The Chocolate Fudge Cake Cha Cha Cha

A recent addition to our kitchen was a fabulous personalised print capturing our ‘family rules’. We sat round the table one Friday evening, buy the princess, the monster and of course Super Daddy, throwing into the mix some rules or principles we felt we needed to confirm as being important to our family. The basics are in there about being kind, laughing lots and always saying I love you. ‘Stand back from the tv’ and ‘no shoes on the sofa’ also made the cut, along with ‘dance for your pudding’.

Now, where this came from I can’t quite remember, but sometime, not that long ago, it became a running joke that if you wanted pudding in our house you had to dance for it. It might have been prompted by the new shapes that the monster had started pulling which flabbergasted us all. Man, that boy has rhythm! It might also have been that I felt justified in having afters if I’d already had a little calorie burning booty shake session in the kitchen first. It was most probably Super Daddy winding the kids up, but anyway, it stuck.

This seems to have been the rule, only second to ‘always say I love you’ which the monster reminded me just this morning, that we are very good at remembering. It happens involuntarily, once the forks and knives have been placed on clean plates, the radio gets switched on, volume loud and the kitchen becomes disco inferno. Better dancing equals better pudding. If you want something chocolatey and gooey, you really need to go for it. It’s all very cute.

Today, being Good Friday, a Bank Holiday and a rare day when all four of us were in the same place with nothing more than spending a day as a family on the agenda, we hopped on the train, into ‘our capital city’ as the monster says, and off to the museum for the afternoon. A quick spot of lunch in the very lovely brassiere first and we’d be sorted. Mini burgers and buckets of chips for the winks, luscious Italian focaccia for us. Just perfect.

Until forks and knives were placed on clean plates. Without saying a word, the princess and the monster took to the floor. And they danced. They danced and they danced and they danced. It was very sweet. The man at the table next to us gave the princess a pound.

There was no pudding. There were very embarrassed faces from Super Daddy and I, and lots of hissing through smiles, ‘sit down!’

‘We’re dancing for our pudding!’ they cried.

Oh dear.

But somewhere in my heart, I feel proud. They remembered the rules apply to our lives not just our kitchen.

Dance away my babies, dance away.

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