I Love You More Today

moreI love you more today than yesterday.

Just when I think it is not possible to love you anymore than I already do, you manage to make my heart feel fuller than it has ever been.

It might be the look of concentration on your face as you build a block tower higher than yesterday’s. Or your confidence doing backwards rolls off the lounge that you weren’t able to do the day before. Or the new words that spill forth from your mouth that you didn’t know a short time ago.

My love grows as you do. Tomorrow you’ll show me more reasons to love you. You might tree-hug my leg when I’m least expecting it or tell me you love me just because.

No matter how much mess you make, how loud you are or how disagreeable you may be, as long as I don’t let tomorrow come without having told you I love you at least once, I’m happy.

I’ll love you for all of my tomorrows.

Image from: here.

Foot note: I re-read this today more as a reminder to myself than anything else. Tomorrow sees the school holidays start here in South Australia and I’m looking forward to the arrival of 2.15pm. Following that is 17 days where my primary responsibility will be entertainment coordinator to my two nuggets and writing will take a back seat. There’ll be no forgetting to say, ‘I love you’, but I might need to take many more cleansing deep breaths than normal.

I Love You When I’m Hanging Out The Washing

Pegs used to make I Love YouIt seems like washing day rolls around all too quickly but hanging out your clean clothes reminds me of how much I love you. They are also a reminder of how much you’ve grown and what you’ve been up to (and in to). Even though you’ll make them dirty again soon, I love you.

 

Footnote: This was my second post on my blog. I think the whole thing fitted in the reader without having to click on it. I created this photo when my intention was to have ‘I Love You’ in every post. These early posts were written as if I was speaking to my kids. Somewhere along the line my voice started speaking to my fellow bloggers about my boys instead. I think I also got a little bored of the ‘dear diary’ style of writing I was doing. The photo for this took longer than the post, from memory.

I Love You Tonight

Post-it note under my son's pillow before he went to bed

Today I stuck a post-it note under my son’s pillow before he went to bed. Kids look so peaceful when they’re asleep. We say ‘sweet dreams’ and ‘I love you’ to each other every night. I love him when he’s sleeping.

 

Footnote: This was my very first post back on January 1st this year. I don’t know whether to be proud or embarrassed by this post. In reflection, I can’t believe I had so little to say. Like learning to run I guess I had to walk first. A distinct memory is etched in my brain of the very first person to like this post and of how excited I was. That blogger, who has not been seen since, will always hold a special place in my heart. I hope you don’t mind bearing with me as I revert to baby steps while revisiting old posts while my attention is focussed elsewhere.

 

 

Love-Filled Home

quote

My home is filled with love….

and noise,

and fun,

and chaos,

and nuts,

and I wouldn’t have it any other way!

What’s your home filled with?

Image from: here.

Maid With Love For You

I was maid for loving you.

frenchmaid

The maid’s got her work

cut out for her today

When she sees this mess

‘I quit,’ she’ll likely say.

The T.V is on

and nobody cares

There’s mud on the sofa

shoes left on the stairs.

Lego litters the hallway

There’s crumbs on the floor

And who put fingerprints

all over the door?

Three loads of washing

and dinner to prepare

How does she do this?

It’s almost unfair.

Wet and soggy towels

piled in a heap.

Where’s the pet frog?

Did I just see something leap?

Crayon on the ceiling

Shampoo on the tile

Is it really that hard

to wipe them once in a while?

Toothpaste on the mirror

Dishes in the sink

Cornflake encrusted bowls

I’m almost on the brink!

Where’s she gone?

This place is a mess

What’s stuck on the table

is anybody’s guess.

These floors need doing

before the kids get back.

It’s pretty clear then

I’ll have to give her the sack.

Is it her day off?

Where can she be?

Oh, I plum forgot

The maid is me!

mess

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Maid with love.

Images from: here and here.

My Dream Lover

Sweet dreams, my love.

Dreams can be fun. They can also be heart-pounding scary. Others are hallucinations of sorts. Dreams where you are falling are supposed to be dreamsbad. Some are a wake up call and others should be given no heed at all. The worst is when you’re in the middle of a really good one………..BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Time to wake up.

I have had a dream. It wasn’t as awe-inspiring as Martin Luther King’s (whose speech I love and I wasn’t even born when he delivered it). On Saturday night I dreamt that Steve, my husband of 7 years, was gone. Not gone as in ‘not here anymore’ but gone as in ‘had left me’. Now I’m not a big dream analyst and I haven’t even Googled it to see what it might have meant (dreams are sometimes really not about what they’re about at all). To me it was clear that my subconscious was sending me a message through a megaphone.

This, combined with reaching a milestone got my brain ticking in overdrive.

It ticked right back to the beginning of this adventure. Not my journey through life. I love to talk but not that much. But here’s just a little history to unveil the mystery of me:

  • I am an almost-40 wife and mother of two boys. I am a teacher, sister and aunty.
  • I am a recovering perfectionist, perpetual clean freak and don’t like hats but wear many virtual ones.
  • My home is in South Australia and I love where I live.
  • I’m an ideas person until I pick the crap out of them and realise it won’t/can’t work long-term.
  • I suffer from the S.A.D.S (seasonal affective disorder/syndrome). Winter gives me the shits. I am a heat seeker that must have a vitamin D deficiency.
  • I LOVE to laugh and do nowhere near enough of it.
  • I stay away from bad news on TV. I’m a fairweather friend of news reports who finds it difficult to process all the bad things in the world that I can’t fix.

I am also a lover of words. English, specialising in children’s literature, was my major at University. I.T was my minor. I crave to write like a druggie craves the next fix.

I am a visual person too. My first love was Art, particularly Design. I wanted to ‘be a Graphic Designer’. Teaching was my second choice (yeah, I know-‘those who can’t do, teach’).

So I packed my bindle and off I set. I know it’s not a big deal but I am autodidactic by nature. Someone who seeks out new things to teach themselves. Free Little Words began on January 1st this year after I’d thought about starting one for nearly 12 months. It has been awesome, to say the least. I have learnt bucket loads and it won’t stop here (this isn’t a goodbye speech).

nightmareI am coming full-circle back to the dream nightmare now. Change is called for by me (these next two paragraphs are a bit whingey if you’d like to skip them). This blogging stuff takes a lot of time. We all know that. Anything worth doing can’t be completed in a jiffy. For me, I know I need to streamline the way I do things to ensure it takes as little time as possible while still doing a fantastic job. I don’t start something and not finish it to the best of my ability.

I don’t want to lose my husband (he assures me he’s not going anywhere) and I don’t want to take time away from my kids (after their bed time is the usual time reserved for all things bloggable). The other day I spent six hours looking for the right image for a post. I know, six hours. Ridiculous! Did I find it? No, because it didn’t exist. So I made it myself because it had to be right (I did say I was a recovering perfectionist). When I started my blog I did all my images myself. That was the time consuming part. Here’s the perfect example. I used to let the image do the talking as I wasn’t sure what to say. I pumped out 54 words on that post. Like when meeting a new friend, I was shy and hung back. Now I find it hard to keep under 400 words. All of my images have come from the internet now for quite some time but I have lost that sense of uniqueness. And all of that is just to complete my post. One must not forget the importance of the Reader, commenting, replying to comments, finding the next awesome blogger you wanna hang out with and please don’t let a negative word escape my lips about the time taken to complete awards.

So I’m going to go back to where I started, where the enjoyment was. The only difference this time is I’ll be drawing them not photographing. I love taking a line for a walk as you never know where it will take you. I’m going to take baby steps and do one a week.

I’ve got other plans I want to implement but I’ve word bashed everyone enough for now so I’ll leave it there.

 P.S Heartfelt thanks to Teacher 2 Mum who should understand why and Making It Through Monday who made my Monday Tuesday.

Dream a little dream of love.

Images from: here and here.

Do You Love a Good Manscaper?

D.I.Y Manscaping for Love 101

Some friends and I were sitting around discussing this hairy topic recently. Goodness only knows how it came up but we went with it anyway. The conversation went something like this:

Bonnie* says, “Yeah my husband, Pete*, does a bit of trimming and pruning. He came out to show me his work the other day and was proud of what he’d achieved. He asked what I thought of his manscapinghandiwork and I was just like a goldfish in a bowl. Then he asked me, ‘do you want a piece of this?’ He’d taken to his nether region with a hedge trimmer and it was all I could do not to fall on the floor laughing. Like manscaping will make me want him more.”

*names have been changed to protect the guilty.

So in all honesty, being a woman, I do remove hair from my legs and armpits. I don’t remove hair from my arms but I do get rid of unsightly long-uns that grow on my big toe on each foot. I pluck my eye brows and I’ve been known to tend to the nasal region just recently. I do a general tidy up of the yard on a semi-regular basis. The only problem I find is that I pull out the weeds and prickles just grow in their place.

Now my questions are many but I’ll try and keep it short. I have boys. Two of them. I’m truly grateful this is not something I have to worry about for the moment but I know my time will come. I want to go in prepared for the job. Almost 6 is a hairy little monster. He had downy fluff all over his back from the time he was born. Now when he steps out the shower he gets this curly-pattern-thing going on in the middle of his back. Am I going to have to take him to a salon to have his back waxed? His brows may need a plucking if they end up being a mono. If he’s hairy all over like a baboon, where do you stop?

Now fellas, did you know there’s actually a group you can join if you’d like to beat your hairless chest with other men? Click here if you’d like to join the ‘I Love Manscaping Group’.

What’s the general consensus out there? Manscape or the natural landscape?

Manscaping. Love it or loathe it?

Love leaving the hair that’s there for now.

Images from: here.

Mind Boggling Love

mind bogglingLove for life.

Does your mind boggle when you think about the mammoth task raising children is?

Many people seem to think they muddle their way through or follow some type of process. Most also find the need to adapt to the ever-changing needs of their child/ren.

I’d like to think that I’m ‘training’ my little fellas using many methods. I couldn’t write a book on it as no one would be able to follow it. All I know is that I use my heart. Yes, I have those moments where I go off my noodle or show less than the required enthusiasm as I drag my heels to 730pm. Those moments are far outweighed by my desire to show the kids that I mean business when it comes to loving them.

Recently my brain cells played boggle over Almost 6’s desire to play basketball, soccer and football all through the Winter months. I’ll share my thoughts when the game is finished.

What mind-boggling conundrums have you faced?

Live for love.

Image from: here.

P.S I just noticed boggling rearranged is blogging. How pertinent.

Thumbs Up For Love

These digits love to type.thumbs up

Did you ever notice what primary role your thumb/s play on the keyboard?

Mine rest quite neatly on the space bar and happen to do a top-notch job of making sure my writing doesnotlooklikethis.

When you think about it thumbs do an amazing job, quite unlike any other. Where would we be in the world of gaming without them? Try using that remote control without your opposable thumb!

On a light note, I have a quick story to tell about little. Then there’s the hospital saga with responsible, never-injured Daddy (insert sarcasm here). Note: The latter has some details that some readers who get squeamish easily may want to avoid.

Our little one has only just recently mastered the ‘thumbs up’ for a job well done. Prior to this he would point all fingers out with his thumb up in the air. Then we graduated to just his index finger pointing out with his thumb proudly waving the flag. Now he’s got it. All those painstaking attempts to help him make a fist minus his thumb have paid off. Those fine motor skills are coming along nicely thank you!

Now only if the boys and I could help teach Dad that thumbs are opposable not disposable. My OH’s recent hospital stay was due to just that. A thumb.

‘A thumb!’ you say.

‘Yes, just one, dumb thumb.’

While the rest of him was working a-ok his thumb prevented him from being home for three days. Too bad if he’d had to hitch a ride.

The basic storyline for this drama (and I do generally love a good drama-on TV) went something like this:

  • visit fountain to feed ducks with children two weeks ago to give Mum some time without children
  • move date palm frond away from path with hand for children to pass safely. Get date palm needle in top of thumb near knuckle.
  • swear profusely and frequently over coming days that something is still in there. Squeeze the living daylights out of entry point until sweating and cursing while wife swears that it’s all in your head and to’ leave it alone’
  • go to doctor and get antibiotics and anti-inflammatory tablets. Continue to work over coming two weeks even though unable to bend joint properly
  • come home on Friday. Joint extremely swollen and red. Moan every three minutes as pain builds. Yell at wife who tries to make another appointment with doctor. Go to doctor after no mention of, ‘I told you so’. Doctor says go to hospital
  • go to hospital and do not pass go or collect $200. In fact, pay $ for tv, medication, parking, petrol for family to go to and from hospital for 3 days, etc
  • have surgery Saturday night when that thumb is normally wrapped around a glass of bourbon (FYI a 5mm tip of palm needle was removed from the site plus a sac of infected puss and wound is now packed, not sealed, due to infection having eaten away at tendon all under a local anaesthetic). Stay in hospital for two more days on IV antibiotics
  • fall down drain grate up to the knee while running over to little who had fallen and hurt cheek. Extract leg to find bruise from ankle to knee cap (on hospital grounds on Sunday witnessed by several hospital staff).

The rest of the play will unfold something like this:

  • visit nurse daily to have site repacked
  • have wound stitched (date unknown)
  • wear splint for up to 4 weeks so tendon can heal
  • return to work at unknown date as boss is unlikely to allow until splint is removed.

So in closing, my OH is nursing himself back to health holding his bourbon, using the lifeline button for the TV and can employ the index finger instead of thumb for console games. I, on the other hand, got 2 hours of child-free time that day followed by almost 3 days flying solo with my kids. Add to that, up to 4 weeks with all of us home and, to be concluded by, Nearly 6 being on school holidays for two weeks as of Monday.

Has a smallish injury ever stopped you in your tracks or made a loved one shake their head?

Love your work, team. Thumbs up!

Image from: here.

I’m All Out of Love

Love has left the building.

all out of loveIt’s late. The well is dry. Stick a fork in me-I’m done. I’ve thrown in the towel, well just for today.

The kids have been tucked in and everything has been ticked off the list but apologies will be left here tonight as I have no love left for you. Sorry everyone.

My air love supply has been expended. I had to be the giver of love for two today.

The better half of me had an impromptu overnight ‘date’ with a nurse or two. More of the hospital love story at a later date. For the purpose of keeping this short I had both the Mum and Dad hats on today.

The opportunity was given to me to experience what all flying solo parents do every day (kudos to all the one-wo/man-bands). I only had to survive one and believe me that’s all I did: survive. That’s a good thing though, right? I didn’t curl into the fetal position or start speaking in pig latin. So there was ‘something’ good about today.

Plans are being prepared for tomorrow. It’s going to be a love fest.

Tomorrow is going to be the longest day of the year for those of us in the Southern Hemisphere who turn our clocks back in a couple of hours. Now I’m a type A person who won’t sleep any longer than normal mainly because the kids won’t let me. Pre-children I would have sucked up that hour in a jiffy and used it in dreamland. That won’t be the case tomorrow.

I’m going to make full use of that hour. Most of us wish for more hours in a day. That wish comes true for me tomorrow. What could I do with one more hour? Should I lavish my kids with an hour of Mum power and love the knickerbockers off my whippersnappers? Maybe a visit to a playground, roll on the grass with them and do some belly laughs? Or should I take the hour and practise some self-love and return a better me? Grab a cuppa to go and then find a peace-filled sunny spot for me, myself and I?

Which option should I take and what should I do in that 60 minutes? Suggest away, lovelies.

Image from: here.

From Russia with Love

Love the Russian way.

russia

Since the beginning of this year I have learned with my children how to say ‘I love you’ in several different languages. This was the first time we had tried a language where the written version included symbols/letters I had no idea how to pronounce. We watched a you tube video so we could hear the sounds in each word.  I enjoyed trying to perfect the Russian way of expressing love.

The Russian language fills each syllable with richness and heartfelt meaning. It’s almost as if I can hear Sean Connery speaking them himself to Tatiana Romanova. Er, come to think of it I don’t think any Bond ever whispered those words to his love interest.

Я тебя люблю.

pronounced yah tee-BYAH lyoo-BLYOO

I love you.

From Australia with love.

Image from: here.

Love from the Scruffy Red Monster

Love my monsters.

Since a tender age both of my boys have loved Elmo: the short, red character who talks in 3rd person and remains constantly at age 3 ½.

Elmo has been on Sesame Street since 1972 which makes him older than me (just).

Sesame Street has recently celebrated 43 years on television. I grew up watching it as did my husband and then my eldest did too. I hope my grandchildren get to enjoy the wonder that is Sesame Street.

My eldest celebrated his 3rd birthday a few years back with an Elmo cake painstakingly decorated with the icing tip that would normally be used for grass. This created that perfectly scruffy look that Elmo wears so well.

Now the baton has been passed to my youngest. Sesame Street for him has far greater meaning than just a show on TV. It marks an important time in his schedule at home. It’s on at 12pm here and this marks lunch time for him. If I happen to be out of the room when, ‘can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?’ rings out it’s soon followed by an announcement from yonder that Sesame Street is on. If the TV is off midday passes with no fanfare or parade.

Elmo exists in many forms in our home. We have TMX Elmo who rolls, giggles and then stands himself up again. He can literally ROFL. There’s also plush versions, eating implements, posters, wall stickers, bedding, colouring books, etc.

I have a bit of a soft spot for Elmo and have never questioned his inability to speak in first person. Does this bother you? Are there people not feeling the love for the monster with the infectious giggle? If not an Elmo fan, who is your favourite Sesame Street puppet? Does anyone not allow their children to watch Sesame Street at all?

Monster love lives here.

A Little Chicken Love

chickenI love my little chicken.

I’ve been saving this pearl for Easter time.

The age old question came to the fore of almost 3’s thoughts.

Recently we were returning from dropping his brother at school.

‘Mum, where do chicken come from?’

‘Chickens hatch from eggs, sweetie.’

‘Oh.’

I got him buckled into his carseat and he said, ‘love you, Mum.’

‘I love you too, gorgeous.’

We drove towards home and talked about things we saw along the way. About 5 minutes later he asked in a puzzled voice, ‘Mum, where do egg come from?’

‘From chickens, buddy.’

This produced a quizzical look as it should. Now I don’t know about you but I found it difficult to go anywhere from there. I wasn’t prepared to have a discussion based on the findings of Aristotle nor am I a Science major. Noah’s Ark came to mind but I dismissed that instantly as well. Causality or circular cause and consequence are a little beyond his grasp at present.

Then we moved onto other questions of a similar nature. We had the seed/tree discussion as well as numerous animal examples. I must admit I was a teeny bit impressed with his ability to work out that my answers didn’t make sense. My eldest never went through this phase. I’m not sure if he is just the accepting type, has never pondered such a question or is a wise old soul who has it all sussed.

foghorn chicken hawk My two chickens are quite different and share a relationship not dissimilar to Foghorn Leghorn and Chicken Hawk. It’s a love/hate deal. I’ve watched my big school fella use a whole henhouse of patience and caring with his younger brother many times over. I’ve also seen him throw his hands in the air in disbelief.  Most of the time they are pals but, like any siblings, there’s those times when big and little don’t see eye to eye. Little wants to get his point across while big just thinks he’s a pesky pain in the rear.

While I ponder the ‘which came first, the chicken or the egg’ dilemma, I’m going to head back to the roost and peck at some eggs of the chocolate variety.

Happy Easter to all!

Love my evolving chickadee.

Images from: here and here.

♥ I Love You, Cupcake ♥

cupcakeLove thy cake.

This might be a brilliant principle to live by when you’re 3. For those who have got to the stage where you’ve added a zero to the end of that number or another higher number, cake intake may need scrutinisation.

My little guy celebrated his 3rd birthday today. I didn’t want to do a post-birth recount here. I’m dedicating this post to him and his love of cake.

Of the 6 kids here there was only one that didn’t bust-a-move to the table where the cake ceremony was about to take place. All the others yelled, ‘CAKE’, and ran like their pants were on fire.

So the candles were blown out without any foofing on the cake (extra tasty bits a.k.a as spit) and a big cheer rang out. I was too busy worrying about the 3 year old with the knife in one hand to concern myself with what the other hand was about to do. The birthday boy decides to grab a handful of icing and stuff it into his cake hole. While this made most erupt in laughter, a few stared agog at the spectacle. This inturn made him think he was funny so he launched in for another handful while I did my best to hold my heffalump back. We did get some great shots of the chubby cheeks with nothing but icing between them.

There were a few refusals from the adults when cake was proffered. Not quite sure if this was due to people watching their waistline or not wanting 3 y.o cooties. Regardless my little guy was definitely not of the sliceschool of thought, ‘a minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.’

Have your cake and eat it too while you can, kids!

P.S Here’s your really big slice, as promised, Grandma Cranky.

Images from: here and here.

A Life of Love

Loving the life I live.

I lose my temper at times but I love you.

I get frustrated when you are stubborn but I love you.

At the end of each day I am grateful that I have the chance to love you.

Your life is a gift of love to me.

unique

The Gift of Life

Everybody Knows:
You can’t be all things to all people.
You can’t do all things at once.
You can’t do all things equally well.
You can’t do all things better than everyone else.
Your humanity is showing just like everyone else’s.

So:
You have to find out who you are, and be that.
You have to decide what comes first, and do that.
You have to discover your strengths, and use them.
You have to learn not to compete with others,
Because no one else is in the contest of *being you*.

Then:
You will have learned to accept your own uniqueness.
You will have learned to set priorities and make decisions.
You will have learned to live with your limitations.
You will have learned to give yourself the respect that is due.
And you’ll be a most vital human being.

Dare To Believe:
That you are a wonderful, unique person.
That you are a once-in-all-history event.
That it’s more than a right, it’s your duty, to be who you are.
That life is not a problem to solve, but a gift to cherish.
And you’ll be able to truly enjoy your life and find true happiness…

Author
Unknown

I was inspired to share this poem after reading Amber’s post over at “Normal is the New Boring”. I cannot claim it as my own.  Poetry is not one of my strong points. I’ll leave that up to brilliant bloggers like Kimberly at Words for JP.

I first read this poem many years ago and have since lost the paper copy I had. So I went looking for it online knowing some of the key lines that have stuck like glue in a crevice somewhere inside my grey matter. When I did locate it I found more than I’d been searching for. I love finding true treasures and this website is one of them. It has many more poems that may inspire you or someone you love to be the best ‘you’ you can be. You might find me over there again later beckoning you in. Click here to visit Teens Self Help.

Love your life.

Kelly.

Image from: here.

I Love You When You’re Sleeping

sleepingGuest Post by Belinda Tidswell.

I love you when you’re sleeping.

“The only thing worth stealing is a kiss from a sleeping child.”- Joe Houldsworth

I used to sit there for hours when my kids were babies and watch them peacefully sleep. They looked so cute and innocent. Then they would wake up and that vision quickly fades from your memory, wrapped up in all that the day throws at you, feeding, nappies, vomit!

Now that my babies are a bit older, I still check on them each night before I go to bed. I sleepily take each of them to the toilet and give them a final cuddle, sometimes more for me than for them. It’s still nice to have contact with them but hear no sound. Pure bliss! There’s no, “Mum, he hit me on the head with a car,” or, “Mum, she’s got my teddy”. I am not a fan of listening to the sibling battles in our house. My ears are very sensitive to the screeching and screaming that accompanies it! I like calm and quiet.

I especially loved you both when Grandma and Grandpa had you to sleep over at their house recently when my other half and I celebrated our anniversary. It felt very strange to go to dinner and not have to worry about discipline and the slight embarrassment of unexpected events that accompany public outings with children. It’s funny how my husband and I spent half the evening talking about our children. I did miss that I didn’t get to tuck them in and kiss them goodnight.

I know I had better enjoy their sleepy moments while I can. As they get older they will start to think I am a bit weird, checking on them in the middle of the night! Unless I have reason, that is, to believe they’ve escaped out of their bedroom window to go to a party!

Sleep well and sleep in my loves. xxx

(Bonus point for those of you who find the ‘hearts’ in today’s image).

For those who dare to care this is Belinda’s debut as a blogger. She is my go-to-girl for everything-all things kiddish, groaning and, most importantly, wine. I would like to publicly offer my sincere heartfelt thanks to Belinda for taking the time to write this. I know you pondered every word Bel and I think that shows in the fine blog entry you have created.

Image from: here.

Hair, There and Everywhere, I Love You

hairI love maintenance-free (almost) boys hair!

Thank your lucky stars, if you have boys, you don’t have to perform hair miracles like the one shown here on this gorgeous girl’s head. I’d be in a world of panic if I had to recreate this at any given time-let alone on a school morning! Don’t get me wrong, as a kid my Barbies had some of the best hair do’s on the block. Now, I’m armed with a comb and that’s it. If you need any product or zhuzhing, go see your father.

Bed head or bed hair makes me giggle. I wonder what they might have been doing overnight to get such a small amount of hair into such a state.  And try as I might those cockies won’t stay down. You can dampen, comb and pat down as long as you like but they’re there for the long haul. Anybody who sees my sons in this state must think I don’t give a hoot what they look like.

I also love the fact that we only have to use a small amount of shampoo and hey presto! You’re done. No conditioning necessary, just a towel-off and you’re good to go. In Winter it’s also a bonus as it takes only minutes to dry.

When the times comes for the next round of haircuts, which is does all too quickly with boys, were off to the barber’s. I take little boys in with me and I bring out little men. Their heads are lighter and so is my purse. There’s something about having a close call with the scissors that makes them look more grown up than they really are. One thing the boys love is sitting in the big swivel chair and getting raised up high into the air like a king on a throne. The best part for me is that both of my children go mute as if under a trance as the clippers do their work. Maybe it’s fear they’ll lose an ear or the sensation of the vibration rattling through their skull.  Possibly they just like checking themselves out and are admiring the view. Who knows?  The transformation they see take place before their very eyes may be the reason or they might be in awe of the dexterity which is displayed by Tony, our barber who rocks.

Perhaps this is why both boys, at around the ages of 3- give or take, have taken a pair of scissors to their own hair. No. 1 took a chunk right out the front of the fringey part in his hairdressing endeavour. No. 2 only recently went for a near-to-the-scalp chop on the top right hand side of his head. I am assured that most kids do this at some point. This is where being a boy and wearing their hair short comes as a bonus. It doesn’t take long for the hair to grow enough so that it’s less noticeable. Then it’s back to Tony to get him to fix up their foray.

I wonder if my kids’ generation will go through a long hair phase like the boys did when I was a teenager? Hopefully they’ll have a job by then and be able to buy their own hairdryer. I’m not planning on competing with my sons for mirror time.

I love your 1-minute hair styles.

Image from: here.

For the Love of Rocks

Rock a bye baby. Rock around the clock. Crocodile rock. I love rock ‘n’ roll. Rock the Casbah. Rock your body. What rocks your world?

The rock ‘n’ roll kind of rock is not really what you’ll find here. It’s also not a geological discussion about the rock of Gibraltar. There’s no game of rock, paper, scissors going on and it isn’t a pet rock fetish image post.

It’s simply about the good ol’ stone type of rock. You know the ones found in the garden.White Tank area, Joshua Tree National Park, CA

My youngest is the collector of all thinks rock. They are gathered from the ground, carried around in sweaty clenched fists and then stuffed deep into short pockets. Some are discarded as a matter of course. Others are left, long forgotten, to dwell in a resting place until reunited with their fellow rock garden friends. Some of the favoured rocks get taped to a piece of paper to make nature scenes. I wonder how these rocks feel.

My favourite, however, are the ones left in the dark crevices of pockets where they mingle with dirt, lint and tissues. They’re about to go for a spin and if they’re lucky they’ll be flung free from the depths and be shiny and clean when they come out of the washing machine. Yes, these are my most cherished rocks. They have already been through so much and yet they threaten to deem it necessary for me to buy a new washer. If I’m really in luck I’ll hear them clunking around in the machine mid-cycle. Deep sea diving past my elbows through the murky water and dodging seaweed-like clothing, blindly trying to reach the illusive culprits is not one of my favoured activities.

Stern warnings ensue with sweet child o’ mine and a detailed description of what rocks can do to washing machines. It seems to make little difference as he runs off to find new rocks to freshly pluck from the dirt, squeeze tightly in his palm and then firmly plant in the safety of a pocket. Pet rocks are not far off. I can feel it in my bones. At least they shouldn’t go through the wash.pet rock

I love you. You rock!

Images from: here and here.

You are the Apples of My Eye and I Love You

appleI love my sweet apples.

Apples with skin on or naked? The results of this poll will determine how I eat apples for the rest of my days. That is, if I can get more than 10 apple lovers to respond to this post.

The reason I’m asking is because recently my son who is 5 has asked to have his apple a la natural. I know the facts about apple skins and how many nutrients are crammed into its natural packaging. My concern is what I can’t see and what I can feel. Apples are naturally coated in a wax to make them shiny and appealing to the eye. Goodness only knows what attaches itself to the wax or what was already on the apple before it was coated.

It would be safe to assume that everyone has heard the saying, ‘an apple a day keeps the doctor away,’ since it has been around for nearly 150 years. As a side note I was interested to learn from phrases.org that the original version was, ‘eat an apple on going to bed, and you’ll keep the doctor from earning his bread,’ which was a Pembrokeshire proverb. I think I can safely assume that eating an apple, skin or not, is better than not eating the apple at all.

The apple skin debate raged for about 5 minutes in our home. Personally I’m of the opinion that Master 5 has alterior motives (when did he learn manipulation skills?). Wobbly teeth season hit our place at about the same time as the request for skin left on. I think he’s looking at having the ledger in his favour with the tooth fairy. Not exactly a get-rich-quick-scheme but one way or another he’ll get to eat his apple. Lucky he’s not William Tell’s son otherwise that apple would have an arrow smack-bang through the middle of it.

So whether you and your kids prefer their Granny to their Pink Lady, be a sweetie and weigh in on the debate below.

I love you every day! How do ya like dem apples?

Image from: here.

I Love You Kids

goats kidsNo kidding! I do love you.

Ok, I’ll put all goat/kid jokes aside for the express purpose of your reading pleasure plus your inward groans will accompany me into the wee hours otherwise.

Have you ever noticed the similarities between a kid and a child? Seriously! There’s many that can’t be overlooked. When I started thinking about it the more I questioned whether baby goats were named kids first or whether we call children kids frequently because they resemble a baby goat in behaviour.

I recently saw a ‘Parenting test’ on FB that suggested yet-to-be-parents take a goat into the store when buying groceries. ‘Be sure to pay for everything the goat eats,’ was the key to that little test. I can imagine taking a goat and being banned from the store for life. I wonder if children ever get banned?

My kids seem to think they are goats of the mountain variety and will try and scale a vertical surface to perch on a ledge at the top. ‘You think that’s a good idea? Don’t you watch the goats? They fall off you know!’ It’s a fact that mountain goats don’t live as long as their flat dwelling cousins.

Baby goats are all legs. The way that they jump in the middle of running is nothing short of funny. Young children don’t walk anywhere. They run, hop, skip, jump, turn circles, side step and prance like a horse from point A to point B.

A goat’s call is ‘maa.’ Some kids call their mum the same. Female goats can be called nannies. Hmmm?

Goats can be very stubborn creatures. Ditto for my boys.

And what’s with the headbutting? We may lock horns once in a while but I love my kids.

Drop me a line or two about how kids are goat-like. It’d be great to hear your stories especially if they feature kids called Billy.

I kid you not-I love you.

Image from: here.