All posts tagged children

It’s a DNA thing.

Published June 19, 2012 by KalamityK

I haven’t got the foggiest idea what I’m going to write about. I stand amazed and slightly in awe of those bloggers who pop out posts day after day. I dunno how they do it, especially when each and every one is interesting and/or funny. I don’t have that much stuff in my head. Where do they get inspiration from to write? Some people must just be born to be writers. I don’t think I’m one of them. I really enjoy it but it doesn’t come natural.

I know some get it from their kids but the manchild is pretty much grown up now and does his own thing. I’d get into big trouble if I wrote all about him, particularly as he’s in the nocturnal phase of his life. I imagine most of his tales would include an 18 certificate! I don’t think I want to know too much of what he’s up to. I remember far too much from my own nocturnal phase to want to venture into that murky depth, thank you very much.


So what shall I write about? I see the world around me and currently it’s all just a little bit dull and uninspiring, if I’m honest. Maybe my brain has to be in the right place for the genius to appear. Maybe the moon has to be aligned with some planet or other. Whatever it takes, I’m under the impression that the genius part of my brain is on holiday this week… probably off touring old ruins or paddling on some secluded beach with just the fish and a good book for company. Sounds fab. Wish I could have gone. I rather fancy a holiday.

My last holiday two years ago was a trip to Kusadasi, Turkey. Ok, I have been to Oz since then, which is always amazing!… but it’s a ‘visiting family’ kinda holiday rather than an R&R kinda holiday. Anyway, I went with the ‘rents, uncle and cousins’ family to Turkey and we stayed in my uncle’s house and went out for trips here, there and everywhere. It was 2 weeks of utter lovely. Day trips, sight seeing, meals out with the fam, nights on the balcony watching the sunsets appear in glorious technicolour. Nothing but good times. Well there was that one time… but I’m not sure mum would appreciate me telling you all about how she tripped and fell into her suitcase!


This caused us all to stop dead in our tracks and dad to go into Superman mode, almost  flying up the stairs to rescue his fair maiden, (which in turn caused a picture to leap off the wall in sheer fright as he went past). It left a stonking bruise on her leg… the tumble, not the picture. But guess what? Chivalry aint dead! 

I’m sure mum would rather it go in the forgotten pile, filed right next to the time she got out of the car in California and promptly tripped over a  concrete thingy in the car park which caused her to slice her chin open (she spent half the holiday with her chin bandaged up), and that other time when she managed to slip down the stairs in Mexico and land on her coccyx. I probably shouldn’t tell you about those at all but if I did, it might explain some things. Like why I’m always falling off my flipflops.

There’s a reason you don’t see me in high heels  and it looks like this…         

Is it my fault if I’m genetically predisposed to lose my balance? Personally, I blame the parents. 

How the manchild climbs things like a natural born monkey and manages to avoid certain death, I’ll never know.

2nd chance poem

Published June 8, 2012 by KalamityK

I just found a scrap of paper tucked into my bookcase with this poem written on it. It’s one of many scraps I’ve kept over the years. If I find anymore I’ll share them as well.


If I had my child to raise again,

I’d finger-paint more and point my finger less.

I’d do less correcting and more connecting.

I’d take my eyes off my watch and watch with my eyes.

I would care to know less and know to care more.

I’d take more hikes and fly more kites.

I’d stop playing serious and seriously play.

I’d run through more fields and gaze at more stars.

I’d do more hugging and less tugging.

I would be firm less often and affirm much more.

I’d build self-esteem first and the house later.

I’d teach less about the love of power and more about the power of love.

Author Unknown. 

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