Dear Jip,

This afternoon was fun. We cycled through Amsterdam, with Rosie on the front humming along to the motion, and you on the back, moving recklessy from one side to the other to get a view. We were on our way to find 'superheroe' shoes, with spikes, as you said you REALLY wanted after I had described the ones I had seen in the sale. Unfortunately they didn't have those shoes in size 4,5 years old, so we continued on our quest on this bustling xmas shopping day. We went to another shop. But there you insisted all shoes were DUMB, except the yellow and blue ones with lights and, yes spikes on the bottom. But alas, these also were not in your size. It was round about this point that you started demanding a present, stipulating that shoes and clothing did not fall into this category. I said No, and that it was nearly Xmas and maybe you would get a present then.You would have to wait. Basically you ignored this answer and every two minutes you came to ask me if I would get you something you had seen; the wooden shield, the pirate flag..in the meantime I was feeling very hot and uncomfortable in my heavy coat, running around after Rosie in the busy shop, who was enthusiatically pulling every doll in sight off its shelf and not cooperating at all when I tried to squeeze her rather broad feet into a pair of narrow FEMININE pink party shoes. Flustered is an accurate description. You probably didn't notice.

I repeated my Xmas argument. I even brought up the size of your toy collection and the million children who have nothing more than a cardboord box to play with (YES, the time is there!). You were not impressed. Your volume went up. IT WAS NOT FAIR. Why couldn't you have a present TODAY?! I just repeated myself. NO, Jip NO. NO. Your whining turned into a wail. You screamed and you shouted. It was then that I left my body and hovered above the scene for a while, just watching with amazement and curiosity. IS THIS MY CHILD? IS THIS NORMAL AT THIS AGE? WHAT ARE WE TEACHING HIM? It was time to go. You threatened with a sit-in, scowling, your arms folded and your feet apart, standing in front of the door. You sobbed all the way back, explaining that your toy collection just needed somthing new, and stopped only when it was time to choose dinner at the Italian trattoria. No cooking for your mother tonight.

You are in bed now. As usual I told you that I love you very much, even when I am angry. Which is true. I am still glad you are in bed though. Tomorrow is a non-present day again. Please understand.


Love Mama xxx