There are brownie days. Days when a meek muffin leaden with flax just won’t cut it.
Last week we had quite a few of them. There must have been a glitch in the universe, because somehow, David Bowie, circa 1986 as the Goblin King came and stole my child. He replaced him with a screeching, head thumping, small bowls of blueberry bircher muesli hurling, Mummy-slapping, Mummy BITING, nap refusing banshee. The only thing that really pleased this tiny tyrant was raising a quarter sized Yankees bat (courtesy of The Hungry One’s sojurn to New York) aloft and slamming it down on the floor. You know you haven’t had enough sleep when …
