When I was a little girl, fairies ranked pretty high on my list of favourite things. I had fairy wings (still do actually), fairy wands and I even renamed myself Princess Lulubell, Queen of the Fairies (which is why my family still call me Loo - short for Lulubell). I could see fairies in everything, like the mossy patches on forest floors where fairies have their Magical Balls, dancing the night away in tulle dresses.
Like most young children, I believed that the specks of dust floating in a ray of sunshine were actually fairies (as opposed to a consequence of lax housekeeping). So it's not suprising that my own dear, sweet children believe the same. My heart smiled when I first saw them staring in wonder at the 'fairies' dancing in the sunlight as memories of my own childhood flooded back.
But with a screeching crash-bang-wallop, that's where the similarity ends. I forgot. They are boys. Not sweet little girls.
A few days ago (back when we still had sunshine) I walked in to find the two of them sitting absolutely still, staring at the fairies dancing in the sunbeam. Then, like something out of a National Geographic documentary on bullfrogs, the two of them opened their mouths wide and snapped them shut and proceeded to chomp on something. When I asked them what in heaven's name they were doing, I was promptly told: "Eating the fairies." And without further hesitation, they returned to stalk their prey.
And now you now how the 'Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus' story all begins.
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