Love in Hindsight II

In the first post of this series, I reflected on my teaching career.

Teaching has been a big part of my life, spanning nearly two decades. What I didn’t know back then was how much I was learning about myself as a person and a future parent as I learnt to teach.

Over the years I have met as many different kinds of parents as I have students. Parent teacher interviews always afforded an insight into the children’s personalities, home life and behaviour. It also led to a deeper understanding, at times, leaving me with the saying, ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ swirling inside my brain.

These parents came from all walks of life. There were those that had little but provided an abundance of love and support. The type of parents who expected the best from, and for, their child were in abundance. The couldn’t-care-less approach was adopted by the minority.

I saw parents arrive holding their little one’s hand and helping them prepare for the day. They fostered their independence but assisted them if need be. I vowed to be that type of parent.

I saw parents arrive early and stand chatting until the bell went-always there to greet their child with a warm hug and a kiss at the end of their day. I vowed to be that type of parent.

I saw parents only to willing to help out at school. They were never too busy to lend a hand, listen to reading or applaud their child when they received an award at assembly or sports day. I vowed to be that type of parent.

I saw parents rush their kids to the car, in a hurry to get to that appointment or sports practice. ‘Get in the car, now,’ they’d say through gritted teeth. I vowed not to be that type of parent.

I saw grandparents bring their children’s children to school every day of the week. Some of their circumstances necessitated this, of that I was sure. I vowed not to be that type of parent as long as I could help it.

I saw parents ‘drag their kids up’ rather than raise them, some showing their children that they were a burden rather than a privilege. I vowed not to be that type of parent.

I knew what kind of parent I wanted to be.

Like most non-parents I stood in judgment of all other parents, keeping my thoughts to myself. Somehow I was of the conclusion that my teaching degree gave me an understanding of children that non-teaching parents didn’t have.

So here I sit, with two gorgeous boys who are now 6 and 3.

All I can say now is….

as they continue to grow, the more I need to know.

And I still have visions of the type of parent I want to become.

To be continued.

Image from: 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 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.

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. 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.


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 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 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 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.

M, T, W, T, F, S, S, I Love You.

I love my kids every day of the week.calendar

I love them whether it’s Monday or Friday. Saturday and Sunday are extra special as we get to do things that the weekdays don’t allow. School holidays are amazing as we get to go on outings, explore and create our own timeline for a while.

The months go by as I watch them grow and love them even more if that’s possible. My heart fills to the point where I think it will overflow. When my youngest sings the end of the Woolworths ad with all the days out of order it’s like he recreated it just for me.

The only thing that concerns me in all of this is the rate at which I turn the pages of my diary and flip over the months on the calendar. When the last page for me has fluttered to rest on all the pages that have come before it, my children can know with certainty that I loved them with ever fibre of my being.

Every minute of every day. 24/7. 7 days a week. From the first to the last day of the month. On their birthdays and all the days inbetween. 365 days a year and the extra day on a leap year. Full time. As long as I live.

Forever, I will love you.

Image from: here.

I Love You When You’re Smiling

I love it when you smile.

When you’re smiling, when you’re smiling, the whole world smiles with you!

Well, maybe not the whole world but I definitely do.

I find myself smiling just by thinking about my kids’ smiles. There’s something about it that is more endearing than that of an adults. It’s probably because kids smile with their whole face. Unless they’re trying to hide the gap/s in their teeth while having school photos taken. Even when one of my two have their grumpy pants on I can normally coax a smile out of them by telling them I can see a smile creeping out of the corner of their mouth or by saying in a stern voice, ‘don’t smile!’

The subject of smiling also reminded me of this poem:

smiley facesSmiling is contagious,
you catch it like the flu,
When someone smiled at me today,
I started smiling too.
I passed around the corner,
and someone saw my grin –
When he smiled I realized,
I’d passed it on to him.

I thought about that smile,
then I realized its worth,
A single smile, just like mine,
could travel round the earth.
So, if you feel a smile begin,
don’t leave it undetected –
Let’s start an epidemic quick
and get the world infected!!!

Matthew John Fraser (1990)

I also love the fact that there are different kinds of smiles. There’s the:

  • cheeky monkey smile
  • I-didn’t-do-it smirk
  • oh-my-goodness (open mouth and raised eyebrows) smile
  • aren’t-I-cute pleading grin
  • I’m proud of you beam
  • grin like a Cheshire Cat (Alice in Wonderland)
  • and many more.

I hope you’ve shared a smile with your kids today. I know I have. If you haven’t, Don’t Worry, Be Happy and share one or more with them tomorrow.

Love your smiles!

Image from: here.

I Love You Hands Down

hands down little boyHands down, I love you.

It really is easy to love your kids. It requires little effort and poses no difficulty. I’ts an easy job. No trouble at all. It’s a cinch, hands down.


The love part should be. It’s just all the other guff that gets in the way.

So what does ‘hands down’ mean anyway and who started it?

Over at Wiktionary I found out that this colloquialism’s origin dates back to the mid-19th century. It was initially used in relation to horse racing and jockeys. Riders needed to keep the reigns tight during a race unless they were so far ahead they could afford to slacken off. He could drop his hands and loosen the reigns right near the end and still win.

So in the race of life, love your kids like there’s no tomorrow. Keep the reigns tight when the need arises and give them a little bit of slack now and then. You’ll come out a winner and so will your kids.

Victory will be yours, hands down!

I Love You All the Time

No matter what time it is, I love you.heart clock

I truly love you at:

  • bed time
  • quiet time
  • cuddle time

I really love you at:

  • school time
  • bath time
  • reading time
  • home time

I do love you at:

I still love you at:

  • meltdown time
  • no-patience-left time.

I read a quote somewhere the other day about the days being long but the years all-too-short. I’m determined to try and cram as much love into each and every day for my kids. It won’t be long before it will fall on deaf ears or be rebutted during the teenage revolt. My aim is for them to know in their heart of hearts that I love them all the time even when they may dislike me or the choices I make for them.

There’s no time to waste so I’m on a mission to love my boys all the time.

Photo from: here.

I Love You Petal

I love my little petals.

To balance out the loudness of my last post, I thought it important to point out the softer traits that my two do possess.


The eldest doesn’t have a high pain threshold and loves a cuddle from Mum (or a surrogate if necessary) when he’s been hurt. He gives me flowers from our garden-not the neighbours. Most worthy of note though is his tenderness when it comes to showing love for all creatures great and small.

The youngest will tell me I look nice (a trait from his dad). He looks for a cuddle straight after I’ve got cross with him and then asks if I’m okay several minutes later. He is sensitive to how others are feeling and is the first to apologise when the two boys are both at fault.

I don’t use this term much anymore. It’s been replaced with numerous others depending on my mood and their behaviour. Petal was used more often when they were tiny, fragile, handle-with-care bundles who resembled precious, delicate, dainty flowers. Now they’ve grown some the endearment doesn’t seem to fit anymore. They’re more like hardy, robust, strong cacti.

My boys will always be petals if only in my memory. Love you, petals!

Image from: here.

I Love You Extra Today

I love you

I had some extra love to spare today so I thought I’d share.

This is my second post today and for very good reason.


Fellow bloggers, readers, like button clickers and followers.

I reached the amazing milestone of over 200 likes today. It is also my last post for the first month of my blogging odyssey. I don’t mean last last. Just the last for January.

I’m not going anywhere. To be completely honest, I think I’ve become a punkie (post junkie-sorry, there’s probably a proper label/title for it that I don’t know about yet and this is the best I could come up with at short notice).

A BIG thank you and blog hug to each of you that have dropped in, stopped a while, read numerous posts and exercised your index finger.

Take some love with you today and give someone you love a little bit extra.

Love your work,


I Love You at Soccer Practice

I love watching you at Thursday afternoon soccer practice.

We’ve just broken the land speed record to get here straight from school but now I get to sit and relax for a bit while you do your stuff.

Your eyes are on the coach the moment he blows the whistle. Your ears are ready to listen to instructions. Your feet can’t keep still in anticipation of kicking the first goal. You can almost taste victory. And this is just practice!

First comes the warm up and your competitiveness is evident right from the get-go. You want to ‘win’ just doing laps of the field. Next in the ritual is stretching. Your serious face makes me laugh as does your version of push ups and sit ups. Drills complete the pre-game action. I watch you pass, dribble and take shots at the goal with such concentration.


Finally it’s the business end of the session, your favourite part. You and the other boys are broken into two teams. I know you need to learn about team work but not much team playing happens during the game. Your main aim seems to be to get the ball and kick a goal. There’s sometimes tears if your team doesn’t win and pure excitement if you do. I can’t wait until you actually play a proper match against another team.

The passion and determination you show for this sport at such a tender age is admirable. I love watching you at soccer practice.