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Those small joys

There are times when being a parent is an Everest-type challenge that tries our patience, our judgement and our humour.

And then there are the times when being a parent is the greatest damned job on the planet.

Take this morning, for instance. My little Addy (who is 4) has what was at first glance, scribbled in pen all over her right forearm (she is left-handed). Just as I was about to launch into a 6:30 am lecture about how ink can seep through your pores and turn you into an ogre or something, I looked at the “scribbles” more closely. There were about 5 letters of the alphabet.

Asking what these were, I got the following response:

“They are the letters that start the names of my friends that I love.”

There was a “B” for Brianna. A “J” for James. And so on.

There was no lecture.


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