Shiny things, are best when small. And pure. And in small packages.
I always look forward to the 3pm pick up. Even though it means that the day is all but over, that the witching hour will be soon upon us and that I can completely forget about trying to complete any unfinished jobs from earlier in the day. That half hour period when I pick Miss Charlie up from school is always the best.
Together we make up a convoy of pram & baby, bouncing, jubilant puppy dog pulling on her lead, human pack-horse carrying the too-heavy school bags and various other school related paraphernalia and finally, Miss Charlie dragging her feet along behind. It’s a slow progression down the road from school to home with stops along the way to indulge in an afternoon treat at the milk bar, maybe a run through the park with the dog and whatever else takes her fancy. Usually she chatters away about all of the new things she learnt at school that day, often amazing me with some new form or concept towards life and its inherent values. I have to admit, and I’m not at all biased, she’s a pretty switched on six-year-old.
This afternoon was no different. As we wound our way through the mums and kids along the foot path en route to the park, Miss Charlie ducked and weaved and successfully jumped her way to the front whilst I was caught trying to manoeuvre the pram and bags without tripping over my feet and the dog. She then rather rambunctiously announced to all those within about a 2km radius (kids don’t often understand the concept of quiet, tactful voices) that:
“she loved being little.. you can fit past everyone and never get squashed. Fat people can’t do that, their bums are too big!”
Well speaking from someone who is also pretty damn little, I can completely understand where she’s coming from with this one. Except, I have to admit that her timing for this loud outburst was somewhat lacking… we’d just bypassed a large family whom looked as though they could do with a little less t.v. time and a little more playground time.
– Oh and also, purely from an observational point of view: tights, are definitely not pants. Just saying.
And so I quickly chimed in to Charlie’s rescue, attempting to perhaps ease her statement into safer grounds. I proceeded to tell her something that I’ve been told by all and sundry for most of my life, but most often from my most beloved Nanna: “Good things come in small packages.”
They sure do, the best things. To which she countered,
“Yeah, like diamonds.”
Nice one Charlie, you sure hit the nail on the head with that wisdom…