Three points and I'm out
As you can see, we three were rather spoilt this Easter just gone and, ironically, none of the chocolates pictured here are mine - I didn't get any - these here are but a sample of those received by Sapphire and Love Chunks!
To be fair though, LC has noted my increased girth and my concerns that my three rather sedate runs per week weren't actually using up the energy gained by my inhaling my own arse-weight of chocolate per day. Despite this, he has been very generous with his treats and I have been too quick to say "Oooh yes please" each and every time something covered in bright foil has been waved under my nose.
But I digress - this post was meant to be about Sapphire and the three things she said to me a couple of days ago that were painfully true. She'll be turning eight in May, yet still manages to combine a huge dose of innocence with an even larger serving of honesty that hits a bullseye every time.
She was upset that neither Love Chunks or myself could take the time off work to go and see her at her school Sports day. I had dutifully attended for the past two-and-a-half years and was more than happy to give any mummy-guilt the big finger and leave it to LC to decide. You see, Sports Day is mind numbingly, stultifying boring for a parent. There seems to be a lot of hanging around but no chairs to sit on or shade to hide under; a head teacher shouting out indecipherable instructions via a loud hailer; far too much dust; over-excited children who are about as easy to rally together as a herd of cats in a string bag and it's always hot.
Unfortunately Love Chunks couldn't attend either because he'd taken a day off the previous week to take Sapphire to school and stay home looking after me during a particularly unwanted visit from Mr Migraine that left me clutching at my forehead in agony before, during and after the frequent chuck-ups into the bucket. Therefore he had 'noble carer' points that meant he too was absent of any working father guilt trips.
To compensate for our lack of attendance, I carefully painted Sapphire's toenails and fingernails green, bought a big, kermit-like t-shirt from k-mart for her to wear sprayed her hair with that sticky, powdery green stuff. She loved it. I even painted my own toenails and pointed out to her that I could look down and mentally spur her on even though I was chained to my desk. This also appeased her.
However, after dropping her off at her classroom and kissing her goodbye, she immediately told her teacher that, "My Mummy has green toenails," which, judging by Evelyn's expression, was translated as fungal-infection-turned-to-gangrene instead of cheap $2 emerald polish from the chemist's.
Early evening, my still green-haired daughter and I were dressed in our pristine white karate gi-s, ready to receive our newly-earned yellow belts. Before the official handover, we had to do our usual warm up exercises, as directed by Ian senpei. To put you in the picture, the teacher, Ian, is a gentle giant of a man who loves his karate and is kindly and patiently teaching us beginners before he joins the later class as a black belt. He is relatively shy, a brand-new father and a mild-mannered accountant by day.
We were barely two minutes into the class before my internal plumbing system finally realised it was karate. For my bowels, Karate equals Farty. Out popped a ripper - not unlike an ultra-loud QUACK by a very surprised duck. Carly and the other kids around me fell about with laughter and I mumbled, "Err yes, better out than in, it's been a long day, we all do it, it's completely natural, I'm sure even the Queen has to let one go occasionally when she's christening a ship..."
Sapphire didn't mumble back, she fog-horned, "Oh Muu-uu-u-m, why are YOU the ONLY person who farts all the time at karate?" Poor old Ian senpei was blushing profusely: it should have been me who was flushed with embarrassment but no, it happens too often these days for that. Ian blushed redder than a babboon's bum during mating season - clearly his wife hasn't yet exposed him to the joys of dutch ovens or the unplanned-for 'parps!' when bending over too quickly.
After class, we drove home and I was busy telling Sapphire about Jude at work, who had just earned her PhD. Several minutes of explanations followed about how at uni you can be called a doctor but not for medical reasons and the importance of study and research and discovering new ways of looking at things and the years of hard work and study that goes into it and I could see that Sapphire - bless her smart little heart - was understanding it all.
I summed it up with, "...and she's been asked to write a book about her studies. Her book will be different from the one I'll be doing because it will be----"
"Very interesting", Sapphire interjected.
"Oh. Well, yes, that's true I suppose......"
Three points for Sapphire, none for MillyMoo.