Felix and I went to Luka's school and helped out with his prep class's muscle strokes lesson today. The class is actually called gross motor skills, but Felix calls any form of exercise muscle strokes, and I personally think that sounds like a whole lot of fun.
Four kids were injured during the class, these small people don't seem to have any sense of personal space whatsoever and heads were colliding like coconuts. Blood and tears and snot everywhere. And "mine". The ball is mine, the yellow one is mine, give me the pink bat it's mine, if I can see it it's mine, doesn't matter if you are touching it, it's still mine, gimme gimme, mine, mine, mine.
It must have rubbed off on me, because I am pretty sure that at one stage I may have stared down a four year old and said mate, that ball is mine.
Bad mummy helper.
In the photo above though there's no fight, it's definitely mine.
Even though I'm not sure what it is.
It's fat and oval and hairy and it's growing on a vine. I really want it to be honeydew so I can then post it as H is for Honeydew, but that may prove to be difficult, given that I'm quite confident there has never been a honeydew melon in this house.
But honestly, what else is as exciting as honeydew that begins with an H?
No, horseradish is not exciting.
The photo above shows what the fruit looks like when it's little, and below is the flower.
It's mine and I'm keeping it. But... what on earth is it?