'What did you have at school for lunch?' I ask my elder son.

We are all exhausted. I come back from work as early as I can, but the raising at dawn every day takes its toll on the boys. The bus ride is tiring, especially as Pest n.1 is confined to the 'late' run. The homework needs to be done. Dinner. A little playtime. Bath. The schedule of a busy life I chose when I left the cocooned trophy wife standards behind.

I look at my children's tired faces and see, etched there, my guilt.

'A baguette.'

'A baguette!' I remark. 'Do you know that we pay quite a lot of money for your canteen?'

Silence. I am about to apologise for my outburst. He has bathed, done his homework and set the table, all by himself. Not fair to complain about what should be entirely his choice. I have been bullied about my choices, whether about food, clothes or friends, throughout my childhood. I shan't do the same to Pest n.1.

Then he speaks.

'Shall I have TWO baguettes then?'

I laugh and throw my kitchen cloth at him.

I learn from my boys every day. I try my best, and make of my life what I can. The life I chose.

I should have TWO baguettes of life too. Or one, if I want.

It's entirely up to me.