Peeling Potatoes 34. Alive. Live. And mildly confused in the best possible way.
“And we are live.”
Not just live—alive.
Alive with enthusiasm, slightly too much caffeine, and that familiar sense that something meaningful might happen… or we might just end up talking about cows in the street and Grade 1 maths again.
Which, honestly, is kind of the point.
The hills are alive.
The sound of music is playing somewhere in the background.
And before anyone can settle into the moment, shame enters the room.
Because—once again—the episode number is wrong.
Not 35.
Not 36 (yes, apparently 36 was said).
But Episode 34.
Fruitloop, reporting in from sunny South Africa and assisted by “Fruit here,” calmly corrects the record. Again. Highlighting—again—the Mayor’s impressive consistency in getting this wrong.
“I’m always getting it wrong,” he says.
“I’m never right wrong again.”
Fruitloop doesn’t miss a beat.
“You’ll get it right eventually.”
“What makes you say so?”
Because encouragement is on tap today. Because motivation is cheap, but belief is priceless:
“You can do anything you set your mind to. I can do it. I can do my homework. I can do the difficult chores. I can ask the difficult questions. I can… Do you need more? I will remember the episode number.”
The Mayor, ever the realist, suggests the obvious solution:
“Just look five minutes before we go on air.”
Fruitloop reminds him that they talk for roughly 16,000 years before pressing record anyway, so this should, theoretically, be manageable.
And just like that, we’re off—into counting, competence, and the quiet terror of primary school homework.
Counting, confidence, and the Grade 1 maths incident
Fruitloop shares a small, tender moment: she practiced counting in fives with her son.
Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.
Way past one hundred.
Which makes Episode 31, 32, 33, 34 feel… doable.
The Mayor agrees—clearly the child can count. The problem is not the child.
The problem is the homework.
Fruitloop confesses, without drama but with feeling:
She did not understand what the teacher wanted.
The instructions were in Afrikaans.
She didn’t even get the instructions—only a picture.
So she did what any logical, loving parent would do: she improvised.
Math equals plus signs.
One plus one equals two.
Color the numbers. Draw a nice dice. Show the teacher effort happened.
She even added a plus sign to demonstrate intent.
Turns out—no.
The actual Afrikaans instruction translated to something like:
“Complete the house maths by drawing the correct dots.”
The answers (two and three) were already there.
The dots were missing.
Dots.
Not sums.
“We’ll get it right next time,” Fruitloop says, with the quiet resilience of someone who knows this won’t be the last misunderstanding.
She asks her son if they did this in class. Usually they do—days of the week, alphabet letters, repetition at home.
This time: no. He didn’t know what to do either.
The Mayor feels this in his bones.
He flashes back to childhood dinners—the Spanish Inquisition version—where kids had to report everything they learned, truth becoming flexible under pressure.
They don’t do that now.
Now it’s gentler:
“Did you have a nice day?”
“Did you play outside?”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
Good. Done.
Then Fruitloop asks a question that quietly marks the generational shift:
“Do they have a homework book where parents have to sign?”
Not yet. That comes later.
For now, it’s a homework folder:
Monday, Monday, Monday.
Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday.
Three pages a day.
Letters. Pictures. Coloring. Drawing.
Which is where language enters and politely explodes everything.
Lost in translation (literally)
Fruitloop tries to explain the alphabet exercise and gets caught between Afrikaans images and English words. She sees the Afrikaans word clearly—but when translated, it doesn’t start with the same letter.
Cue confusion. Cue embarrassment. Cue laughter.
The Mayor jumps in with a theatrical interruption:
This episode is briefly interrupted by our sponsors: Brida, the community, and the table.
A public service announcement to save Fruitloop from linguistic freefall.
She pushes on anyway: some words are easy—ball is ball, door is deur—but then French and German show up like chaos agents. In French, la porte starts with P. In German, Tür starts with T.
The Mayor proposes the only rational solution:
Reform all languages.
Fruitloop grants permission instantly:
“You can do that. You are more than welcome.”
And with that, jokes fold back into meaning—as they always do here.
The side project (not hustle), and the moment everything shifted
Fruitloop mentions she’s working on a side project.
The Mayor winces at the phrase “side hustle”—values have been discussed, after all.
He wants to understand it properly. Because he’s already felt the impact.
He describes the moment vividly:
He casually opens Instagram.
They now share the account.
Something has changed.
Then WhatsApp lights up—Fruitloop sends a video.
Goosebumps.
Then suddenly she’s everywhere.
Planting flags across the digital world.
Confident. Decisive. Present.
It hits him like a high-speed train from the right.
And he loves it.
“Can I have more, please?”
Fruitloop, calmly:
“You will see things happening.”
It sounds like a threat.
It isn’t.
She already scheduled it.
She already did it.
Crackheads, values, and old goats
Fruitloop shares something that made her laugh harder than expected—a line that sits uncomfortably close to motivation culture:
“Do crackheads say, ‘I can’t get high today because I’m broke?’ No. They make it happen. Don’t let a crackhead hustle harder than you.”
Funny. Uncomfortable. Effective.
Which leads neatly into values.
Two old goats had recently discussed values and concluded they don’t really know what they’re talking about—but decided to contribute anyway.
The question was simple:
What is important in your daily life?
One old goat answered: doing what is subconsciously normal. Clearing snow so others don’t slip. Respect without thinking.
Then Fruitloop brings it straight down to earth:
Being prepared.
Being on time.
Finishing tasks.
Cooking dinner.
Keeping a tidy house.
Trying—mostly failing—to take ten minutes for herself.
“I already did my ten minutes today.”
“When?”
“When I wrote my Fruitloop reflection.”
“That’s not relaxing.”
“It’s something I enjoy.”
And there it is.
Enjoyment doesn’t always look like rest.
Doodle Horse enters the field
The conversation deepens, gently.
Fruitloop explains the project:
Reflections + planners.
Busy moms. Real life. Schedules. Chaos. Grace.
A book where reflections sit alongside practical tools—because she likes structure, rules, planning. And suspects others might too.
The Mayor wants them.
He’s not a busy mom.
He’s an old goat.
“Doesn’t matter,” Fruitloop says.
The Mayor suggests a spin-off: Busy Moms & Old Goats.
Fruitloop considers it—then realizes she’ll need his help for that edition.
“Oh yes, please,” he says.
Paper planners. Pinboards. Things you can bump into.
Because digital disappears.
Paper stays.
And then—the moment that really lands for the Mayor:
Two ideas that hit hard:
- Coloring pictures (for adults, with intention).
- Women in the Bible.
Not preachy. Not abstract. Practical. Grounded. Human.
Fruitloop explains the origin: her mom, church work, scrapbooking, women gathering. And a moment while driving—praying, asking what she could do with her creativity.
And the answer arrived fully formed.
You have to do this.
The Mayor names it carefully:
Her prayers were answered.
That matters.
Mindset, belief, and why this works
They circle back—inevitably—to mindset.
Are planners band-aids?
Or are they invitations to think differently?
Values shape choices.
Belief fuels action.
If you believe in something, you make space for it.
That’s true for Brida.
For Doodle Horse.
For running 10km someday.
For surviving winter.
For remembering episode numbers.
They don’t force a conclusion.
They arrive at one.
And it’s this:
If you believe in what you’re doing, you’ll find the energy to do it.
Ending where it always ends: together, slightly hungry
It’s Friday.
Fruitloop is hungry.
The Mayor is full of thoughts.
Grade 1 maths feels like rocket science.
The future is accelerating.
Coffee dates may become survival strategy.
They correct the title one last time—Peeling Potatoes, not pineapple peeling—and laugh at the confusion.
Doodle horses run through the field.
Planners wait to be printed.
Mindsets shift quietly.
Episode 34.
Alive.
Live.
And exactly what it needed to be.
🍍✨
