Grocery Run

At the grocery store today, I picked up a bag of carrots. I was about to turn away when I heard a voice say, "很美, hor?" (Aren't they beautiful?)

I looked up. It was one of the aunties who worked at the grocery store. Short and silver-haired, she looked back at me with a gentle smile.

Frankly I hadn't noticed. Monday is Grocery Run Day. After dropping Aramis off at school, I have 3 hours to get the goods, zip home, cram as much work in as I can, before I have to make lunch for the hungry hordes. So I pick up carrots like I pick up scattered laundry - as quickly as I can.

I looked back down at the carrots. They looked like every other carrot I had ever seen. Long, orange, firm. What else was there to appreciate?

I looked back at her and forced a smile. Yes, they are, I said.

She told me that they had just come in that morning, so fresh-looking, so firm, and they were on sale too. She had just been bagging them, and was clearly full of admiration for the harvest before her.
I looked back at the carrots and somehow they looked brighter than a few seconds ago. I thanked her, and as I continued down the vegetable aisle, I walked a little more slowly, and let my gaze linger over the greens.

Another day, another milestone

Last weekend, we ran out of milk and flour, and Porthos, who just turned 9, volunteered to go to the store by himself to buy it.
Pilgrim Mom: Do you want Kor Kor to go with you?
Porthos: No, I can go by myself.
PM: Are you sure?
P: Yes.
And so, off he went, carrying a grocery bag and $10. It's a trip we've made dozens of times, and he knows the way, and the store layout, and the whole routine at the check-out. Yet I have to admit I had my heart in my mouth the whole time, and had to resist the temptation to trail along.
He returned soon enough, and really didn't see what the fuss was about. Me, I had to swallow hard and push away the thought that my little guy was growing up faster than I thought.

From an old, beloved book

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

- The Velveteen Rabbit

Carrion

That's Aramis' current favourite word.

He learnt it from a book about vultures that we borrowed from the library. Up to now, his library book interest has seldom extended beyond trains, resulting in a vocabulary comprising words like 'freight', 'engine', 'track' and 'coupling'. So I was surprised when he asked about birds at our last library visit. (And I have a strong suspicion I have Rovio to thank for that!)

Anyhow, he's been practicing saying the word "carrion" for several days now - a little macabre, I know. Then this morning, right after breakfast, he reached down to the ground, smacked hard on a hapless, unsuspecting ant that was walking by, showed me his palm and said brightly, "Look Mommy, CARRION!"

Toaster's toast!

Inspired by this TED video, we decided to let Athos and Porthos take apart our spoilt toaster.
Apart from some supervision with the sharper tools and edges, we offered little guidance, in the hopes that the exploration would excite their imagination.

Should have done this a long time ago! They had fun using tools that they don't normally get to use, and enjoyed the permission to totally destroy and do whatever they liked with the toaster.
At the end of it all, our toaster was, well, toast.

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