Crazy little thing called love.
Is it possible to love your child too much? How much love is too much? How would you measure it?
By the amount of kisses given on cheeks of a slumbering child?
By repeating ‘I love you’ when they drive you wild?
By the lengths you’d go to ensure they’re happy?
By the amount of times you’ve changed a nappy?
By the time it takes to takes to tie a shoelace?
By the distance they run to win a race?
By counting the times you hold hands and skip along?
By the ways you console when something is wrong?
By the energy needed to push kids on a swing?
By the truckload of rhymes that you’ll probably sing?
By the width of your arms just before giving a hug?
By the strings of your heart they’ll be sure to tug?
By measuring the amount of love one heart can give?
By the fullness of a life with kids that you live?
Crazy in love.
Image from: here.
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.