After I had dragged Ella out of the supermarket because she refused to hop off the hand rail thing, she stopped to adjust her sandal outside and we had the most bizar conversation.
Ella – I’m not going to kill you mum.
Me – That’s good.
Ella – Mum, is getting killed fun?
Me – Is getting killed fun? No, I don’t think getting killed is really fun.
(For some reason I do enjoy responding to her questions in a lukewarm manner as if they are questions ‘normal’ people ask eachother all the time.)