Miss M confused both my parents today with one of her M-isms.

We spent the afternoon with my fab friend Nic and her gorgeous little boy C who is about 16 months old.

As the weather was fine we headed off to nearby Sherwood Pines which is a beautiful setting for picnics, walking, cycling and also rock concerts. (We’ve seen Jools Holland and his Rhythm and Blues Orchestra there twice and Pulp there once.)

So we’re walking down a woodland path sheltered by lofty – you’ve guessed it – pine trees, and walled with an abundance of ripening blackberries, heather, bracken and spiteful stinging nettles.

Eurghhhh.

My hands are tingling uncomfortably just looking at them.

Yet they bring back such fantastic childhood memories of adventures in the woods, playing coldits with the guides, following trails, discovering secret paths, and well, just being out there, in the fresh air, free.

I think our only concerns on those days were finding the best spot to build a den and, avoiding stinging nettles…

As I’m strolling down memory lane, Miss M is strolling through the vegetation with gusto, enjoying the fact that nobody is holding her reins, or her hand.

This is a rarity.

She’s allowed to run off and play on the park but we hold hands, pushchair or reins at all other times as there is so much traffic (human and vehicular) around most of the time that I daren’t let her go.

Then suddenly she’s on her knees.

I pick her up, brush her down and glance warily at the nettles that cushioned her fall.

She’s quiet for a moment,

then she gasps and looks at me fearfully,

then she’s writhing in my arms.

And I remember the sting. The hot hurt. The terrible tingling itch.

Miss M, sobbing: “Owwwwwwwwww, M’s leg, M’s leg.”

I sit her in her pushchair while Nic goes in search of dock leaves and Miss E pulls faces for C who is getting upset at M’s crying.

And we cuddle her and calm her down while tending to the raised white lumps that pattern two little red knees.

Dock leaves.

It’s so amazing that nature rears these antidotes so close to their poisonous nemesis.

Miss M spends the rest of the afternoon with dock leaves hanging out of her leggings as we do our her best to take the sting away.

Every few minutes she stops to check that they are still there.

By the time I arrive at my mum’s for a quick cuppa Miss M is calm, collect and very serious.

After she and E hug Granny and Grandad she goes on to explain…

Miss M: “My been to d’ park with Nic and baby C, and my climb on a pider and my got a pickle on my knee.”

…all in one breath.

I look at E and she grins conspiratorially at me.

Granny and Grandad look at M, frowns puckering their foreheads, and Granny says,

Granny: “What was on your knee M?”

Miss M: “My got a pickle on M’s knee. My got pickled and de leaves went in M’s trousers.”

Granny: “Oh dear M, erm, did it hurt?”

Miss M: “Yes, and my got a leaf in M’s trousers, make it all better.”

Granny: “Ooooh.”

Granny and Grandad nod seriously and watch Miss M run off into the playroom.
Then they turn to me grinning, and slightly bemused.

“Nettles.” Miss E and I say in unison.

“Ahhhh.”