All posts tagged: #Preschooler

It’s first place or nothing

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So while I was stoked to still be standing upright, Amy cried actual tears over me not winning the Auckland half marathon on Sunday. The fact that I was never, ever going to come even remotely close to winning, and my (fleeting) joy at improving on last year’s time meant nothing to her. I gave her my participant’s medal as a jollying-up tactic, but she held it sadly and asked, “well who DID win?” I invented a quick story about a runner named Jonathan winning, who’d run lots of races (because I DON’T KNOW). She thought about it for a while, then morosely looked out the window and muttered, “well, I hope Jonathan got an actual trophy, and not just the same medal that you and all the other people who didn’t win got given”. Gee thanks, “Jonathan”, and the thousands of other runners who drank less wine, trained harder and ran faster…thus causing me to bring non-winning shame upon my family.

Spoiler alert: I won’t be winning it

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Amy while supervising as I sorted out my running kit: “So the half marrafon you’re running this weekend, is it the same one you did last year?” Me: “Yes, it is” Amy: “The one you didn’t win, but they gave you a medal anyway?” Me: “Well, er, no I didn’t win, but I was just really happy to finish it…” Amy: “Maybe try a bit harder this year, because it’d be better if you won.  If you DO win, I’ll do this cool dance and shout YAY MUMMY YOU WON! If you don’t win, I’ll just give you a sad cuddle.” *demonstrates cool dance vs. sad cuddle*

Times are a-changin’

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Text message exchanges after boozy long weekend shenanigans used to say things like: “found a bra in the bushes out the front of our house, is it yours?” Now it’s more “you left your cake tin and two cooler bags behind, I’ll bring them to the girls’ ballet class this week”. Whatevs. The empties overflowing the recycling bin are of far better quality.

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I don’t really mind Amy wanting to sleep with me if she’s out of sorts at 4am, because it hardly ever happens, and I’m sure the “don’t talk to me! don’t even LOOK at me!” years will sneak up on us faster than we know. It’s the elaborate door list of plus-ones that she not only wants to include, but expects me to chauffeur from her room to ours that sours the whole thing. By the time Snuggly, Bianca, Giovanni, Blankie, Bag 1, Bag 2, Crown, Unicorn, Tiny Kiwi, Knitted Basket and Peter have been retrieved and finally arranged in a very specific layout, I’m wide awake. Which is probably for the best as I need to keep my wits about me to stop from falling off the very tiny remaining corner of mattress.