Tag Archives: childhood

19 Little Smiles – and a Giggle

Not sure where it originated but one of my friends posted this on Facebook earlier, and it made me smile more than once. Therefore it belongs right here.

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What Love means to a 4-8 year old: A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, ’What does love mean?’ The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined.

See what you think:

‘When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn’t bend over and paint her toenails anymore… So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That’s love.’ – Rebecca, age 8

‘When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different.You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.’ – Billy, age 4

‘Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.’ – Karl, age 5

‘Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.’ –Chrissy, age 6

‘Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired.’ -Terri, age 4

‘Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.’ – Danny, age 7

‘Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy and Daddy are like that.
They look gross when they kiss’ – Emily, age 8

‘Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents
and listen.’ –Bobby, age 7

‘If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate” –Nikka, age 6

‘Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt , then he wears it everyday.’ –Noelle, age 7

‘Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.’ –Tommy, age 6

‘During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn’t scared anymore.’ – Cindy, age 8

‘My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don’t see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.’ –Clare, age 6

‘Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.’ –Elaine, age 5

‘Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.’ –Chris, age 7

‘Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.’ -Mary Ann, age 4

‘I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.’ –Lauren, age 4

‘When you love somebody , your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.’ – Karen, age 7

‘Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn’t think it’s gross..’ –Mark, age 6

‘You really shouldn’t say ‘I love you’ unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.’ –Jessica, age 8

~xx~

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Yesterday’s Smile

It was about 10.30pm, and I was on a train and in my third hour of a journey home from London.

Somewhere on the opposite side of the carriage and a couple of seats behind mine were sitting a young mother and her little boy – who was at a guess around two years old.

For most of the journey the pair were babbling away to each other in that way that mothers and toddlers do. Then we reached a station a couple of stops away from my own (and a couple more still away from theirs), and as the train slowed to a halt the boy got ridiculously excited, jumping up and down screaming ‘Are we there are we there are we there? Mummy, are we there???’

No, mummy explained, no we’re not there yet. This is Thorne, we’ve got about 45 minutes to go…

and so (even though I’m pretty sure this kid was far too young to understand ’45 minutes’) he began to cry. Loudly. Wailing and sobbing as if the most tragic thing in the world, ever, had just happened to him.

(At this point the teenage boy sitting in front of and opposite to me, with whom I’d looked up from my book to make brief eye contact, shared a smirk with me before mumbling something which might have been ‘oh god, please no’).

After about 30 seconds of the mournful hysterics the mother put us all out of our misery/mild irritation;

“Oh… Stop Pretending To Cry!”

And so he did. Instantly. And remained silent for the next thirty seconds before starting up all over again.

Maybe you had to be there, but I had to giggle.

Cuteness.

^-^


Ooh, and…

Something that made me smile today.

A little girl and her dad ordered a create-your-own pizza. He let her stay behind and watch me make it while he went to grab a couple of things from the aisle nearby. She chatted to me about all sorts of little-girl things, then told me that she and her dad were going to have a nerf fight when they got home – at which point she ran off to get the nerf guns and darts to show me. Dad came back with her and said ‘Yeah but I’m totally gonna win…’ and they got into an adorable little ‘I’m-gonna-win! – No-you’re-not, I-am…’ squabble, ending in a dad-victory-by-tickling.

Enough cuteness to break the monotony of 9 hours spent putting food things on other food things, if only for a little while.

~xx~


Sorry For The Rant, But…

I live directly opposite my village’s primary school.

I have never quite been able to understand why an apparent majority of parents of the young children in the village (and I’m sure the same goes for children attending their local primary schools everywhere) choose to drive said offspring to school when said school cannot possibly more than around a ten-minute walk away.

That’s right, Mums and Dads; I’m suggesting that it would be better for you to (shock, horror) get off your fat lazy arses and walk your young ones to school. Put one foot in front of the other a few times a day. It probably won’t kill you, and it definitely won’t kill the kid(s). And if it is likely to kill you that’s probably in large part due to the fact that it’s been so long since you last did such a thing – which would account for how your lazy ass got so fat. I mean, is there any wonder childhood obesity is a growing problem in this country? By chauffeuring your brats to and from the other end of the same damn road you live on you are encouraging them to be incredibly lazy too.

No you are not pushed for time, and no you will not be late for work; getting up ten minutes earlier to allow for a casual hundred-metre stroll will not kill you any more than will the use of your legs’ full potential.

If your children happen to be older than, say, eight; why can’t they walk to school by themselves or with other children who live nearby? This is a small village and there are plenty of other kids and parents going the same way; nothing terrible will happen to them so long as they possess a shred of common sense and you’ve taught them such essentials as look-both-ways-and-listen-for-traffic-before-crossing-roads, and don’t-talk-to-strangers.

(This is a village. Everyone knows everyone’s business. There basically are no strangers, anyway).

Perhaps your ass isn’t fat and lazy; perhaps you’re one of those who drive your kids to school because you find it difficult to walk in those new Prada heels and that figure-hugging pencil skirt you’re desperate to show off – crowning glory as they are of the ‘yummy mummy’ image you’re trying to project.

Or perhaps you want to show us all how well-off and respectable you are through the medium of that fancy new car you’re driving?

Well I’m sorry, but unfortunately for your maxed-out credit card/chief exec hubby, most of us don’t give two hoots about that stuff either. At least, not beyond wishing you’d move your status symbol from across the bottom of our drive so we can get the youngest members of our own family to their school (six miles away – does not provide a bus service to this locality) on time. And we’d appreciate you doing so without the (excessively-lipsticked) stuck-up-bitch pout, please. Thanks.

Roar.

.

Rant Over. Hastily-Carved-Cat-(mini)Pumpkin:

~xx~


átján

 

A Problem That You Have Had. 

First of all, let it be known that I do not like this one.

But since I am awake and have the time to write something, I’ll rise to the challenge… sort of.

~

Size 8 jeans are a massive struggle for me to get into.

Size 10 jeans are usually too big, by a margin considerable enough for it to be impossible for me to ignore and get over their too-big-ness.

Belts, even the ‘small’ ones, do not  fit me properly; There’s always too much left over, which just looks stupid.

I could eat The World and not put on more than maybe a couple of pounds.

.

My hair grows all wrong, so that there does not exist a style which it will do properly – or a way for it to look remotely attractive. Even when I was little, it wouldn’t do plaits or pigtails or even a simple ponytail properly. I think this is why I decided at some point not to even bother trying to be a proper girl.

.

I had a tendency, through school, to develop undying crushes on guys whom I not only would pretty much never speak to, but whom none of my friends could even vaguely understand my obsessions with.  Silent, Secret Agony.

.

I have no boobies. I would really prefer to have some of those. (I’m not stupid enough to even contemplate getting fake ones, don’t worry). I feel like a lot of years of my life would have been a lot less silently secretly agonizing if I’d just grown a pair of those at some point. (This fact probably played into at least one of the above, too).

.

My list of first world problems probably goes on and on, but I am tired and my brain isn’t working properly.

So, um.

Boobies:

 

 

~xx~

 

 


十六,十七

Something you always think ‘what if’ about. 

Something you are proud of. 

~

The what if thing is really easy.

When I was little I always said I was going to be a vet when I grew up. This ambition was very simply premised on the fact that I adored animals, and found all of them fascinating without exception. I also liked how they never required me to be polite and come out from behind the sofa to say things to people; things like ‘Hello’, and whatever the appropriate answers might be to the questions *insert relative’s name here* might care to ask me by way of small talk.

Anyway, the point is that I lacked confidence. Everyone who tried to instil it in me over the years must ultimately have failed, because I still lack confidence. Painfully. While such character flaws are mostly acceptable in doe-eyed, cherub-blonde four-year-olds, they are a little less forgivable in  tired-eyed twenty-one-year-olds (with hair of god-knows-what-colour).

But up until the point where it started to matter, I aced everything I needed to ace in order to keep my early ambitions a possibility.  Then for some reason I lost all faith in my ability to continue my education in the sciences, and chose to study English, History, Classics and Philosophy to A Level. Which in turn killed all potentially lucrative options when it came to possible University courses. Despite the fact that I went on to do well in all of those things and my eventual university degree, I now very much doubt that I will ever become a Veterinary Surgeon. I lament my decisions from time to time… vets make a lot of money; I’m sure that’s almost worth the horror of having to stick your hand up cows’ backsides every now and then. Having made the choices I did back then, and followed them up in the way that I have, I often wonder nowadays if I’ll ever be able to make money out of doing anything I vaguely enjoy. Not to mention the fact that the confidence has waned still further as a result; simply not being terrified of anything I might possibly decide to do seems like an unattainable Holy Grail nowadays. I’ve backed myself into a corner so that I pretty much can’t avoid living a lie, and I’m tearing my hair out in my efforts to figure out which lie would be best to go for.

~

Something I’m Proud Of.

Hmm.

My little sister loves me?

.

Here is a picture of a stumpy dog and its owner walking in the sea at Filey:

~xx~


Décimo Segundo Dia e Décimo Terceiro Dia

I missed two days.

On Friday I was sleeping then working then absolutely shattered from the working and the cold that seems to have really got me at the moment. (That’s probably my fault for verbally bashing people who are overly dramatic when they catch a cold. Oops).

On Saturday I got up really early to drive a few friends down to Alton Towers  theme park, where we spent the day getting thrown around and screaming like girls. Which was a huge amount of fun, but of course did not help my situation where not-being-able-to-speak is concerned.

[I’ll just add here that unfortunately there would seem to be little the UK’s theme parks could throw at me that will thrill me now. While I still get a tiny bit nervous in the queue for Oblivion, as one friend pointed out; “Steph, you jumped out of a plane…”]

So here’s what I was supposed to write about on Friday;

Five Guys Whom You Find Attractive. 

This is another one of those things I’m cagey about sharing, because I will be judged. Well, here goes…

Here are five celebrity guys I’ve had crushes on in the past (Only mildly though, might I add; I always saved my proper crushes for real people).

1. Orlando Bloom. Won my favour as Will Turner in the first Pirates of the Caribbean film. Can’t decide whether I prefer him polished or  casual, so have both;

      

(I want to steal his watch)

2. Alex Pettyfer. Caught my eye as Alex Rider in Stormbreaker. Much more age-appropriate, considering we’re still talking about me aged around 13, at this point.

3. Josh Holloway. As ‘Sawyer’ in Lost. Nobody ever was jealouser of Evangeline Lilly and her freckles. ;)

[But this one was far, far too old for me].

Harder to explain. I think it was as much the bad boy persona of the character as anything else…

5.  Jared Leto. In 30 Seconds to Mars, (a band I could never really pretend to be into for any other reason than his prettiness).

Particularly in the video for ‘The Kill’, where he’s screaming (THIS IS WHO I REALLY AM) at himself.

(I know that’s only 4. I hoped you wouldn’t notice… I guess I just prefer crushing on real people from real life, ok?)

~

As for Décimo Terceiro Dia, Your Opinion About Your Body and How Comfortable You Are With It, well that really depends on the time of day, day of the week, week of the month, month of the year. Some days there are parts of my body that I like. Some days there are different parts of it that I like. Other days I hate it all. Currently I am slightly annoyed at it for succumbing to minor illness (the aforementioned cold) for such a long time. I want my voice back. Don’t think there’s much more I can say to that right now.

~xx~


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