That'll do

After every meal, the ritual is that I get a face cloth, wet it, and wash Emily's hands and face. She knows this, expects it. In fact, if I'm too slow getting to that stage, she'll say: "Mummy, face?"

Last night we ate dinner on the deck. The face cloths are kept in the kitchen. She must have realized she was in a bind. I was standing next to her high chair starting to remove her tray when she said "Mummy, shirt?", grabbed the hem of my rather nice top... and wiped her face with it.

Resourceful, hygenic. That's my girl.