Of Poppies and Potties

I always remember to remember, and then forget Remembrance Day. So I got a head start and shared my most meaningful video on Facebook yesterday. Then of course I remembered, all day.
But in remembering it gave me the opportunity to teach my children something very close to my heart and important in my family.
It's tricky to get the meaning across to young children for two reasons, it's a complex abstraction and they have very short attention spans. Remaining true to myself I had no doubt I could teach them this in an afternoon, a short one. My self belief is unshakable until shaken. My daughter (2) knows she played with red glitter and saw daddy in a photo. My son (4) may have stored, although possibly misfiled three or four keywords and knows he coloured in, in the lines.
Briefly, which is so difficult for me I'm going to bullet point it:

• Printed one easy & one standard colouring in picture of a poppy
• Sat on floor and told them today is a Special Day
• Called Remembrance Day, because we remember today
• We remember all the people who have ever kept us safe (from chat forum, thanks)
• We remember birthdays with cake, Easter with eggs and today with a flower called a poppy

"Do we have poppies in the garden mom?"

"No."

"Why?"

• They coloured their poppies in
• Sat on floor again and looked at photo of daddy in uniform, in the bush – radio, rifle, the whole shebang
• Looked at daddy's grandfather's medals
• You get a medal for being very, very, very (can repeat up to 20 times for emphasis, they do) brave

Then I did a very quick recap on why the day was special, and my son asked why daddy was different. Ha! They (read: he) gets it. I am vindicated. I am a super mom, a hero of the cause, champion of the 'boys'.

Pleased, I asked: Different because he was a soldier? Yes. I told him lots of daddys were and are soldiers and we are very proud of them. We are very proud of daddy.

I felt chuffed and triumphant and asked: So, what do you think? 

Simultaneously:

"Can we go ride our bikes now?"

"Wee-wee."

Mom time: Just me, me , me ... and him

Four. Four is an absolutely fantastic age. I'm loving four. It's all about the world around you. It's inquiring, it's inquisitive, it's energetic, it's enthusiastic, it's exhausting.
If you're paying attention it's up close and personal, in-your-face development that is fascinating to watch, and not a little scary because you can literally see the influence you have on your child. What you say and what you do matters, because they will say it and do it tomorrow, so what do you want them to say and do?
They're learning right from wrong, distinguishing between fantasy and reality, understanding the concept of consequences ... or at least most of them are.
There are a lot of "it's not okay to say that," and "let's talk about that later", and "did that really happen or were you hoping it would happen?"
But then you always get those tiresome few who appear to have spent these all-important developmental years in the laundry cupboard because aged 40 they seem incapable of telling right from wrong, and in this case, sadly, fantasy from reality.
I'm approaching the 12th kay of a half marathon recently when a man trots up alongside me, gives me a long look which I am aware of but cannot meet. It's paramount that I look straight ahead otherwise I will fall over my feet, or someone else's.
He says: "you have baie mooi boude."
Really?
You've come all this way to run through the misty Kaapschehoop mountains with wild horses, suck in deep lungfuls of gorgeous air, cruise downhills and THAT'S what you're looking at?
So I say: "Really? That's what you've chosen to look at?"
He says: "I'm not a boobs man."
Excellent.
Lucky me.
I say: "You shouldn't be looking at either."
And then the without-fail clincher: "It's a compliment!"
Urgh!
Not only does this jolt my perfect running karma but it grates because the last is said over his shoulder as he accelerates, leaving me and my "mooi bode" used, withered and violated in his dust.
If only I could have tossed a carefree laugh to the wind over MY shoulder and said gaily, "well watch them disappear then."