Yesterday I went to Henry's medieval feast at school. His very enthusiastic teacher has been covering medieval England since January and Henry got to be the "village" bishop. He built a plaster cathedral earlier in the year and had to do a presentation in bishop's garb. Yesterday was the culmination of the unit featuring a feast of chicken, carrots, bread, pie and apple juice masquerading as wine. They also had a knighting, a joust, a battle re-enactment, a dance and poetry reading. See? Enthusiastic.
So, I was volunteering by handing out food and drinks and a sweet yet forward little girl approached me for more "wine".
"Who's mum are you?"
"I'm Henry's mum."
"Henry's mu...? But you... and he... he looks just like you" (said quietly as she was walking away)
I'm so used to this reaction that I just laugh it off now. It was actually quite funny. When my kids were younger I used to cry about it. Now I've become all philosophical and shoulder shruggy about it. So the kids don't resemble me. Meh. I know, and more importantly they know, they're my kids. But there's still a small part of me that feels jealous when I see a mother and her spitting image brood go by. Out of 3 kids, it would have been nice to have just one "Mini Me".