ow."

I saw her face change. "Poor Mama," she said. "Oh Mama. Make it better." She stroked my face where she'd hit it, the same way I do for her when she walks into the rocking chair or trips on a toy. She kissed the top of my head. "There. 's that better? Big hug." She folded herself into my arms. "Thank you, baby," I murmured.

"You're WELCOME, Mama. Now come on - hide!"