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Sunday, 1 March 2015

Material girl, material boy, and material mother

Things in bulks surround me, they make me feel overwhelmed, and they limit me more than I wish. Despite my sincere attempts not to carry every single piece of baby/child-related equipment when on a walk, I end up with, well, things in bulks.
I honestly wonder how other mums manage to survive their everyday lives with buggies clear of stuff, just one almost-designer-type of bag happily hanging over, and they are able to have their take-away coffee, and talk to someone on the phone, and giggle, and push their lovely child(ren), who are clean, happy, and contempt.
Me, in turn, I am usually the visual representation of a more-is-less motto (yes, it was deliberately meant the other way round, unfortunately). The school bag, the nappy bag, the snacks bag, the library bag...
Not that I'm jealous, just wondering.

Since children do copy their parents, and that's, in essence, how they learn about life and habits, I seem to be caring for future materialists. At least they may develop their analytical abilities to the full, explaining everything around us with no spiritual input required. Just things.

In result, I believe the others look at me with pity. While I care about it less and less (another obvious sign of aging...), it seems to result in unusual kindness and sincere support when I least expect it. Like the other day, we were walking through a foot tunnel underneath Thames, only to find out that the lift at the other end was not working. Then, a truly decent and incredibly nice guy suggested to help us (no flattery here, I have a husband who I happen to, you know, admire and respect, and love; even when I do not express this with everyday boxes of chocolates, bunches of deep-red roses, and shirts ironed flawlessly). I ended up carrying my happy mini man in his buggy with a man I have never seen before in my life, all the way up the 100+ stairs to the street level.

Miracles do happen...

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