Bunnykins
Perhaps it's because my daughter has just gone back to university for her final year that I sense change is really coming now and I can't slow it down; it's the end of something and the beginning of something new. Trying to keep myself busy I decided to sort through some old boxes in the garage, but I didn't get further than the first box which was full of my children's drawings; each one as familiar today as if it had been handed to me for the first time only minutes ago. So special. I'm so glad I kept them. Next came little fat painty hand-prints on card with tiny swinging calendars hanging beneath, first stabs at writing, 'golden gang' certificates, a scruffy cub sweatshirt, covered in very badly sewn on badges (I never could sew), and primary school reports, predicting with uncanny accuracy, each child's passion and possible future direction - they were so little then, how could they have known? At the very bottom of the box was a familiar shape wrapped in newspaper. I was so happy to see it again. This worn and faded old friend was with us through every minute of those early years - and my husband's early years as well. As I held this precious bowl in my hands the memories flooded back, all our homes in London and Devon, teatimes, highchairs, broccoli wars, birthdays, tears, giggles, tantrums, joy - it holds all the stories. Old and scuffed it may be but we will never part with it.