the things kids say, and why I can never show my face at childcare again
You’ll be pleased to hear my mood has lightened a little from the deep dark blackness of my last post. It’s now merely a somber grey, with fleeting hints of rainbows somewhere in the distance.
I’m still sore, bruised and swollen, and I’m still sick with the flu, but the worst of it has passed by now.
As always, the key to lightening my mood lay in exercise. This morning I did the first thing even remotely resembling exercise in a week – walking the dog. The dog looked at me a couple of times as if to say “Get a move on, man. I don’t have all day. And quit walking like a pirate”.
She would never say such a thing, of course. Buffy (the dog) is a sweet-natured thing who would never say so much as a mean word, even if she could talk. Which she can’t.
I’ve long held the belief that a good crisp bracing 10km run can cure most of what ails you, and I was tempted to put that belief into practice today. Sadly, a few aches and pains downstairs in the post dog-walk era suggested that wasn’t the best idea.
The things kids say
My 3 year old son knows about my operation. Not much, but enough to stop him doing disastrous running jumps onto my lap. Like all 3 year-olds, he hasn’t quite grasped the concept of tact, though. On Thursday, when he was a childcare, he told everyone who would listen – the workers, the kids, the manager, the parents:
My Daddy has a blue doodle
I can clearly never show my face there ever again.
But at least I can laugh about it, which means things must be on the improve.
Football
It’s about an hour before the final between Collingwood and Geelong. I have little knowledge or interest in the game, usually, and I have a long record of picking these things wrongly, but that being said: I predict Geelong to win in a dominant display of wet weather football.






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