After the service we headed into the hall for biscuits and juice. The little people rushed for the biscuits.  As it was so close to lunchtime only two biscuits each were permitted. And, the little man has a ritual of getting a biscuit for him, and a biscuit for me. Then he returns for his second biscuit later. Today I had to take a detour to talk to someone and told them to head on in. I was gone for only a few minutes and it was obvious that something major had happened. The little man was in floods of tears and inconsolable. The lovely Sharon explained; he had accidentally eaten my biscuit. My heart fell apart. Do I need to point out that it was not because my biscuit was gone? He was standing there waiting and simply got lost in the moment. One biscuit gone. Oh look, there is biscuit number two. The lovely Sharon and I tried to calm him down and reassure him that there are plenty of biscuits. He began to breathe more smoothly again and seemed placated by the idea of a biscuit mission. The lovely Sharon walked him across the hall with purpose, then they walked back with him in pieces, sobbing and inconsolable. Apparently there were no chocolate biscuits left and the original one he chose for me was a chocolate biscuit. This was a roller-coaster of emotions for the both of us.

 

I sat down with him on the floor at the edge of the hall and held him as we watched his siblings running and screaming, oblivious to the biscuit saga.

 

Calmer now, he said he was thirsty.  We walked back across the hall and got a cup of orange juice each. While there, he was presented with a plate and asked if he wanted a biscuit. He looked at me with a question in his eyes. He had done the maths; his biscuit and mine so close to lunch. I nodded, of course he could have another biscuit. Then, with one swift motion lacking any hint of thought or hesitation, he grabbed a biscuit and snapped it in two. He handed me half and  my heart fell apart again.