I Love Holding Your Hand in Mine

I love to hold your hands.

We hold hands when we cross the road. In the supermarket I hold your hand so you don’t take anything off the shelf and inadvertently drop it on the floor. While walking to school we hold each other’s hands so you stay close and don’t get too far ahead.

Sometimes I feel like an octopus with two tentacles suctioned on to objects. Those objects can be sticky, sweaty or just plain dirty. But I made them and I love your podgy little digits interlaced with mine (we’ll just be sure to wash before dinner). When my hands are that full of bags, drink bottles and other paraphernalia all I can offer you is my pinky which you grasp like the last lollipop left in the jar.

holding handsOn weekends we divide and conquer. You both love to swap between your dad and I, taking turns to hold onto my daintier version or dad’s masculine alternative. You adore holding onto one of each and swinging through the air after we count 1, 2, 3. Wee! Double hand holding with one of us for whizzies is also an all-time-favourite. I love to see you boys holding hands with each other. Watching my eldest guide his sibling makes me sigh and smile.

When you want to run ahead I have that fleeting feeling of what it will be like when you no longer want or need to have your hand held in mine. Like the lover who leaves on the train while her one true love stands on the platform holding each other’s hand through the open window until the train slowly chugs out of the station. Their fingers slowly slip away from each other in slow motion.

Back to reality and of course there’s the hand tugging and trying to pull away. There’s the refusal and the hiding of hands behind your back, like I can’t reach them back there. The whinging and whining for me to hold your hand as we go up a flight of stairs when I’m already half way up and you’re still on the bottom step should not bother me. The day will come when I’ll be at the bottom asking for your hand.

I don’t know what I would do if I had more children than hands. If you’d like to lend a helping hand and let me know how you deal with the hand-holding scenario with 3+ children I’d love to hear all about it.

I’d love to hold your hands forever.

Image from: here.

I Love You to Bits (and Pieces)

puzzle heartI love all of you-even the bits and pieces.

When it feels like everything is falling apart at the seams love can put anything back together. I don’t know if the same can be said for the excavator with the plastic arm that was bought for $2. Its life is probably on borrowed time. There’s only a certain amount of superglue that can be put on a piece of plastic that is 2mm wide.

Lucky we don’t need superglue to put our boys back together sometimes (although it is used in hospitals instead of stitches when appropriate)! I think we’d need a long-haul liquid transprort truck to deliver it to our house if that were the case. Lucky for Transformer bandaids (plasters) or a strategically placed kiss and a lot of love to make it better. If it’s in between minute and need-to-go-to-the-hospital-right-now we offer to cut it off. That way it won’t hurt anymore, right?

The same can’t be said for my foot when it has a clandestine meeting with a piece of discarded lego that has hunkered down under a dropped blanket. I think I’ll bear the scars of trodden on items for the rest of my years. As for all the other bits and pieces that accumulate in between the sofa cushions, under the sofa and behind the sofa I’d love a dollar for every single one I pick up.

We do not have an Ikea showroom home but we have a place for everything and everything belongs in its place. We have drawers and zip-lock bags, containers and boxes. The one thing that drives me the most nuts of all:one puzzle piece missing from a box and not realising until you can’t find that last piece to complete the darn thing.

I guess it’s fortunate really that kids don’t come apart. They probably would actually leave their brain behind if that were the case. Even though they are not made to be stored compactly in a compartment they can certainly be a human puzzle that you can’t find that annoying, frustrating and most important missing piece to.

Lucky I love a challenge. Maybe I’ll go check that puzzle piece-eating sofa.

Love ya to bits, munchkins.

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles from: here.

I Love You Anyway

anywayAnytime, anywhere, anyhow.

Anywhere you go, my love will follow you.

Anytime you need a shoulder, please lean on mine.

Anything you need, just ask.

There isn’t anyone who loves you more than I do.

I’ll love you in anyplace-first, second or last.

My heart is full of love for you. Anymore and it will overflow.

That’s a known fact, anyhow!

Anyway you look at it, I love you.

I Love You at the Playground

playground fun, family, active, exercise, play

Oh for the love of playgrounds!

A visit to the local playground affords parents the chance to do many things.

When I’m at any playground with my two children I always try and ensure I do the following things:

  • be as excited about getting there as they are and remain enthusiastic throughout our time there
  • play with them. They might think I’m silly but it’s great for them to see adults (Mum, Dad, Nan, Grandpa, etc) acting like a big kid
  • help them with anything they’re not quite able to do on their own yet.
  • observe them and their interactions with each other and children they don’t know
  • I try to keep my phone in my bag unless it’s a call from my husband-work and everyone else can wait.

We visit a playground close to home at least once a week. We also frequent the school playground at least one afternoon after the bell goes. On weekends we will hunt down a new playground for the kids to explore. It’s pretty awesome to see their little eyes light up when we pull up at one we’ve never been to before especially if we don’t forewarn them.

A new playground to my kids is the equivalent of a trip to the lolly shop. Getting let loose to run, jump, slide, climb, crawl and swing causes a lot less cavaties and there’s no sugar high at the end of our visit. If anything they’ve burned off some excess energy that may have turned into a tantrum or foot stomping argument later on.

My nearest and dearest took mine to the playground this afternoon. I missed this outing but I used the time to do this post without interruptions. It’s great for Dad to share some time with his two boys. He even took our dog as the dog park is right next door. Quite frankly, I think he had an ulterior motive because he is a little tired of ‘watching’ me carry my laptop around like it’s a newborn. So mission accomplished on all fronts today and brownie points to hubby.

I’ll catch you at the playground of love tomorrow.

Image from: here.

I Love You Shadow

shadowYou are my shadow and I love you.

There’s only one small problem with that. You afford me little to no privacy. You’re never quiet and always in constant motion even if I’d like to stop just for a moment.

Shadowing is something I have had to get used to. It won’t last forever so I’ll remain grateful that you always show an interest in what I’m doing. Yes, even when I go to toilet and you rest your head on my lap.

I actually worry now when my shadow slips away from me. He is fast and ingenious knowing that the window of opportunity to create havoc is only open for a limited time. My shadow will try and sneak snacks from the cupboard, use scissors to cut something up into infinitesimal pieces or disappear without out a trace leaving me to comb the house and cajole him into rejoining me.

When night falls and it’s time to hit the hay, my shadow loves me making shadow puppets on the wall. The rabbit and the duck are favourites right now. As long as he doesn’t ask me to try and do a dinosaur we’ll be ok.

My shadow will eventually be content to cast his own shadow and that’ll leave me humming:

Me and my shadow
Strolling down the avenue
Oh, me and my shadow
Not a soul to tell our troubles to
And when it’s twelve o’clock we climb the stairs
We never knock ’cause nobody’s there
Just me and my shadow
All alone and feeling blue

I love my little shadow.

Image from: here.

I Love You in French

frenchFrench was on the language menu for my eldest today.

It was quite hot so we spent the better part of it inside. We did numerous jobs interspersed with fun activities. My daily post is always at the back of my mind and I was contemplating what to write today when I decided that my son and I could use the laptop for something other than blogging or playing games.

I thought it might be interesting to learn ‘I love you’ in another language. I chose French for obvious reasons-it’s the language of love and Paris is supposed to be one of the most love-filled cities in the world. We’ve already covered German so I thought we wouldn’t travel too far from there.

We looked at where France is on an interactive globe we have here at home. We listened to the pronunciation and wrote it down once we’d looked it up on Google. We practised drawing heart shapes and then coloured them in. We used it in conversation throughout the day instead of our customary ‘I love you’s’.

It was fairly basic stuff but he really seemed to enjoy it. I enjoyed it too-connecting with my No. 1 today and learning something together.

Un grand ‘baiser français de air sur les deux joues de moi à vous (A big French ‘mwah’ air kiss on both cheeks from me to you).

Je T’aime my beautiful boy.

Image from: here.

I Love You. You’re a Star!

I love gazing at the stars with the kids.

It feels like forever since we’ve had the chance to do so. The kids are normally off in dreamland after being sprinkled with cosmic dust before the stars begin to twinkle. It’s daylight savings time here for another month before the sun will start to set earlier. Maybe then we’ll have a chance to put the rug out on the lawn and stare at the Milky Way. We love watching for shooting stars, finding the saucepan and the Southern Cross and talking about the galaxy and constellations.

star

On another tangent completely, when we arrived at school this morning my son, who is in reception, found out he was to be the ‘star of the day.’ It’s his first turn this year and being the star carries with it a great deal of responsibility and privilege. The ‘star’ also has a helper who assists them with their duties. The ‘star of the day’ may as well be called ‘teacher’s dogsbody’ or ‘slave’ but to my son he was as close to feeling like the master of the universe as he ever will. His little chest puffed up with pride and it’s the first time this year I’ve had to ask for a kiss and hug before I leave.

In the end I think it’s all about perspective. He’s a star if only for a day in the classroom but he’ll always be a star to me. He’s the brightest star shining in my galaxy. I’m there to make sure he understands that and I hope one day he’ll hold me in the same regard.

Reach up my twinkle, twinkle, little star. Remember I love you even if you can’t quite reach them.

When was the last time you stargazed? Too long? Maybe you can tonight when the moon orbits into your part of the world.

Image from: here.

I Have a Ball Loving You

How much do I love you?

string woolHow long is a piece of string? Twice the length of half the piece of string (apparently).

You can’t measure the love a parent has for their child. Not in any mathematical way. It can’t be measured in money, buckets, with tape measures or calculators. It’s timeless, shapeless and follows no formula. Roman numerals cannot express it and a protractor, compass or scales won’t be of any help either.

Your love for your kids has no definable dimensions-it’s like being tied up in knots. Where’s the beginning and the end?

Maybe it could be measured by how much kids can string us out or by the years that children have their parents’ hearts on a string. Between now and your child cutting those apron strings there’ll probably be times when  you’d like to string ’em up. Sure they’ll happily string along with you now because you control the purse strings. Teaching them to have more than one string to their fiddle or maybe pulling a few strings will hopefully see them have a string of good luck well into adulthood.

For mine the latch string will always be out. They’ll always be welcome as long as they don’t string out their stay.

Thanks for the yarn everyone. Oh, and if you’d like to add anything that can’t be used to measure love, I’ll have a ball reading them all.

I love my boys-no strings attached!

Image from: here.

I Love You Up Hill and Down Dale

hill and dale

I’d climb every mountain-that’s how much I love you.

WARNING: the following contains references to The Sound of Music so if you’re not a fan it’s probably best if you scroll down to the next post. If you are an avid lover of everything related to the Von Trapp’s I’ll apologise now for my attempt at humour.

My boys, husband and I love where we live. We have nature on our doorstep and a view of hills and trees that we try to remember to stop and notice out of the picture windows at the back of our home.

Our hills aren’t alive with the sound of music though. Not unless you count the neighbours across the paddock blaring out, ‘you shook me all night long’ from the truck’s cab when he gets home from work. Then again, we do have kookaburras that frequent our yard, no traffic noise to speak of and the rooster up the hill that Master 2 refers to as the cockle coo.

We don’t sing and dance our way through long grass on hilltops. We race to the top instead and roll down the hill like tumbleweed.

I don’t have any girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes at my humble abode but I do have:

Boys who love digging and playing with trains

Trucks by the boxful and shirts full of stains

Loud little voices and a toddler who clings

These are a few of my favourite things!

And please don’t ask me to sing it. The closest I come to being like Maria is that my middle name is Marie.

Until the sun rises tomorrow: so long, farewell, Aufwiedersehen, goodbye! Luv ya lots.

Image from: here.

I Love Playdough and You

playdoughSquish it, mold it, roll it, love it!

My 2 y.o is having an affair of the heart with playdough.

It’s a daily activity at our place at the moment. Whether I’m home or he has one of the two wonderful Nan’s caring for him in our home, playdough features in his play schedule.

He can happily play with the squishy stuff for an hour or so. Other days he’s happy to have a short rendezvous with the containers of moldable mix.

I enjoy playing with the little guy as he bakes and makes all types of edible delights. The hotdogs, apples and biscuits in an array of colours must look so delectable because he has been known to eat his creations. Now we’re down to just the occasional lick. Thank goodness he’s only ensuring he has appropriate salt levels.

I appreciate that he is developing his fine motor skills as he rolls and shapes. He has a bundle of fun but like most children his age he shows little desire to pack up and abandons his first love in a heart beat. I always ask him to come and clean up and put away all the tools of his trade. The smile it puts on his dial is worth the mess that he makes. Mum’s left with the cast off blobs and bits that make a mini rainbow when collected together. I do love the fact that the easiest way to pick up playdough is with playdough.

So the playdough that was also a favourite for my eldest in the past,  has entertained, amused, delighted and allowed itself to be loved many times over is now looking a little worse for wear. Colours have morphed together, there’s ripples of  green through the red, some are a little crusty edged and many have collected other debris, like crumbs and hair from the kitchen table or floor.

The playdough will continue to be loved until the end of days or until replaced with the dreaded plasticene.

I’m feeling the love for the coloured balls of fun.

Image from: here.

I Love You Both Equally

equalI love both my kids equally.

Out loud, behind closed doors and between my own ears.

They deserve nothing less.

I find it difficult to imagine what life would be like if I had a favourite even if it were only a thought and shared with no-one on the entire planet. That would still affect the way I parent each child. Favouritism would sneak through the cracks even if I tried to stop it.

How can you compare two different people? My boys are chalk and cheese. We had one for Mum, one for Dad and stopped right there (not one for the country-sorry). The eldest is the male equivalent of me in features and temperament. Our youngest is Daddy’s boy through and through. There are times when we see the similarities between them but there are far more differences.

Having said all this I find the youngest easier to ‘deal with’. Maybe it’s because he is second and he has learnt a lot (good and bad) from his brother. He worked out early on what happens if you draw on walls, pick your nose or use your manners. It doesn’t mean that he hasn’t grafittied, used his index finger to remove a boogie or forgotten to say ‘please’. He’s just learnt faster because he’s seen his dad and I communicate with the eldest and picked up the cues.

My youngest is more easy going compared to his sibling who is orderly, precise and a tad high strung. My love for them remains equal though because their personality traits don’t decide what portion of love they get. In fact it’s not even love divided by two. It’s love times two. My one heart is enough to fill both of theirs.

I will never have a favourite.

Mum = Love x 2 in this house.

Image from: here.

I Love Your Socks Off

socks boys I love my boys for socks sake!

Socks make me think of numerous different things about my boys.

When Alpha male arrives home from work he disrobes his feet the moment he sits down. Sometimes they will be balled up and chucked around the room. Even worse still is when one of the kids falls victim to having said socks shoved in their face as they roll around on the ground trying desperately to flee the stinky socks.

Sweaty socks are discarded at the end of the school day for Beta boy. Kappa boy likes transporting half the sandpit inside in his socks (how does the sand get inside the socks?) and taking them off himself to leave a little sand dune in the middle of the carpet.

Socks inside out when it’s time to wash drive me bonkers. Don’t even get me started on toe jam especially with new socks.

On a lighter note, there are all sorts of ‘sock’ sayings too. ‘Bless your cotton socks!’ ‘Sock it to me.’ ‘Stick a sock in it.’ ‘Pull your socks up.’ ‘Knock your socks off.’

My favourite though is the fact that close and wonderful friends of ours, colloquially and affectionately, refer to our family as the ‘Socks’. The first letter of each of our first names spells sock. Hubby’s is the first letter, I’m the last and the kids are in between. We call their posse the ‘beep’ family and, coincidentally, they’re in the same order as us.

Now that I’ve bored your socks off (I know, I know, it’s supposed to be pants).  I’ll leave you in peace to enjoy the rest of your weekend.

Any shocking sock stories to share? Just wanting to vent about odd/lost/missing socks? I’d love to have a yarn with you.

I’ll be here, darning the holes in the boys socks. Gotta love ’em.

Image from: here.

I Love You At Breakfast Time

I love breakfast time with the boys.

Weekday breakfasts are a flurry of toast, milk, cereal, butter and spreads.

Our house rules state that breakfast will be eaten at the table. At least that way the mess is confined to a small space-most of the time. I should be grateful that they are still but that’s the only benefit of breaking the fast in the one location.

Dependant on the food choices of Master 5 and 2, by the time we’re finished this morning ritual there is a combination of debris that need to be removed.

Master 2 likes to sit like a ‘big boy’ with no booster seat on the dining room chair and no bib to boot. His lap becomes a crumb collection point until he gets himself down, at which point he leaves a trail any pigeon would be happy to follow. Master 5 is pretty good. He can now manage to keep his cast-off to a mere 1 metre radius. While all of this is happening I move around the house with my mobile feeding device (bowl and spoon). On a good day I can chew while I do my hair (brush it), get dressed (throw on clothes one-handed) and put away the dishes from the drainer (which have sat there overnight drying).

Upon finishing clean dishes duty it’s time to put more on the dirty side again. Poor sink! It never gets a breather. Discard crusts from toast, try and wash uneaten soggy cornflakes down the sink and rinse milk cups. Move to table, wipe up spilt milk and crumbs, wipe chairs where jam-covered sticky fingers have been and clean floor. Go back to kitchen, put away spreads and wipe down bench in readiness for lunch time. And breathe.

If you’re one of those people who sits with their children at the table to consume your morning menu with your hair all pretty and stain-free clothes on, please share your secret. If there’s a way to achieve this I’m sure I missed that chapter in the parenting manual.

There’s happy tummies leaving the house this morning so I guess that’s all that really matters.

I’ll look forward to the weekend when I can sit with the kids and taste my breaky.

I love my Vegemite kids!

I Love You Big Fella

valentines We interrupt your normal programming schedule to bring you a post about love of another kind. Rest assured, we’ll return you to your regular broadcast tomorrow.

For those of you who have been kind enough to visit my blog, like a post or comment you would already know that all my posts are about my love for my children. If this is your first time visit, this post is not my normal subject as I’ve just suggested.

Today I’d like to share a snippet about my husband. I love him, as I do my children, just differently of course.

When I woke up this morning there were flowers and a card waiting for me on the kitchen bench. I went to flick the kettle on and there was a sticky note on the kitchen blind which was still shut at 6am. The note simply said, ‘I Love You When….’. I opened the blind and there was another note on the window that said, ‘you get a surprise.’ Because it was still dark outside I thought that was the surprise. It wasn’t until the kids were up and I started opening all the curtains and blinds that I looked straight at this massive banner outside our kitchen window.

I was stunned. Hubby knows me so well and realises how much this blogging stuff means to me. He reads all my posts, helps with ideas, is my talking dictionary and my No 1 supporter. As I type now, he sits beside me silently hoping that my laptop and I may soon part company, if only for a little while. The occasional deep sigh comes from the seat beside me. My recent endeavour has taken chunks of time that we would normally share. Even if it’s only to sit in companionable silence and relax after the kids have been tucked in.

I loved my gift almost as much as I love him.

My banner beats a box of chocolates any day in my book.

Luv ya, babe. xoox

 

I Love You Shorty

shortyShort and sweet, I love you.

As my youngest fast approaches being the same height as his older brother it is becoming clear to the eldest that he is not going to be a ‘tall grown-up’. He is on the smaller side compared to some of his classmates. I hear your cries, ‘don’t compare your child to others.’ The problem lies herein. I have no issues with his somewhat lack of vertical development. My son has begun to notice that he doesn’t measure up in the….well….measuring department.

We have conversations about differences between people. Eye, hair and skin colour, where people live, what we eat, etc. Maybe I can sprinkle some magic growth dust on him as he sleeps or have him think tall thoughts. It doesn’t matter to me one iota how tall me may end up. I know I’d rather not give him the standard line that good things come in small packages. I’d just like him to be ‘okay’ with who he is and hopefully not blame ‘Mum’s genes’ for his stature in the height ratings.

I mean I love him just the way he is. I hope he will learn to love himself the way he is over the years with my help.

That’s my short, sharp and shiny post for today.

The long and short of it…I love you short stuff!

Image from: here.

I Love You in the Shower

showerI love my shower and my kids-just not together.

When the kids were smaller I’d share a shower with them. They’d happily play with a few toys on the floor and we were saving water. Now that they take up quite substantially more room I almost have to do a rain dance around them to actually get any water on my body.

The boys shower together now and I get to enjoy my 4 minutes in solitude-occasionally.

With hubby having already left for work on weekdays, I used to make a grand announcement in the morning when I was heading off to the bathroom for my daily cleanse. I’ve learned the hard way that this is like giving the kids a license to run amock. Now I sneak off and try and squeeze it in before a major calamity takes place.

It’s amazing what can happen in the time it takes to wash. A friend’s child once put a small tin suitcase in the microwave while she was in the shower. A new microwave was on the shopping list that day after it blew up. The worst we’ve had is my toilet-training two year old go to the toilet while I was indisposed. That part wasn’t an issue. It was the fact that he couldn’t pull his pants up so he decided to draw all over his bum with permanent red texta.

I don’t need a shower timer to limit my water usage. I have two munchkins who may have multiple needs in that 4 minute period. During showers I have opened containers, wiped bums, applied bandaids and put toys back together.

My only saving grace is the shower sabbatical. On Saturday or Sunday I will delight in using more than my fair share of suds. I’ll scrub, exfoliate, shave, cleanse and rinse. The door is locked and no-one dare enter. When I step out into the haze, all wrinkly and prune-like, I feel ready to take on the world. There’s normally noises on the other side of the door. As I get ready to release the steam and invite in the peace-enders I’m confident I can last until next weekend for my next hiatus.

Showering on my own one day of the week is mandatory-singing is optional.

I’ll lather now and love the kids later.

Image from: here.

I Love You Bugging Me

Oh Boy! I Love YouHow I love you and your ants, beetles and caterpillars.

There is definitely a correlation between most boys and bugs. Catching them, watching them and poking them. The bug catcher here gets a workout and viewing them with a magnifying glass is a must. Release comes soon for the critters from the garden. They get to go back to their natural habitat when the boys have finished ogling them and they think they’ve spent enough time in captivity. Unfortunately we did have one casualty.

I’m not particularly bothered by most crawling or flying insects. If they’re brought inside in a Mum approved container that’s cool. If they find their way in of their own accord we take action. We encourage no killing unless they are unable to be relocated. Don’t get me wrong, I have been known to arm myself with a can of flyspray if it’s a variety that bites, stings or spreads germs.

The best thing we have done is watch caterpillars cocoon themselves and wait for them to emerge as beautiful Monarch butterflies. Releasing each one after its wings had dried was amazing. The kids really enjoyed it too. There’s so much we don’t stop to take notice of unless you’re in the company of a child. I am definitely going through my second childhood with my kids in tow. I just don’t throw the tantrums anymore. I’ll leave that to the experts.

Off you go now boys to find some more creepy crawlies that I’m sure I’ll love.

I Swear I Love You

pinky swearI love you. I swear!

It shouldn’t have come as any surprise when my youngest (2y10m) dropped the ‘f’ bomb a couple of weeks ago.

I have been known, on occasion, to use it myself while driving and the idiot in front of me does something ridiculous like turn a corner without indicating his/her intention to do so. Maybe also once or twice while not in control of a motor vehicle?!

I’m not holding myself completely responsible for said behaviour though. My youngest has a vast array of people to learn this skill from including his brother, uncles, strangers, teenagers, etc., but none more so than my hubby. Yes, I blame my better half.

On the particular evening in question the boys had been fed and watered. They were sitting on the lounge in their pyjamas. I have no recollection of what was on TV but it was obviously something he deemed appropraite to comment on with a completely audible ‘FAAAARK!’ Even though it was as clear as a bell, hubby needs to be sure and asks, ‘what did you say?’ My eldest, 5y8m, starts to laugh with his hand over his mouth. He knows it’s not appropriate-been there, done that! I automatically point the finger of blame and say, ‘this one’s your fault.’ Two scowly faced parents look at their youngest child and shake their heads then Daddy explains why we don’t say ‘those’ words.
We laugh about it later when the kids are tucked up tight. I wonder if he’ll mumble it in his sleep tonight or if he’ll pull the next one out of thin air when I’m least expecting it. Maybe in the middle of the aisle at the supermarket when there’s an audience. Hopefully there’ll be no elderly people near us who will wonder what on earth is going on with the next generation. Who knows?

I’ll love you, even then! Pinky swear!

Image from: here.

I Love You Heart and Sole

Your shoes don’t last long and neither does my cash. Lucky my love does.

Jeepers, creepers, what’d you do to those sneakers? I love you dearly but can you please refrain from chewing your shoes! There is food in the cupboard.

sneakers facebook

It’s just two months since we invested in your last brand name runners. I use the term ‘invested’ because we spend as much money on sneakers in a year as we do on tyres for the car. I’m not so inclined now to go dashing out and purchasing the same style. Maybe we should buy two pairs of the cheapy ones and then we can just ditch them without a care.

I guess that’s kind of like opting for retreads on the car or would that be hand-me-down shoes? Either way, I’m not happy. The department store shoes are basically a thin insole with corrugated cardboard underneath. Within days you have no cushioning left to speak of and it’s certainly doing your gait and posture no good at all. Just like tyres on the car, would I put your safety at risk?

In the end we opt for a family owned shoe store rather than a big chain sports store. They gave us a membership card and the price was then comparable with the larger stores that buy in bulk. The main plus was advice. I learned that scooting and skating eats shoes. We choose a pair with a medium density sole. Enough cushioning for running but no so soft that the asphalt will erase the tread. The best thing about them in your eyes is not the colour or comfort, it’s demonstrating how much faster they make you run. You love them so much you ask in all seriousness if you can wear them to bed.

You are reminded now to don your scarred and battered pair to go skate, scoot, ride or dig in the garden. Newies are reserved for school and going out. This might be the only thing that contributes to a longer life span but the exercise was well worthwhile.

‘Off you go then, Speed Racer. Don’t drag your feet! I love yooooooou.’

I Love You and You Will Love Vegies

vege heartI love you on vegie night.

Vegetables served up at dinner time occurs 5-6 times a week in our house. It might consist of meat and three veg right there for all to see. The second option is salad veg also naked and identifiable. Finally there’s the hidden alternative. It’s on a stealth mission to get into the mouths of babes undetected.

Vegetable consumption was a whole lot easier when my two were spoon fed. Now it’s a battle royale to get anything into their mouths that may be related to vegetables.

Then there’s the exception to the rule. ‘Oh, are you sure you want TOMATO sauce with that? You know what it’s made out of, don’t you?’ Tomato sauce is not a condiment in our house. It’s almost a food group in itself.

As my eldest finds himself in new situations he is also exposed to a wider range of foods. He recently asked to take carrot sticks to school. He’d tried them at after school care and seen other children taking them for morning break. You’ll eat them there but not here, I think to myself. ‘Yes, Roger Rabbit, you may take carrot sticks,’ I say after my gaping mouth is able to form words again.

My palate has changed as I’m sure the kids will as they get older. From memory there were only 3 vegetables that used to pass through my lips as a child. One of them was peas and they didn’t even make it to the swallow stage. I’d leave them till the end, stuff them all in my mouth and try not to chew. A mumbled, ‘can I please leave the table?’ later and I’d make a hasty retreat to somewhere private where the peas could be unceremoniously dumped much to my tongue’s delight.

I’ll give my eldest credit where credit’s due. He has recently added to his repertoire and now tries things that he can identify. His list of acceptable vegetables now includes: potato, carrots, broccoli, corn on the cob, lettuce, tomato and peas (swallowed). He’s tried some others but they haven’t made the list yet.

Until such time that we have an array of vegetable matter being digested I’ll continue with my covert tactics. Sausage rolls and spaghetti sauce are two of my favourites things to make where vegetables go undercover. I’d appreciate any other ‘vegetables in disguise’ recipes/ideas you have if you’d care to contribute.

They can continue their love/hate relationship with vegies but I’ll still love them just the same.

Image from: here.