My Kitty loves Minnie Mouse. I’m not quite sure how that happened as I wasn’t brought up at all Disney, and even H’s family who allowed a little more mouse shaped magic were fairly firmly on the Winnie the Pooh spectrum.
But Kit found Minnie, loved her, cuddled her and, in a beautiful demonstration of the power of small daughters over beloved fathers, persuaded H to let her bring a little soft fluffy incarnation into our lives when we were in London last summer.
As obsessions go, there are worse and I’ll admit to indulging her a little bit by way of a Minnie cartoon on my phone when I need a few minutes of sitting still so that I can nurse her little sister. Her absolute favourite (this week) has Minnie repeatedly try to deliver a freshly baked apple pie to an oblivious Daisy, and Kitty’s taken to answering her play phone (and any real one she can get her hands on) with:
“‘ello! Minnie! I makey apple pie!”
So I did what any other mother with a surfeit of apples in the fridge would do; I made an apple pie for pudding.
And her response:
“No apple piiiiiiiiiiie!”
Of course. The indefatigable logic of toddlers strikes again.
But when we pulled out the end of a tub of ice cream to go with it; well that was a different story. If Kitty likes Minnie Mouse, she loves ice-cream. Right down to the very last tiny morsel off the scoop.