Tuesday, 10 September 2013

I love your slippers and your shins

This title has very little to do with this post. But last night Rob was reading Immy her bedtime story when she said I love you Daddy. And I love your shirt. She's going through this thing where she announces out of the blue that she loves you, followed by things you are wearing. Normally I just say thank you. But Rob came back with I love your slippers and your shins and your pants. Which I thought was quite cute, and very apt since I am having a small love affair with her tiny muscled calves and legs in general now that it's warm again.

Tonight's whispered gems when I tucked her in. I love you mama. And I love your hair. I love your shirt. We two are best friends.

**

This past Saturday, when her eyes flew open in the morning and she asked me for the THIRTIETH DAY IN A ROW: Is it my Spring Walk today? I could finally say yes. YES. It's your Spring Walk today. Spring Walk is her school fête, complete with face painting, and a green-and-white circus tent and a train and a cordoned off track for the kids to do the Big Walk.  For every lap walked, the kids are sponsored by friends, family, grannies and grandpas to raise money for the school. Rob most enthusiastically and excellently filled up the majority of her sponsorship sheet at his office. We filled in the rest.

Each class represented a country, with matching food. We were America, and our offering was hotdogs and hamburgers. Opposite us was this stall. Pincushion proteas, milk tart in tin cups and  t-shirts saying Bly Kalm en Bel Vir Ouma.

Yip. South Africa, all right.





We arrived early so we could have time to do all the fun things before the walk itself.

Face painting. She was desperate to be a fairy and was thrilled with this - because when you're 3 going on 4 , anything with glitter equals perfection.





Tombola. Broken fishing rod, guaranteed two fish.



Standard school fête fare. Burgers, candy floss, popcorn. Immy, one. Burger, zero.







Best friends. These two are inseparable.



Train ride. The driver did his very best to make tiny zigzags in the tractor in an attempt to make the ride last longer than just a trip around the duck pond. Can it be this much fun though?





At last it was time for the walk. All the kids milled around, and somehow, eventually, got going. I was waiting for Immy, when she came around the corner. Running. She RAN and RAN. On her own, passing people to the left and right. Single-minded. Until the 8th lap, when she ran straight out of the track towards my folks and announced 'I'm tired'. They carried her for a bit and she ran the rest of the way.

I watched her. Astonished. Because I am genetically incapable of running. And she is an athlete. She loped past, all strong legs and bare feet and energy and vitality.



Red-faced, sweaty, dusty. An ice lolly never tasted this good.



And after a quiet conversation with this gentleman, we took her home, carried her tired body inside, gave her a cool bath and put her to bed.

Athlete's need their rest, you know.


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