You know you're doing a good job when...

Picture the scene.

Boys #1 and #2, saying goodbye to a friend who had kindly looked after them whilst I went to the gym to glow prettily for a hour...

Note: this glow was induced not by exercise, but by terror whilst using a fearsome new machine at the gym. It is supposedly a wonder treatment for wobbly tummies, but is in reality a torturous version of a treadmill, with not one but two moving conveyor belts. Yep, one for each foot, (and they both tilt up and down as you walk on them - not simultaneously or in the same direction, oh no, that would be easy), either or both of which - given my lack of natural coordination - will throw me off in an untidy messy heap on the floor if I take my eyes off it's 'treadles' for more than a moment.

...Boy #1 reached up to hug the friend as she left. She used to be his nanny, so he has known her since he was 6 months old. She is rather better endowed than I. You know what's coming, don't you? As I watched in hysterical horror, instead of pecking her on the cheek as normal, he plunged his face into her bosoms - and blew a tremendous raspberry.

Thank heavens for small mercies. At least he did it now, when after she left we could have a sensible conversation about appropriate and inappropriate behaviour - and not at her wedding, where he's a part of the bridal party in a few weeks time...