Swapping notes on tarnished ears
Today the sun shone warmly and we snuck in some time at the park behind our house before the wind came up. Some of small one’s friends were there. They played cars, kicked a ball, went on bear hunts, swung up to the trees.
Talk between carers slips in between running after escapee children and negotiating sharing. I say carers because of the eight children playing there today, two carers were grandparents, one was a father, and three were mothers.
I particularly like talking to parents of other highly spirited children - whatever their gender. We tend to relate. From sleep challenges to how to feed medicine to a resistant child, these parents don’t judge your own efforts.
Anyway, the condition of my small one’s ears has constantly bemused anyone who has given him a bath. They are dirt magnets.
Another boy’s mum at the park, someone who predominately gives organic food to her child, laughed as she noticed the dirt in her son’s ears.
Oh god, they’re disgusting. Really revolting. I try to wash them! How do they even attract all that dirt! He screams if I get anywhere near them.
I smiled back and told her how small one shares the same trait. The consolation of other mothers.
