At some point in life!

What’s your favorite candy?

Everyone loves candy!!!

Given the health problems associated with sugar intake, I find it difficult to eat much candy. I wouldn’t say I’m a fan now, but that wasn’t always the case. Unlike my children, who sometimes cry for candy every day, I wasn’t raised with it. At my age, I can barely remember the names of any candies other than Haribo; surprisingly, I even miss the names of the candies I currently buy for my kids each month. That’s how little of a fan I am.

Nevertheless, my favorite candy is Haribo because it contains less sugar than others and is also chewable. When I have a craving, I often open a pack and take out three or four pieces for myself, leaving the rest for my younger children. I’m allergic to sweetness, especially to high sugar levels, making me uncomfortable whenever I accidentally consume too much.

At some point in live everyone loves candy!

For the past fifteen years, I have suppressed my desire for anything sugary. I even went so far as to drink my tea and coffee without sugar until my doctor informed me that my sugar levels were low. At that point, I began to add a small amount to my teas and coffees. I always got goosebumps when I saw how much sugar my coworkers put into their tea; their reactions to my unsweetened drinks were quite surprising. Although they often complimented me on my choices, I understand their preferences.

Sugar is addictive, much like caffeine and other products, and since the recommended consumption levels are not well-regulated, we often ignore the consequences of excessive intake. Some parents give their children too much freedom when it comes to candy, leading to habits that can be difficult to break later in life. Understanding the importance of managing sugar consumption, I have made it a priority to regulate my young children’s candy intake to avoid the serious health consequences associated with it. Nevertheless, everyone loves candy at some point in their lives.

The downpour soaked us!

Do you need a break? From what?

But also had us washed.

If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. It’s already ten p.m., and I’ve finally convinced my six-year-old daughter to go to bed after enjoying the excellent noodles I served her for dinner. I’ve been busy all day, having had a very stressful week at work, with today being my first rest day of the week, which I must admit is not a rest day at home. I got up early to drive two of my girls to school, not minding the fact that as a night shift worker, I had to be home after three a.m. Please note that I am not writing to beg for sympathy for my current situation because it is my choice and my duty as a parent. A husband and father.

I am surrounded by love, care, and the duties that come with being a parent because I have two girls, ages three and six, respectively. On my way back from dropping them off at school, which was a fifteen-minute walk away, I recalled that I had a driving lesson at 9:15 p.m. As I hurried home, I noticed my instructor parked next to my house. Unprepared to drive right away, I hurried inside my house to get my sheet schedule and, just for convenience, have my shoes changed. My heart is racing; I haven’t gotten enough sleep or rest, and even though it’s not a workday, I have a full itinerary for the day. I prayed that I wouldn’t make any serious driving errors today.

The class lasted for one hour. Although it was not very easy, I succeeded. I knew that under pressure, my driving lessons seldom went well, but I was stuck with my schedule and had little to no alternative. If wishes were horses indeed, I was relieved when the driving lessons were over. I went home and ate breakfast as quickly as possible. I was reminded of my copywriting assignment from the online course I recently registered in when I noticed my laptop on the table. After completing lesson 04 on storytelling two days ago, I found the homework challenging due to the given directions.

After searching the internet for suggestions and ideas, I saw that it was already 11:45; I had to pick up my three-year-old daughter from school. Oh, hmm. I hissed. I got dressed once more, grabbed my scooter, and opened the door to head out, only to discover that it was pouring. Rain and snow are the day’s weather forecast predictions. You have to fulfil your obligations as parents. I want to avoid giving in to the school administration’s request to pick up my children later than expected, so I take my umbrella and head out into the rain.In spite of the wind and rain, we managed to get home. While it was true that the rain got us wet, we were also washed. When we arrived home, my daughter was ecstatic; despite the rain, she was chanting, “Rain, rain, go away, and come again another day,” lilubally. This time, it was past noon, and after we ate, she fell asleep. I carried on with my copywriting task. I dozed off for an hour because I was so exhausted. It’s already 3 p.m., and time to pick up my first kid from school. I jumped on my scooter and rushed to school for the third time. We arrived home within twenty minutes. My leg shook and my eyes were heavy, my project and blog post were unfinished, and I knew rest was far away.

I apologise to my readers, subscribers, and followers for not posting on untoldrealities.com for approximately a week; it was unintentional and due to circumstances beyond my control. I looked at the prompt questions every day, but I was unable to write. But this is my life right now, and if I ever needed a break, it would be from my job because, no matter how difficult the sacrifices I made for my kids were, I would never regret being there for them when they needed me most. If wishes were horses, I would rather take a lasting break from work than not spend time with my children.

We are our tradition!

Write about a few of your favorite family traditions.

Thanks to Dad and Mom.

(It’s not about the tradition but the Aim of the tradition!)

Traditions are defined as a series of recurrent rituals, behaviours, and activities that have been practiced and passed down through generations. Indeed, family customs can vary by town, country, and continent. It can be both ornate and simple, reflecting family ideas and values. For many people, it includes physical or actual activities like family dinners, camping, family vacations, and extended family games, to name a few. Which is determined by the point of origin. Whatever customs your family has, they are honoured.

However, the idea of writing about this topic cast a heavy shade over my spirit in terms of my family’s priceless memories. It reminded me of my late parents and their insistence on our upholding family traditions.Their efforts to ensure that we all adhere to it continue to this day, even after they are gone. We, like every other family, have an annual vacation ritual; regardless of where we live, we return home every Christmas to spend quality time with our parents. Have a discussion together. We eat together, visit our fields, and go to church together. play and dance together . Both single and married. Even married people visit along with their wives and children.

But the most fascinating part of my family’s traditions isn’t what it might seem. Rather than the yearly vocations, dinner dates, farm visits, church, and dance, my parents’ goal is for us all to follow the tradition, which speaks to the love, unity, and affection that exist within the family. The conversations and outward manifestations of everyone utilising our time together to strengthen the family’s bond against those who would have us do otherwise.

Our parents instilled in us the importance of caring, helping, bonding, and looking out for one another. And their presence kept it in check until death arrived. I feel that any current family custom is primarily dependent on the prospective parents. Their intentions, as well as their vision and presence. I was unable to attend my late mother’s burial last Christmas, and I despised myself for it; as a result, I missed the annual custom of having all of my siblings together for the final time.

As much as it terrifies me that with our parents’ deaths, it may be difficult to maintain the physical annual tradition and rituals that accompany them, but the bond, love, devotion, and care they instilled in us, their children, will always be practiced and retained. However, with each of us having our own immediate families, our parents fulfilled their purposes and course of our tradition because, in turn, we are ensuring that our children have the same bond of love, affection, unity, and care for one another that our parents instilled in us through our family tradition. Permits me to say: When tradition fulfilled its course, it becomes human. We are our tradition.

Sacrifices you may never understand as a child

Please hurry up. Have you finished your breakfast, chimara? We’re already running late. Where is your sister now? Eating She responded while dining. OK please button up your jumper. I said again, my heart racing and my eyelids heavy with sleep; it hadn’t been long since they returned from a sleepover with their mother, who had hurriedly readied them for school before departing to her morning shift despite working all night.

After returning from the night shift, I closed my eyes for just an hour before falling asleep. Rolling from side to side of my bed, filled with resentment, anxiety, and great exhaustion, praying that a miracle could occur and someone would transport my kids to school every morning, not just today. How come I’m being tortured to such agony? My mind wandered with closed eyes and an awakened consciousness.Then a voice said, “Stop pitying yourself.” Nobody said it’d be easy. Get up; at the very least, you are doing it for your children. I had newfound vigour in my soul, yet I was still angry at myself.

Poor kids, how I wish they knew what was going through my mind; they would forgive all of my tantrums directed at them. Chizy, where are you? Come here, please. She promptly approached me, seeking for assistance with her shoes, which she had on incorrectly. Bring your leg here. I stated as I switched her trainers and clothed her appropriately for school. Walking to the dining room, which adjoins the entry and exit doors to our house, I notice a dish with leftover cereals on the table. Whose plate is that? I exclaimed. Oh, mine, mine, sorry, they said, aware that after eating, their plates should be taken to the kitchen. “Please let’s go; we’re late.

Chimara, where are your bags and water bottles? She said, “Here, here,” and I replenished them with water before we walked out the door. My formerly cloudy head has progressively cleared of grief and weakness. A few minutes into our walk to school, as we doubled our pace to keep up with the clock, I heard a three-year-old whispering hello and waving at us, while her mother looked on in delight. I was confused at first, but a closer look caught me off guard when I recognised her smile and realised she was Chizy’s classmate and friend.

Boo-boo, isn’t that your friend? And, yes, she grinned in response before calling her out and asking that she accompany us to school. But the kid’s mother and I quickly exchanged pleasantries. Come on, gals, we need to get caught up on time. We fled quickly. We’re almost at the school gate, and it’s time. I directed Chimara and Chizy to sprint towards the school entrance, preventing it from closing, and I followed them.

As a child I never truly understood the sacrifices of my parents until now; I hissed

We finally made it. Chimara was the first to enter her class, followed by Chizy, and I returned home with a different perspective and enthusiasm than woke up. The miracle I longed for occurred indirectly, relieving me of wrath, anguish, and anxiety burnt out of sacrifices made for the love of a child by the parents, especially their father.