Flowers in our hair.

At my son’s kinder there’s a wall covered in hand drawn pictures of a lot of rather odd-looking daddies. And descriptions that go with them, to explain why (despite their odd cartoonish looks) they’re the best daddies in the whole wide world. Every sentence starts out “I love my daddy because….” and every single answer is based on what their daddy does with them. Not for them, but with them.  It really struck me the first time I stood there and took them all in.  I love my daddy because he gives me the best piggy back rides.  I love my daddy because he takes me to Bunnings and lets me push the trolley.  I love my daddy because he gives mummy and me lots of hugs and kisses.  I love my daddy because he tickles me until my tummy hurts. I love my daddy because he plays trains with me. The list obviously goes on.

I have a weakness, while out shopping, of buying the kids things.  Usually just little things that might cost a dollar or two, but it’s a quick and easy fix for making me feeling like a good mother, for wiping out the irrational snappy reply I just gave them.  But two weeks on they don’t even remember what we bought that afternoon, let alone where it is.  They remember that we caught the train to the shops and we had a coffee together, and on the way home people laughed at us because we kept getting the words wrong to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.  They don’t even remember the irrational snappy reply.  Ten minutes sitting together over caffeine (for me) and steamed milk froth (for them), and unabashed giggles on crowded public transport trumps a stressed mum in a bad mood who buys her kids toys to make herself feel better.

Why am I sharing this?  I don’t know really. Other than to say how continually surprised I am to find that all our kids really need is us. The hugs. The kisses. The chasing of butterflies. The dizzy whizzies. The silly faces. The nonsensical songs. The tickles. The horsey back rides.  The wearing of pretty weeds flowers in our hair because our daughter thinks it looks beautiful.  And it strikes me when I walk away from a photo session that has me feeling particularly happy that this is what it was all about.  The hugs and the kisses and everything in between.  Doing the kind of nothing that means everything.  Celebrating a family just being a family. It makes me wanna go home and just be with mine.  It’s a bit like a drug really.

In short, I’m grateful for beautiful families that trust me to capture a small part of who they are and who are brave enough to just be. These are the moments we hold onto and remember. The important ones. The kind of moments that end up written next to an odd cartoon version of ourselves on a classroom wall for everyone to see.

Narrelle x