Thermo 4 Life

This morning started like so many others. I came downstairs, still a little bleary-eyed, and began the comforting, well-worn routine of making porridge. My four-year-old was the first one to join me. His small feet padding across the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around his beloved teddy bunny — the same one he had fallen asleep with last night.

It’s a simple scene. Ordinary, even. But today, hidden inside this everyday moment, was something extraordinary — a tiny thread of magic, waiting for me to notice it.

We sat down together at the table, both with bowls of steaming porridge. Teddy bunny sat between us. My son cradled him protectively in one arm while eating with the other. Between mouthfuls, he started talking about bunnies — what they eat, why they have such twitchy noses, and, more puzzlingly, why his teddy bunny didn’t have a mouth at all.

We laughed, we speculated (maybe the mouth was hidden?), and we chatted about Peter Rabbit and his mischievous friends. It was all so natural, so gentle, so alive. Then came the idea: could I cut up a carrot so he could “feed” teddy bunny?

This wasn’t a totally new request. Lately, we’ve been bringing other teddies to the breakfast table too, setting out little bowls of dry cereal for them. But there was something about this morning that felt different. Maybe it was the softness of the light through the kitchen window. Maybe it was how fully I was present, not rushing, not distracted. I was in his world.

I happily cut a piece of carrot — a large baton, a quarter of a full carrot — and handed it over. My son explained that bunny would “pretend” to eat it, but he would really eat it for him. And just like that, my four-year-old, alongside his porridge, began crunching happily on raw carrot for breakfast.

Inside, I was thrilled.

A raw carrot! At breakfast! Voluntarily!

But I tried to hide my excitement. I didn’t want to turn this magic into a moment of teaching or congratulating — I just wanted to be there, alongside him.

And then something clicked inside me:

I’m always so conscious of what I’m teaching my children — especially about healthy eating, kindness, patience, resilience.

But how often do I let them teach me?

So I picked up the knife again and cut another baton of carrot for myself. I didn’t make a fuss. I just did it. And soon there we were — two companions, side by side, porridge in one hand, raw carrot in the other, crunching away in the early morning stillness, while the rest of the house slept on.

That moment taught me something so simple, yet so profound:

There is magic hidden in the everyday, but you have to be willing to step into it.

Sometimes, the doorway into that magic is led by your children.

We often think about parenting as a top-down experience: adults guiding, teaching, correcting. And yes, there’s a place for that. But children are not just empty vessels waiting to be filled. They are little explorers, little creators, little wise souls full of wonder and instinct and playfulness.

When we allow ourselves to follow their lead — even in small, silly ways — we meet them at a deeper level. Our worlds intertwine. And that connection is pure magic.

This wasn’t just about a carrot.

It was about saying “yes” to his idea.

It was about showing with my actions, not my words, that I valued his creativity.

It was about letting myself be part of his imagination, instead of standing outside it, narrating or analyzing.

It was about being with him.

Lessons from a Raw Carrot Breakfast

1. Children don’t just learn from us — we can (and should) learn from them.

There’s a beautiful humility in letting your child lead sometimes. It tells them their ideas matter. It also stretches us, reminding us that playfulness, curiosity, and spontaneity are vital parts of a good life — not just things to “grow out of.”

2. Healthy habits are best built on joy, not lectures.

I could have spent a hundred mornings telling my son that carrots are good for you. But that quiet moment, crunching side by side, probably taught him more about joyful eating than all the nutritional advice in the world.

3. Everyday life is full of opportunities for connection — if we’re willing to notice them.

It’s easy to miss these small openings. I could have been distracted by my phone, rushing to get through breakfast, already thinking about the day ahead. Instead, I stayed open. I let the moment unfold. And it became something I’ll remember forever.

4. Our worlds are richer when they meet.

Children live in a world of wonder, storytelling, and simplicity. We live in a world of responsibility, planning, and “shoulds.” When we take a step toward each other — when we follow them into their world, even for a few minutes — both of our worlds expand.

When I look back on this morning, I won’t remember the exact shade of the porridge or whether the carrots were perfectly cut.

I’ll remember the weight of the teddy bunny on the table.

The light in my son’s eyes as he crunched his carrot baton proudly.

The soft golden glow of the kitchen.

And the feeling — that in this fleeting, ordinary moment, something precious and timeless was shared.

It didn’t cost a thing.

It wasn’t part of a plan.

It wasn’t even “productive” in any conventional sense.

But it was real.

And it mattered.

Tomorrow morning, we’ll likely have porridge again. Maybe there’ll be carrots. Maybe not.

The magic isn’t in the specific foods we ate.

It’s in the choice to be present. To say yes. To share the moment.

To crunch carrots together in a sleepy kitchen and know — this is what love looks like.

With Love, Nikki xxx