My oh-so-nearly-four-year-old has recently entered the obsessive land of dinosaur love.
She has a favourite book that belonged to Keith as a child, and she can stare at the page where the T-Rex is viciously disemboweling the Stegosaurus for long, loving minutes. She marks this page with a green clothes peg so she can come back to it easily.
When she's upset she says 'I have felt this sadness longer than a Diplodocus.' And when we play Doctors she is invariably at the clinic because a dinosaur bit her leg off.
Birthday party tomorrow. I've been freezing tarts, constructing fairy cakes, wrapping parcels, shopping for stickers, and digging out the Best Dress. Okay, from the hand-washing basket. But it's been nicely aired.
Most importantly: today I've been working on the dino-cake. I hope he doesn't scare the other children, and I hope the bloodied pig doens't offend the vegetarian, but my aim is to make joyful the heart of my tiny emo, so I went for the bloody fangs of death.
Luckily I have a scientist at hand for pattern-making.
Poor Tyrannosauus had to step aside for dinner prep.