I Love You More Today

I 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.

Love in this Day and Age

‘You’re only as young as the woman you feel, or in my case – man.

I am younger then by the same amount of time it takes a foetus to reach term, if that stands to reason. There is a gestation period of difference between my husband and I. His parents wouldn’t have even known that they were going to give birth to their first child, a son, the day I was born. So while I was taking my first breaths of air he was still sucking on amniotic fluid. He was growing downy hair all over his body when I moved onto solid foods. By the time he was born, I was on the move; wearing out the knees of my romper suits and collecting lint and hair off the floor.

When we’re young it’s all about the milestones and birthdays. Cheers ring out and hands are clapped in delight as a baby or toddler manages to learn a new concept, skill or ability.

As we get older those milestones are more about the number attached to us. We carry that sucker around like an extra appendage. Some lie while others are creative with subtraction. For many it’s a matter of remaining young at heart-it’s the inside that counts, after all.

At a visit to the doctor with Now 6 when he was a 3 year old, an elderly gentlemen sat down beside us. He must have been close to his octogenarian decade but seemed to have retained most of his faculties. He took an interest in the scribble drawing my son was doing and then said to me, ‘that’s a fine looking grandson you have there.’ I do remember mumbling a reply about him being my son as my heart only just managed to regain a regular rhythm. It was fortunate we were at the doctors as I was certain a heart attack was imminent. Perhaps he was there to see the doctor about finally getting a prescription for glasses.

Several weeks ago, I had an informal meeting with the principal at Now 6’s school. I was being scrutinised to see whether I would be an appropriate replacement for the German teacher when she takes leave in the Spring. My experience was asked about and when I answered the question I included the year that I first began teaching. I was met with raised eyebrows and an audible ‘wow’. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve hung around 5 year olds for nearly half my life that has kept me young. Hmmmm.

When I met with the teacher whose role I will be filling she kindly concurred about the difference between my chronological age and my perceived age.  (Note to readers: I have known this teacher since 1999 when I taught her son who is now 26 and we have kept in contact since then). Apparently I am thinner now even though I’ve been the same weight since high school, except during pregnancies, and have given birth twice since then. I don’t have a forehead full of Botox and on a good day I feel every one of my near-40 years. This ‘holding my age well’ card might come in handy if I ever have the need to chat up some young gents at the R.S.L. I could fill the role of a 60 year old cougar to get a free shandy or two.

If I had to categorise myself, I am one of those people who find it to be a difficult and dicey situation when someone asks me how old I think they are. Think of a number and subtract 15? That should cover all bases. When I’m asked how old I am, particularly by cheeky students who haven’t learned the unwritten code of conduct for someone who wants an ‘A’ this semester, my generic responses include:

‘How old are you?’ -answering a question with a question sometimes deflects the inquirer.

‘How old do you think I am?’ -see above.

or

‘Old enough to be your mother.’ – which normally puts them back in their box.

The time will come soon enough where my final response will have to change to Grandmother.

So herein lies the question. Does it matter what’s written on your birth certificate or what others think? How do you tackle the age old questions, ‘how old are you’ or ‘how old do you think I am?’ Have you ever done creative number crunching, turned 21 for fifteen years in a row or had someone overestimate your age by a whole generation?

Image from: here.

Love in Overdrive

Love’s driving me crazy.

There’s nothing like a confined space and two small people with loud voices both competing to be heard.

My favourite driving experiences are:

The School Run: Short and sweet. Hmm, short yes, sweet no. Those few short minutes can feel like sheer torture. Is the bickering and banter their way of saying, ‘I’ll miss you or I’ve missed you?’ Whatever the case may be it’s enough to drive anyone batty.

The Trip to the Grandparents: similar to the School Run just longer in length. There’s also the added anticipation of arriving. The excitement builds to a crescendo just as we pull in the driveway. My eardrums feel as if they might explode and the grandparents think that a tornado is about to hit the house. It is obvious to all concerned that I have little/no control over my terrors.

The Big Day Out Drive: setting out at shortly after the sparrow’s have sung their morning tune and arriving home close to dinner time denotes a Big Day Out. Wherever we may be headed we have a packed lunch, picnic rug, esky and bag (filled to the brim with spare clothes, hats, sunscreen, etc). The expected, ‘Are we there yet’s?’ start when we’re approximately half way there. It’s been smooth sailing the whole way if we don’t have to stop for petrol or the toilet en route.

The Great Escape: we’ve prepared for this for weeks but nothing can prepare us for the journey ahead. The car is crammed with half the contents of our house. The tailgate on the wagon will only just close. There’s pillows between the kids on the seat. It’s like we’ve tried to build the Great Wall between them so they can’t touch or see each other. The kids have got numerous things to keep them occupied. A game of ‘Eye Spy’ starts before we hit the freeway. If we’re lucky they’ll nod off (syncronised is heaven) for a while shortly after, ‘Are we there yet-i-tis?’ has commenced.

The Solo Cruise: doesn’t happen too often but when it does, Oh Boy! A chance to listen to adult tunes at any volume you please. Window up or down, whatever takes you fancy. And that annoying noise coming from the back of the car? It’s completely gone!

Mum’s taxi will be off again in the morning with the boys I love on board.

How do you cope with the calamity of children in cars for the quick trip or the long haul?

Footnote: After originally publishing this post in February, I decided to revisit it today as it was one of the first ‘pieces’ I wrote that exceeded several lines in length and had some substance. It is also the basis for the idea of my first picture book manuscript. My self-imposed deadline of June 30 is looming. I think my set of wheels needs a car detailer.

Image from: here.

A Passion for Love

Love your passion

What’s your passion? What’s life without it?

Whether your passion is for your job, a hobby, helping others or personal growth, our passion for fulfilment should be the driving force behind what we do.

I recently found my passion. I don’t know why it took me so long to find it when it was right under my nose for some 20 years. I think I originally located it almost 10 years ago but for whatever reason it fell by the wayside. Now, apparently, I’m not the same person I was a decade ago. Every cell in my body has since been replaced but the embers of that same fire have been reignited.

Perhaps it wasn’t the ‘right time’ then. Every fibre of my being tells me it is the right time now and nothing nor no one will tell me it’s not. If there are naysayers in my path, I will listen to their words and move on without a backwards glance. My dreams will become possible with passion.

That passion in my heart will allow me to accomplish great things.

Image from: here.

I Love You When I’m Hanging Out The Washing

It 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 Would Do Anything For Love….

……but I won’t do that.

How do you go about asking for a favour from someone?

I find it extremely difficult and I don’t know if that’s because I don’t do it often so have had very little experience in doing so or because I would rather be the ‘doer’ of the favour. I enjoy doing things for others. It’s probably selfish if you think about it. I get a kick out of the feeling from having helped that person. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the teacher in me or that part of me that makes a good teacher. Giving is receiving.

So in honour of I promise I made recently I’m going to attempt to make this as brief as possible.

Clear and concise.

Short and succinct.

Alright, enough with the babble!

I need to ask a favour *gulp.

Some of the Freequent flyers here know that I’ve been working on a top secret page-turner.

I have completed the manuscript for my picture book. Being a picture book it has less than 500 words and, as yet, has no pictures. It is being sent to the publisher on Monday who will take care of all the big details such as finding the illustrator, publication timeline, marketing, etc.

So what would I like you to do for this so-called favour, I hear you ask?

I would love for you to read it and comment as you see fit. The only other thing I ask is that you are completely and ruthlessly honest with me.

Whether you are a parent, teacher, writer or lover of reading. Even if you are none of those. You’ve read children’s books or had them read to you. You all bring valuable experience to the table.

In return I will owe you one because, for me, a favour should always be returned in some form or another. What form that takes is completely up to you.

Please remember, though, I won’t do that.

I’d love your help. If you’re willing, please email me and I will forward a copy to you then I’ll chew my nails to the quick.

♥ Kelly

Love’s Going Bananas

Does Monday roll around quicker than any other day of the week? There’s a touch of fruitcake-iness going on here today and this mum is definitely in a Momdaze. Trying to shake it off will probably be a fruitless exercise.

The banana phone is renowned the world over for giving us a glimpse into kid’s imaginations.

If the conversations that have been relayed through the crescent-shaped fruit could be recorded and put into a book I’m sure it’d sell millions of copies.

My offspring would be able to contribute a few humdingers.

Last week Just 3 picked up his banana from the bench. He took it, sat down and started to have an animated conversation. I listened, not sure who he was talking with. After some pauses, where one can only assume the other person was talking, he said, ‘Mummy can’t come to the phone right now. You like to leave a message?’

As he peeled his banana and started to eat it, I said, ‘Buddy, I’m right here. You could’ve handed the phone to me.’

‘They didn’t want to talk to you and I wanted to eat my banana.’

Ah. Out of the mouths of babes.

Image from: here.

Run For Your Love

Running out of love.

Are you a walker or is jogging your thing? Do you pound the pavement religiously?

I’ll be honest with you.

I’m a walker. At best, I’m a jogger. Today I did a 1k circuit with my students. Their times were all around the 3 minute mark per lap. Most of them did 3 laps. I did two, at a jog, and managed that in just over 10 minutes.

I was pretty proud of my time as it’s the first time I’ve jogged because I felt like it in maybe 2 years (and keeping in mind I’ve got some 25+ years on my charge of whipper-snappers).

I normally jog only out of necessity.

Like when you’ve got your dressing gown and ugg boots on, it’s raining outside and the morning paper sits on the lawn; yeah that might be worth a jog. The main motivation being, not to get caught out by the neighbours and having to read a soggy paper. Otherwise, no chance.

I don’t run. Not unless I have to. Like when one of the kids is several metres away, falls badly and seeks immediate help. When danger is imminent and moving swiftly becomes a priority.

Running is reserved for those moments where a quick sprint is a primal response. If a mugging was on the cards I’d hightail it like the Bolt himself.

Other than that, I like a nice stroll. That’s my thing. Leisurely strolls at a pace that matches Just 3. That I can handle.

So I’ll just stick to running with you on the inside-where it counts.

Have a lovely run!

Image from: here.

I Love You Tonight

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.

 

 

Crazy Little Thing Called ♥

Love is a little crazy.

There’s a touch of weird lurking here so don’t say you weren’t warned.

Is it just me or has there been a steady stream of bloggers heading for the hills of their own minds?

There’s a little bit of crazy talk going on around these parts and I’m sure I’m not the first one to pick up on it. I’m not that fast on the uptake.

I think I’ve already arrived at this point once before. Last time it was more like a ‘what the frigging heck am I doing?’ It’s changed now to a ‘I know what I need to do.’

Through the RCC I mentioned a self-imposed deadline to send off my first manuscript by June 30. That in itself proves I’m crazy. But not being one to back down without a fight I will stick to it. Only problem is, I haven’t even finished it yet. After that, I want to sit on it for a bit and revise/edit yada yada. Now please don’t hound me in the comments section for belittling the editing process or writers in general. A picture book is normally under 500 words. No biggie. Every word just has the weight of the world on it as there are so few of them.

Anyhoo. I wanted to take up a little blog space to thank some people. Don’t worry, it’ll probably only take as long as it would for you to say, ‘well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.’

I’m not going to name drop. You guys all know who you are. My followers. No, not the 325 of you. The 10 or so true followers that have read almost EVERYTHING I have written.

Poetry and poems.

Whinges and whining.

Troubles and tantrums.

Humour and heart warmers.

10 words or 1000. You’re here every day.

I caught up on my reader today for the first time in over a week. Boy it was a relief and I felt great. On top of the reader for 0.4 seconds until one of you posts something I must read. Not because you expect me to; because I need to. I haven’t read a ‘real’ book in 3 months and my manuscript hasn’t seen one ounce of love in 5 weeks. As for my completely understanding, wonderful husband, well, he needs some extra loving.

This is not a ‘goodbye’,’ see you soon’ or ‘not sure when/if I’ll be back’ post. I’m not totally off my rocker.

This is a lull in the halls of love. I’m giving you guys a break. Your reader will be a little lighter and a slightly easier to manage without me taking up space. Actually, cancel that. I’ll be taking up space with stuff that’s already taken up space before. Not a fan of reblogs to be honest but it beats the looney bin which is where I’m worried I’ll be headed if I don’t find a new lease on love.

Oh and don’t think you’ll be getting off that easy. I’m relying on you lot for my daily dose of laughter. I need uplifting quotes and heartfelt poems. Update me with where you’re up to with all your goals and help me choose my next actual book to read. I’ll also be commenting my behind off so no need to be concerned for my mental health. I’m going to be a blogtrotter!

Finally, I would like to take my crazy brain with me having you know:

what I’ve sought

what I’ve learned

what I’ve shared

what I’ve gained

what I’ve pondered

what I’ve found…..

…..is LOVE!

And for that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Kelly ♥

Summoning Love

vapour trail to motion slow

strained synapses fire sporadically

consumed strength from inner structure

muscular wasteland waits on the tick

process impeded on sun’s descent

digits fail to depress

closer to calm’s entrance

prompting summation of time

craggy surface seeks reprieve

lashes meet and mesh

screaming silence into lobes

utter not mindless words

invasive

persuasive

enticing

demanding

the beckoning arms of stillness.

Rebellious Love

‘What’s gotten into you today?’

‘Why are you behaving that way?’

‘That’s just plain silly, that is.’

These phrases have passed my lips many times. Normally I’m talking to a kid-my own or one of the many intelligent students that I have met when teaching.

Today, though, these words were aimed at myself.

Have you had a day where there’s just a touch of silly about you? Conformity just not cutting the mustard?

Today was my day.

I taught a class of Year 3’s today at a school that has over 1000 students. After finishing my paid duties for the day I walked with one of the students out of the classroom. Her mum and I have been friends for many years. She’s also a teacher and we hadn’t seen each other for a couple of months.

Her daughter told me that her mum picked her up from the kiss and drop. For those who are unfamiliar with this term- stop car, kiss child, they get out and you drive off. In the afternoons-join cue of cars, drive like a nonagenarian, reach front of cue, child jumps in and then you drive off. No stopping for more than a few seconds. You can’t get out unless you want to be berated by seething parents desperate to un/load their cargo. This procession is overseen by a teacher who directs the flow. Some are very serious about their role and are tyrants. Others are a little more lax and more likened to a traffic cop whose stuck on duty past shift change.

Being as I am a responsible adult I herded my friend’s daughter across the cul-de-sac between cars when they had stopped for the next child to begin their journey homeward bound. Her mum’s car was about 12th in the cue to leave so I had the chance to fit in a 2 minute conversation with her as she rolled around to the pick-up point.

We disposed of pleasantries quickly and did a quick catch up while I was on foot next to her car. Promising to see each other soon, she departed the mayhem.

As I walked past the teacher on duty I was given a stern look and I believe she said something about safety.

‘My apologies,’ I replied without missing a beat.

As I walked with a bit of a swagger to my car, I could not help but smirk. My brain was registering the ‘rebel’ label and it felt good.

I drove past that teacher as I left the teacher’s car park and turned my head so she couldn’t see and poked my tongue out.

Apparently the dutiful, responsible and role-model aspects of my personality had clocked off when the bell went at the end of the day today.

Rebel without a cause, you betcha! I fit that bill today.

The rule maker was the rule breaker today.

I’d love it if you don’t tell my kids though.

Image from: here.

Love Makes the Top 10 on the Bucket List

Got a bucket list this year?

Making goals and achieving them can be extremely rewarding and fulfilling. Whether it’s called a bucket list or not doesn’t really matter. We all have dreams and desires which we strive to reach. From the smallest moments to the once-in-a-lifetime experiences, most people try to live a life that’s full to overflowing.

For me there is only one thing on my list this year.

So instead of wracking my brain trying to come up with experiences that would fill my life with moments to treasure, I asked my boys about things they’d love to do.

Their top 10 list consists of:

1. Go to a museum (again).
2. Locate and visit playgrounds they’ve never been to before.
3. Attend an AFL football game.
4. Swim in winter.
5. Watch a 3D movie.
6. Hold a snake.
7. Go camping (not in the backyard).
8. Attend a basketball clinic.
9. Go on a family holiday that involves flying on a plane for the first time.
10. See Taronga or Melbourne Zoo (a first for the whole family).

The kids needed some prompting with ideas but these are largely their own suggestions. They are yet to expand their view of the world and understand what it has to offer. We’re looking forward to enjoying these activities together as a family. My reward will come from sharing these experiences with them.

We never labelled this list, hence avoiding the need to explain what a bucket list is all about.

We will endeavour to complete all of these before the end of this year.

Love is in the bag bucket.

In The Habit of Love

Love is a habit.

‘We first make our habits and then our habits make us.’

This saying has been one that has retained its place in my memory for many years.

I can’t tell you why. Possibly because I’m in the habit of remembering quotes and phrases that may possibly come in handy sometime.

Habits can be food for the soul. Bad habits can eat away at the very essence of one’s core.

Daily life is driven by habits.

Some of mine keep me on the straight and narrow.

List making is a skill I acquired probably in my Uni days to keep up with assignment due dates, lecture times and extra curricular activities. This habit rolled over into my teaching career where a ‘to do’ list was essential.  I still make lists; can’t function without them. There is something completely satisfying about checking items off a list. Before bed, I empty my head of the next day’s duties. Each morning I face the ‘pigs might fly’ scenario. I’ll be darned if those squealing pink trotters will grow wings while I’m on a mission. Every item will be checked off before I’ll allow my head to hit the pillow. Only exhaustion will stop me every once in awhile.

There’s one thing that is never on my itemised and ordered agenda.

Love.

The day I need to include a reminder to love is the day I’ll stop making checklists then those pigs better fly on stealth mode.

Old habits are hard to break.

Are new ones easier to make?

Watching the kids I see habits forming. They watch me too.

The blanket that needs to be smoothed and perfectly placed. Toast cut into four triangles. Patterns and routines. Rinse and repeat.

After all we are creatures of habit hoping to create a sense of order and control in an otherwise chaotic existence.

A new habit for me is writing.

I love it. It’s cathartic, rewarding, addictive.

The only part of the habit that is cause for concern is the capacity of my brain. Words become prompts for my tireless brain. Titles vie for attention in my hemispheres. Stories jump around in my grey matter begging to be let out. Some flit in and out in a moment-vanishing like fog, leaving me grasping at tendrils, willing the idea to be front-and-centre once more.

There will never be enough time to share the millions of ideas that float in and around me. The ones I carry, those that I forget and others that are left in the wasteland hoping to someday see the light of day.

To fulfil my habit is not only the desire to write but to read. To immerse myself in all the stories from all parts of the globe. To share, start conversations and relish in the great ones.

Perhaps a new habit is required.

I’ll need some time to create it.

Sometime soon would be perfect.

The new habit I’ll love.

Show Me the Love

Show and share the love.

On Momdaze it’s difficult to think creatively, write about current issues or delve deep into my psyche and bring forth something worthy of discussion. With this in mind, I bring you humour at the beginning of the week.

The day will come when I, as a parent, am told something I was totally unprepared to hear by my child’s teacher.

Until that day comes, I feel it is only right, if not my duty, to share one of those moments that I had as a teacher which had me giggling and then cringing.

This story is almost folklore in the school that it happened at over ten years ago. Innocence met a bunch of hidden truths and learned a valuable lesson.

Show and tell (a.k.a news time, show and share, sharing time, news, etc.) takes place at schools across the globe every day of the school calendar. Kids bring in something they’d like to talk about in front of their peers. Sometimes they just share news of current events from their own lives. It fosters confidence in oral language skills and speaking in front of an audience.

The kids were gathered on the carpet and two had already had their turn this particular morning. Adam brought a paper bag to the chair at the front and was ready to start.

After greeting everyone he pulled $500 in notes from inside the bag.

‘This is my Dad’s money. He had it hidden under his side of the bed at home. I saw him put it in there and he told me he won it on the horses. He asked me not to tell Mum because she thinks he just loses all the time.’

While the children oohed and aahed at the large amount of money being waved in front of them, my eyebrows were trying to come back down from hiding in my hairline.

Adam finished his turn and I promised to look after it until home time.

I don’t know if there has ever been another time in my life where I have been responsible for $500 that doesn’t belong to me. I knew being mugged was unlikely but wasn’t sure what to do with the money to keep it safe.

It was decided to keep it at the office until the end of the day and then give it directly to the parent.

Mum came to pick up Adam that day and the moment he saw her he burst into tears.

I told him not to worry and that I would explain everything to his mum.

He said, ‘I’m not worried about getting into trouble with Mum. I’m only upset because Mum is going to be so cross with Dad. I bet she’ll probably take his money away and ground him from the horses for a long time.’

Show and tell taught me a lesson that day. I’m pretty sure Adam’s dad learned something too.

To find a new hiding place, possibly?

Image from: here.

A Certain Type of Love

Love of different types.

What is it about some kids that makes them more able to outwardly express their love while others are just not the cuddly type? Is there any genetic factors at play? When the environment is the same for both how can it play out so differently for each?

If they were referred to as type A and type B; I have one of each.

Type A: fiercely independent yet anxious when facing new situations, high-strung, intelligent, realistic and happy just to ‘be’ with the ones he loves.

Type B: caring, kind and generous soul, ‘shadows’ trusted adults, smart, physically displays affection often and easy going.

While the youngest has grown up in a love-rich environment, the same as which his older brother was brought home to, Just 3 has taught his older brother a thing or two. Being a naturally loving soul has increased that loving feeling exponentially in our home.

I know my child feels love. Is it possible to teach someone how to express love?

I believe that my youngest has done just that.

A desire to be equal may be the motivation for Now 6’s acts of affection. He has learned to show the closeness of the bond of love.

When I speak of love and affection with others it leaves me pondering.

For some families, love is expressed daily. On the phone, ‘love you’ ends every call. Text messages contain love or, at the very least, a heart. Love is sent across the miles in greeting cards. While for others, love is reserved and sometimes not returned. It’s felt but not spoken. A hug might convey it but is that the same?

According to Mum who is the Google of my family history, I was never a touchy-feely child. It wasn’t imposed upon me or expected. I was told I was loved but showed little desire to express the same emotions in return. It has taken me having my own children to realise how important it is for the life of my kids. Now 6 may just be a carbon copy of me but his brother, Dad and I will provide all the chances to show love that he needs.

For a life without love is no life at all.

Image from: here.

Love That Cheeky Monkey

Monkey love see; monkey love do.

Sometimes it’s naked and running free. At other times it’s shadowing me.

Wipe, powdered and soft as a baby’s; the fat rolls and wrinkles perfect in every way.

Naked from the waist down; jiggling as he runs with jocks upon his head and socks worn as mittens.

Bending over to look for a lizard that just made a dash; plumber’s crack facing up to the sky.

Making music in the bath; bum trumpet tune makes him cackle.

Built-in padding for accidents; falling flat on his arse stops him briefly.

Watch it wiggle and jiggle; dancing to the beat.

Nudie run to the shower; if I catch it, I’ll tickle it.

I’ve powdered, kissed, washed, tickled, dressed, wiped and watched that bum.

I’ve fussed over, worried, laughed and shaken my head at those little cheeks.

It may be responsible for a number of functions, some of which are the anti of cute.

But I made that bum.

No butts about it – love my little monkey.

The Morning Love Rush

Love’s AWOL in the A.M.

Alarm sounds
and they’re off!

Rub sleepy eyes and pull quilt back up
Turn on light; it’s still dark out
Stretch arms and feet hit the floor
Drag heels all the way.

Clothes flying across the room
Shoes-where are they?
Toast inhaled and milk gulped
Plates to sink and wiped faces.

Comb hair in a heartbeat
Brush you teeth as fast as you can
Spit, wipe and run
Grab your stuff, let’s go!

Bags piled onto backs
Door locked and all secure
Legs flying at double speed
Car loaded and ready to roll.

Dash here
rush there
hurry, hurry everywhere.

And breathe….there’s no time for love on a workday morning.

Fish Love Wish Comes True

One fish. Two fish. Love fish.

After a near disaster and a family meeting discussing the various aspects of a fish tank built for one becoming the home to two finned creatures it was decided. A trip to the pet store was in order.

Before leaving, I was completing some jobs around the place and realised that Just 3 was very quiet. This was cause for concern as it never ends in a positive outcome. To find him folding the washing or making dinner would be a treat. Even drawing quietly would be a godsend. Unfortunately this is never the case and I knew mischief was afoot.

Now 6 politely informed me that Just 3 had told him he wasn’t allowed to go into his own room. Yes, well. That means that this is the site of the indiscretion.

We entered to find Goldy (when we were able to locate her) attempting to breathe her way through the water which didn’t really resemble water anymore. Thankfully she was still in the tank but it was filled with debris which made it difficult to see anything. Just 3 had decided to feed the fish. The. Entire. Container.

The rescue mission was launched while much flipping and flapping ensued. Goldy wasn’t too keen on the process either. Eventually she was returned to fresh water in the hopes that she would survive such an ordeal.

We were eventually able to leave for the pet shop. Now 6 was after a mate for his new friend. As we travelled, my concern lay in the fact that we might be purchasing a replacement rather than an addition. I did keep these thoughts well and truly to myself though.

We went straight to the aquariums at the back of the store to have a gander before enlisting the help of an unsuspecting salesperson. We looked at all the different kinds of fish and talked about which ones we could get and afford. Do you know how much some fish cost? I wasn’t keen on flushing $25 down the toilet.

 We talked to a saleslady and I managed to contain my smirk as we discussed the need for Goldy to have a friend so she wasn’t lonely. My thoughts kept wandering to the fact that Goldy would meet her mate for the first time every 3 seconds as she made another pass. I also restrained myself from asking the lovely lady how many times she’d heard the name Goldy in her 20 odd years of owning their store.

Eventually the selection was made and we walked to the counter with the newest addition to our family in hand. The lady asked Now 6 what he was going to call his fish and I swear there was an upwards curl to the corners of her mouth. My mind kept going back to whether Goldy would even be alive when we returned.

She was and still is and so it is with much pomp and ceremony that I introduce to you Goldy’s mate: BLACKY.

It was an odds on favourite from the beginning.

Love is in the water!

P.S. Yes, Ionia we can now add ‘mind reader’ to my list of skills and abilities. I obviously know my son or just kids in general. Mind reader might be a bit of a stretch come to think of it.

I’d Love an Explanation

Please explain love to me.

Life makes me smile and laugh often. Until recently I had just forgotten to listen. Eavesdropping on life’s little moments warms the cockles of the heart.

In the school grounds I heard a child crying. It didn’t sound like the type of cry that’s normally attached to a tantrum. Just crying. Incessantly.

As my boys and I saw the little girl come into sight, we watched as she walked holding her mum’s hand; still crying incessantly. She wouldn’t have been much over 2. Next to her was her older brother who would be about 10. Another boy of about the same age was also walking with them. As we passed there was a brief exchange between the two boys.

‘Why is your little sister crying?’

‘I dunno.’  Pause  ‘Little kids just do that. There’s no other reason. They just do.’

‘Oh.’

Hearing these two young boys discuss the logic or reasoning for the onset of tears made me laugh inwardly on many levels. I wondered if the friend had any younger siblings or whether he, himself, was the youngest. It amused me that ‘just because’ resolved the issue as far as they were concerned and the need to delve deeper was not present. It got me to thinking, if this exchange took place between two girls of the same age would the conversation have been as brief? Would they have gone on to decipher the cry and list all the logical reasons as to why it might be occurring in the first place? Credit to the older brother though, in not identifying this as a trait of little girls-just little kids in general-or did he make an assumption based on his experience?

This simple dialogue is shared between adults the world over. In my mind’s eye I pictured these two boys as men discussing their own children, beer in hand, and the actual spoken words would not change too much from that of a 10 year old boys that they were. On the other hand, we ladies-while sharing a coffee-would list, analyse, dissect, suggest, advise, sympathise and offer assistance.

I’m just a stereotypical mum of two. What would I know?

If anyone has a better explanation, I’d love to hear it.

Kelly ♥

Image from: here.