The Weeks That Were

October 17, 2014 by Vicki

You may have noticed I’ve had a little less to say about this place and on my bookface page these past two weeks. It’s rare. Rare indeedy-o.

You might have even been enjoying it. Good for you.

I’ve been in some foggy, zombie like existence. I’m away somewhere else where writing isn’t even close to the horizon and yet here I am click clacking away trying to drum up something.

My body is in motion but no one is home. Meh, I don’t even care. That’s how VAGUE I am.

Mr Vick is on holidays and I think I might have overdosed on feel good hormones from all the fam bam quality time, so much so I’m now in some kind of dead head coma.

Banjo and Aika

See, so much loveliness it’s makes your brain want to freeze over in a permanent zombie dream state right?

So there’s been some sandy times when the shy ole sun decided to pop and get our hopes up for an above freezing spring and we also recently bought a membership for the Zoo. Best. Thing. Ever. The Vicklets lose they’re shite over the zoo. They happily run and talk animal for like an entire day. It doesn’t get old and so far, it hasn’t for us parentals either. Last week we roamed around the Werribee Open Range Zoo and pretended to be safari adventurers.

safari zoo

There’s been some other cool stuff going on too to make the time float by. Like how I just noticed, for the most part, I’ve stopped buying fake food. AKA canned and processed goods. Our fridge is rocking so much fresh goodness. Snacks here now consist of almonds, Saladas (kiddy staple) or fruit. As a result I’ve lost 2kg’s straight off the bat. BAM.

I’m pretty sure however I put those 2 kg’s back on just laying my eyes on this chocolate cake which was devoured without a spare second at my sister in laws.

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I’ve spring cleaned the shizen out of my house including the nightmare piggery of a pantry that I was way ashamed of. I went a little OCD with new tupperware and labels and all things organising smarts adore. I love just looking at her now. If you come over for a visit expect a tour.

Mr Vick being home means a social and well pampered Vicki. I milk that opportunity DRY. So, I’ve had a facial. I’ve done some very enthusiastic window shopping. I’VE EVEN BEEN TO THE GYM. Hells. Frickin’. Bells.

I stole away to the city to act uber trendy with some gf’s at a new hotshot bar/eatery place and caught the musical “Once” and remembered my old life.

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So the zombie fog isn’t all bad and these are just the weeks that were.

Have you been enjoying some quality time with the fam bam recently?

What neat things are going on around you?

Crying It Out

October 13, 2014 by Vicki

Last week I read a great post from Sarah at Sarah’s Heart Writes about breaking down, crying and finding the light of resolution. My message to her was there is nothing like a good spring clean out of oneself. Sometimes you just need to have a teary. A good session of crying it all out. Washing all the crapola away with tears.

I must confess, I no sooner had written these words and I found myself having a good “spring clean”.

Mr Vick and I was trying to communication and I was in my usual state of being dead on my feet. I was getting sensitive, confused and emotional. The auto pilot state of many mothers. Then Mr Vick mentioned the V word. As in, vasectomy.

He didn’t specify a desire for one or not. Just that we should talk about it but clearly ‘the talk’ indicates his preference.

I wasn’t angry. I thought I might be. I just felt sad.

I was sad because I felt like I could have dealt with the the Baby Vick chapter better, that I could have handled life with a newborn baby more convincingly. I could have managed the fatigue better, been more gentle, I could have cried less and sure as hell yelled less. I could have been a better wife and a better mother.

Then the real landslide of tears unleashed.

I tipped right into a whole crater of inadequacies that I had kept silent inside myself.

I felt sad because my mothering hasn’t been quite as top notch as I want. Sad that I say ‘in a minute’ or ‘no, I’m busy’ so often to Little Vick that I even hate the sound of myself. I felt sad because I don’t laugh enough with the Vicklets. Sad because I feel like I’m always rushing and pushing them along to the next thing too often. Sad because I try and fob them off to conquer my to do list when they simply want me to join in. Sad because I am too quick to snap. Sad because sometimes I disappear into my iPhone world rather than really validate their words. Sad because I’m not doing as many educational activities with them that I would like to. Sad that I don’t take them to the playground as much as I should. Sad because I don’t kick the footy with them when they request. Sad because I don’t get to read to Little Vick at night times anymore and share a moment of quiet connection. Sad because I don’t have the patience to nurture them as wholeheartedly when they’re crying like I once would have. Sad because we don’t sing our special song together nearly as often. Sad because I don’t have the energy to always cook them good nutritious meals. Sad because I snatch little fingers away. Sad because I cut my boy off sometimes before he gets to finish what he is saying. Sad because I put them in front of the TV too often. Sad because I count down to bed time desperately. Sad because I look forward to having more time with Baby Vick next year when Little Vick is at kinder for longer but sad because by doing this I am wishing time away with my older son. Sad because his needing will be just a little less in the next chapter which is just around the curve.

Sad because I just could have done all of this better. I could have proven myself. If I was better at mummy things then I could have proven I could manage another baby. If….

And then I had nothing.

The tears eased.

The emo clouds cleared.

I felt a calm resolve. I had been reset.

This hadn’t been about a vasectomy, this had been about me.

I had spring cleaned out all the crap swirling about inside infecting my self worth.

I needed this.

I was okay again. Good even.

So I resumed my imperfect mothering.

crying is ok{Photo source}

Do you ever need to just have a good cry?

Today I’m linking up with Eva at Mummy Mondays & I must confess at My Home Truths

10 Things About Raising Boys

October 7, 2014 by Vicki

boy a noise{Photo source}

1. Boys are always suffering some level of starvation. You can feed them a decent meal and dessert and still you will hear “I’m hungry”. Note: it will be said with a sense of urgency. It’s always dyer.

2. They have a crush on dirt. It will be flicked, stirred, grabbed at, rubbed in, thrown, dug and eaten. Forget about them wearing clean clothing or having nice pot plants.

3. You will learn exactly how painful it is to step on Lego because there will be a permanent sea of it around you.

4. Rough rules. The art and love of play fight fisticuffs seems to be some kind of universal language between the sex regardless of age. Scruffing, tackling, rolling around grappling, playing stacks on, wrestling, it’s all bonding. If one didn’t know better you might say play fighting is a form of affection. Note: this will never be admitted.

5. You will have to learn every single different type of construction vehicle ever invented and yep, there is a distinct difference between a digger and an excavator. Apparently.

6. Boys do not stop moving. They run, they kick, they slide, they hop, they climb, they jump, they dance, they chase ALL. DAY. LONG. There is no let up. Be prepared to feel exhausted by just hearing them zoom past.

7. A little penile obsession. It starts at birth and lasts a lifetime. My post Our Friend Penis pretty much sums it up.

8. Noise. If they’re not yelling, grunting or yahoo-ing at full belt then they’re asleep. Simple as that.

9. Because of the above obsession they will be drawn to playing the drum kit. There is nothing better than thrashing sticks around in a manic, almost violent fashion and creating a roar of noise to peeve everyone within the household (and potentially the neighbors).

10. You will get pee’d on. I guarantee it.

Boy Mummas did I miss any?

Today I’m linking up with Essentially Jess

Vicki, The Dirty Bachie Tragic!

October 2, 2014 by Vicki

Last night was perhaps one of the biggest nights in reality telly viewing. Tell me you were watching? I suspect you were unless you had something else worthy of your time (can’t think what quite frankly) or some moral standings that hindered your commitment to such quality, weekly viewing of The Bachelor including last nights BIG FINALE.

Call me an immoral dipstick but I am a self confessed, overt Bachie tragic. Not the Bachelor himself. Oh gawd no! That slow blinking trick that he does would have had me running right from the bachie pad and headed straight for a “dirty street pie” any day (just had to get the dirty street pie line in there somewhere). No, it’s not about him. I watch it purely for indecent reasons. My morals have been on holidays for the hour of bachie viewing every Wednesday and Thursday night. I’m not even going to pretend and say I like it because I believe people can find love in such a contrived situation. Nup, I purely love all the drama, the bitching, the lusting, the pretending, the competing, the shutdowns, commentating on the fashion, judging the weirdo individuals and mocking the not so sexy quirks of the supposed very sexy bachelor. The Bachelor is an outrageous arena designed perfectly for ferocious couch side judging, which I just happen to be very good at.

The entire concept of the show is ridiculous, subjective, humiliating and somewhat indecent. He dates 24 woman for gawds sake!!! Who would put themselves in that scenario??? And yet they do and so we line up and watch their falls from grace, except one. One very lucky (… if you really think so). Last night was about that one. It deserved a little shindig I felt.

There is nothing like a room full of fellow bachie junkies. The all betting, swishing-their-champers, yahooing types. Clearly Mr Vick wasn’t going to cut it. He’s been the fun police from the start exercising his morals at me about the program and even forcing me to retreat to the bedroom to watch it virtually in secret. Shame on him I say for forcing his wife to do such a thing! So no, I couldn’t have him ruin the whirl of finale wonderment, so I texted a friend. The best type of friend to have. The one who will always say – you wanna a party? Lets do it, I’ll organise it, I’ll host it, I’ll buy the campaign! My friend Amy, she’s a champion like that. Printed face masks and cooked dirty street pies and all for the occasion.

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Monster, cinematic sized screen should do it

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It was a Sam majority at my bachie shindig

Bachelor party 3 The dirty street pies

She is a wife exercising her wicked powers because she somehow got her husband apart of it, seemingly without too many eye rolls and sighs. He first of all gave up his uber trendy man cave for our viewing (allowing the carpet to be sprinkled with love hearts and all), then appeared in a fully decked out suit, sporting an Osher style quiff, handing out roses to the guests of the party!

Bachelor Party 4

Pure gold and THAT is how Mr Vick and fellow snobby husbands should, in the spirit, conduct themselves.

rose and wine

I got a rose! (That felt tragic typing that)

I was my typical self wanting to display expert bachie, betting pro-ess declaring the winner ahead of time. Admittedly I was torn for a good part of the finale episode before declaring Sam would be the winner, like I’d known it all along. I was right, of course. In the lead up I was flapping my arms and hushing the crew only to squeal with excitement as the final picking came. The reality of it was not so funny. Poor old Lisa who spewed her heart out at bachie only to be told, in the dust, thanks but no thanks. It was a bit crushing. Teared up for her and all I did. Seeing anyone that open and vulnerable being rejected is a bit of a mood plunger. Bloody bachie.

The only thing that could possibly cheer me up was some fellow mummies singing Salt & Peppers “Push It Real Good” in dirty dancing, white girl style karaoke following the closing credits. I laughed hard. Till I cried and crumpled over in hysterics actually. It sure was a good spring clean for some bad shite swirling about inside.

See, The Bachelor really does bring the right people together!!

Fess up! Are you a dirty bachie fan?

Did you watch last night?

How does your husband take bachie antics?

Wordless Wednesday: Fireman Vick’s Birthday Party

September 30, 2014 by Vicki

You’ve probably overdosed on birthday parties from this site and trust me I feel the same way. Firstly last week there was the zoo party, then a few family lunches and then Little Vick’s kiddy party – this kid had managed to draw his fourth birthday celebrations out over an entire (exhausting) week. I’d be applauding this if it wasn’t for the fact that I had to organise and clean up after it all.

The kiddy party had been planned by one party loving Little Vick for months. It was THE day he’d been counting down to since the day he turned three! This year was dedicated to his inner firey.

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1-DSC_0122And that little four year old fireman tells me that when he’s eight they’re going to finally let him into the real fire brigade.

Do you have a little one who is planning out their grown up life already?

A Little Heads Up…

September 28, 2014 by Vicki

I thought I owed you guys this post as a bit of a heads up. As the title would indicate.

You may have already noticed that over the past month I have started doing the occasional sponsored post. For those who are not up with bloggy lingo this means I got paid to write a post featuring a brands products or linked up to a site. This is a new thing for me. A completely new world of business that I am trying to pretend I know a shite load about whilst I fumble through and hope for the best.

The reason why I started to accept sponsored posts is this: my time, like any mother and productive human being, is valuable. I have stuff to do. Stuff away from the computer even and when I do post on here I  spend a lot of time constructing my words carefully and photographing and editing shots that accompany those words precisely the right way. I’m no pro, it takes more than five minutes of click clack on the keyboard to drum something up. It takes me away from my children, my husband and my bath which I could be enjoying alternatively come the night time hours when I blog.

Because I value my time and because I have crafted and developed my writing voice over the past three years to a standard that I now have some confidence with, I felt it was the right time to start accepting sponsorship to write.

Now before you think I’m selling out on you here know this: I’m never going to blatantly flog you crap that you don’t want and I’m never going to write about something that is completely inappropriate for this little community. I get you. I like to think I know who you are and what you want from this space so what I serve up isn’t going to change at large. I still want you to get something out of all of my posts so I will be weaving words and links in a creative manner that seemingly just slips in and that isn’t blinking “buy me”. I will also keep in mind not to do them too frequently. It won’t be overkill. It won’t define this space.

Doing sponsored posts means I will have more free stuff to give away to you my readers too. Win, win there I’d say.

It also means if you have a business or website and you’d like to team up, I’d love to do some talking with you. We can do some wonderful, creative business together.

Anyway, that’s enough of that. I don’t particularly like selling myself. I just felt like I needed to write this post to let you know this space is evolving and growing which is excitement plus (for me anyway) and to reassure you that I know you come here for my words and not a whole heap of empty banter about blah blah that you don’t care about. Nothing is going to change.

On the other hand, getting paid to write + having curly hair + having my head on a bus virtually makes me the Carrie Bradshaw of Geelong now. I’m waaaaaaaaay cool (*sarcasm font).

carrie bradshaw busSource

And yes, I totally look like that every day…..

Birthday Zoo

September 23, 2014 by Vicki

Little Vick wanted two things for his forth birthday. A firetruck cake (not asking much again) and a visit to the Melbourne Zoo to see the cassowaries (cassowaries??? are you kidding me?). I told him his wishes would be granted but not at the exact same moment. I could do the zoo + cassowaries and I could do the fire truck cake but not a fire truck cake at the zoo + cassowaries. He seemed to accept my dismal mothering efforts.

Come Sunday we trundled down to the Melbourne Zoo along with a fair whack of the Melbourne population who were there either 1. because it was the weekend 2.because it was school holidays 3. because it was a wedding open day or 4. for Little Vick’s birthday. It was a battle of the prams but grumbles aside the animals were a delight and Little Vick held the map and played boss, navigating us to where his heart desired. His little control freak was reveling in delight.

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In truth he was working that map better than I could but I played the role of photographer so it wasn’t my place. In amongst it all we met some familiar faces on the big grassy patch for some picnic times.

1-DSC_0962Note the fire truck wrappers. One Mummy’s lame attempt of granting a sons wish.

1-DSC_0995 (2)Another happy snapper, my gorgeous friend Penelope. This is precisely how I will always think of her.

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A brother can do nothing but help out at these times

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The birthday crazy cat laced high on sugarrrrrr…..

1-DSC_0922 (2)And there were animals too, other than the sugar crazed children

1-DSC_0848I love me a good set of bums

banjo and aika

Thanks to my friend Claire for this adorable image. There ain’t nothing like cousinly love.

DSC_1005 (2)Then the mission began to locate the cassowaries. Head honcho Vick lead the way. After a near miss, we did eventually come face to face with the highly anticipated cassowary.

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And to top the day off a fluffy one to take home

1-DSC_0038Best buddies for life!

What’s you favorite animal at the zoo?

A Birthday Letter To My Four Year Old!

September 22, 2014 by Vicki

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Little Vick,

You’re four now. Wowee! Big boy status. You’re so proud of that fact and remind me quickly if I ever forget and tease you about being my baby.

You have definitely stepped right out of toddlerhood and are happily living in all the wonderments of boyhood. You love all things stereotypically boy: noise, dirt, diggers, fire trucks, stacks on, running and eating. You go through obsessive fads with things you like but your love of all things construction and fire trucks has been lasting. You spend hours attending to emergencies around our house every day. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to hold an imaginary hose whilst you dictate the plan of attack. You have very serious aspirations to be the best fire hero when you’re all grown up and seem quite miffed that they won’t accept a four year old on the team. Often I’m not even allowed to call you a big boy anymore – you are to be referred to as “fireman”.

You have such a practical brain. You enjoy rules and happily remind your parents of them. It’s true, we need you. We are a hopeless, lawless duo at times but we do enjoy trying to catch you out and seeing where you might bend them or give in. You rarely falter and hold us to almost everything we say and promise. You refuse to dabble in fantasy and your realist brain is so straight down the line that you automatically correct us whenever we try out any silly, fluffy business that most other kidlets would love. You must be the only kid that I know who has a stuffed koala who is called Koala, a stuffed wombat called Wombat and a stuffed cassowary who you indeed call Cassowary.

With that said you’re also wild and free. You love to entertain. You love to dance and sing and laugh. You have not developed a self conscious inner voice. It’s a beautiful thing. To me that is the best thing about being four years old. I hope you can hold onto that. You remind me to groove and sing and be silly and my heart always feels a glow when I relent and put my child on with you. I think all adults need a pocket Little Vick to tell them to wiggle it out real good when it gets a bit stressy. Some of my favorite times are when we turn up the stereo real loud and dance like flapping lunatics or run around the house like superheros to the Octonaut theme song till we’re all puffed and giddy with kiddy happiness.

I can foresee already you will definitely be a real catch. Boyfriend material, big time. Not only are you a real spunkeroony but you have a knack for romance. You regularly bring me picked flowers with a warm grin and make sweeping statements like “I’ll love you forever and forever and forever” or “mummy I want to keep you. I never want to let you go”. You are so generous with your squeezes, give kisses out sparingly and tell me how pretty I look. All the right words boyo, all the right words. Keep them flowing, you’ll never go hungry.

You have loved, loved, loved kindergarten which you began this year. To you the best days of the week are Wednesday and Thursday, your kinder days. You have soaked up the entire experience loving to paint and play diggers in the sand pit the most. You are a fan of any opportunity to learn and have initiated learning how to tell the time, counting to the ‘big numbers’ and beginning to learn to alphabet and some words this year. You are very clever and I see boredom can be problematic for you. Your brain loves absorbing and recalling facts and knowledge. I know not another kid who at three was able to watch a documentary and recite statistics and impressive facts about cassowaries a month later showing up your mother who knew not what a Cassowary even was. Having a brain like this will be very handy in years to come. Please keep liking to learn K? It’s the way to get places.

This year you’ve had to master becoming a big brother. No easy feat. It’s been a challenge for you after being the solo rock star for so long. You seem both frustrated and happy with him. Mostly I see you yelling at him to move away from your toys and going berzerko when he does finally plow through them after you’ve just spent a lifetime setting them up. I can see you will share the love of wrestling together and you both light up and giggle when there is the hint of mischief in the air. You like to make him laugh and you bond over being cheeky pranksters. There is a lot of love in your heart for him and it’s indicated when you sneak a little cuddle (when he lets you), or sing Twinkle Twinkle to him when I put him down for a nap, or when you plead with me to not put him to bed at all because you just like him being there. Despite the occasional incident of rage I know you feel nothing but love for your brother ‘cos that’s just the way you roll. You love, embrace and trust all that come into your path.

In the past year we have camped twice and flown to Port Douglas for a family vacay. You are a keen traveler which I suppose could be said was destiny when you accompanied me abroad with a VIP ticket in the womb. You thrive outdoors in the bush. You love collecting kindling and starting a camp fire and just being together. Generally we finish one trip and you start asking to go on the next. I hear ya buddy, I hear ya.

I sometimes look into your face and hope you will always be my little fireman, my boy. Will you always come to me? I don’t know, but I do know this: four years ago you came into our life and ever since I have experienced a tidal wave of love and growth, greater than anything I experienced in all the years put together before hand. When you arrived into the world four years ago, you were a real game changer. A happy one which doubles in joy with each year of existence.

Go forward. Live, love and smile. I will be right by your side.

Love, your smitten Mum xx

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An Intervention From The World

September 19, 2014 by Vicki

My news feed is filled with the most devastating stories on a daily basis. I know yours is too.

People being beheaded in Iraq, the puzzling disappearance of 3 year old William Tyrall, suspected terrorists arrested in Sydney, tourists murdered on a Thai beach, Ebola threatening to take down the worlds population, two boys kidnapped by their father with suspected cult links and an entire family being murdered in a homicide looking scenario. And that’s all just from the past week.

I find every bit of these stories horrifying. Gut wrenching. Scary. F*#ked up.

I’m struggling with the world that is beyond my suburban four walls at the moment. It’s one scary place. I fear it. Admittedly I fear not what it can do to myself, but what it will do to my children.

This is a fear that arrived with one newborn baby Vicklet some 4 years ago. Having children really installed something foreign in me. Something that makes me feel like I am wearing my big beating red heart on the outside and I’m dodging possible arrows which could pierce and destroy it at any given moment. There is nothing like having children to teach you the real depths of fear.

The news headlines ignite this fear within me. They inflate it and mess around with my little brain.

Before this week I’ve been distressed by stories of kids being left in cars to perish, planes being shot or lost out of the sky, brutal foreign wars, woman being held captive, fathers brutally bashing their crying newborns, the death of Peaches Galdof, asylum seekers being mistreated, a car smashing through a wall and killing a sleeping infant… the list goes on.

The thing is, this shit is really happening. It is someone’s reality. The human race is vulnerable.

Sometimes I idiotically allow my thoughts to run away with me. Just yesterday I got in the shower whilst Baby Vick was having his morning nap and I set Little Vick up to watch Fireman Sam for the trillionth time. Whilst I was soaping up my hair my brain started. A little thought crept in. Was the front door locked? What if…  and a little scenario unfolded in my head ultimately about an intruder nicking my four year old straight off the couch whilst I showered away unknowingly. I had a small window of opportunity to relax, breath and all I thought about was the highly unlikely event of my son being abducted. I think the William Tyrall story has been playing on my mind here. I’m just aching for those parents.

Sometimes I think about my own death – how it might happen, what it would mean to my boys, how I would fight to live. Oh boy would I fight.

I know, I know. I’m sounding completely deranged and ready for check in at the nearest psychiatric clinic. Be assured I’m actually fully fine. I’m not in the fetal position rocking, I promise. It’s just this world is so sad right now and it’s infecting my thoughts more frequently than ever before.

These little scenarios, this anxiety has increased but so has my intake of social media – the deliverer of these stories. The headlines reel me in just as the editors would have it. I read them, I try to imagine… as if I ever could and I wonder what I would do in these scenarios. I end up feeling crushed by these stories and they often stay with me. Nice one motherhood for teaching me the full effects of empathy.

I think I’m coming to grips with wanting to protect my children from all the sad, awful crap those goes on out there but knowing that I never really can. Not always anyway. It’s makes me feel so vulnerable I tell ya.

This is why I have decided to intervene and create a self inflicted intervention against reading the dark, soul infecting headlines that are splashed in front of us every time we scroll down our news feeds. I know it’s happening, I know it’s real but for now, for whatever reason I’m sensitive to the heartache. I don’t need to read the entire nitty gritties of a case. Sure, I want to live being informed, help even but I do not want to live in fear or in a state of suspicion about what could be. The maybes or what if’s can just get too overwhelming so I’m getting off world for a bit and taking a little hiatus to just enjoy the good ‘cos there’s plenty of that too. I don’t want to just see the bad and the sad, I want to live and be free from this fear. I want to get back to trusting again.

Do you find the world a scary place right now?

Do you try and protect your kids and yourself from it?

The Dainty Tea Cup

September 16, 2014 by Vicki

Sometimes men buy gifts. I know, I know. Shocking isn’t it???

Albeit, it’s often when they’re trying to sweet talk a girl into being theirs forever. A dating tool. A hope to get lucky tool.

On the weekend my aunty pointed out a teacup that she’s owned for just over fifty years. My jaw nearly dropped to the ground when she told me who had bought it for her. My father. My never-buys-a-present-would-rather-just-give-you-twenty-bucks-father.

Apparently the old softie, back in the smitten day, bought mums sisters a tea cup each for Christmas in their first year of courting. A gift I have no doubt cost him his entire weeks wages. Sounds like a bit of old fashion romance to me.

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Dainty and elegant is it not? I have to commend him on his choice of present. Not bad for a dairy farmer from way back yonks.

Actually, I was kinda touched by it’s sweetness and I guess someone else was too. Next year my parents celebrate 50 years of marriage. Suckers!