March 12, 2009
Posted by plumsource under Family
When R was a baby, we used to go to a toddler group. One week in the school hols, one of the other mums turned up with both her baby and her older child (probably about 6). The older child had a big furry rabbit costume on. If I’m honest, I thought “WTF??? Why is she dressed in that silly costume?” More to the point, I wondered why on earth the mum had let her leave the house like that.
Forward wind a few years… R is now 4. Yesterday while I was watching R have her swimming lesson, a mum wandered in with her little girl dressed in full father christmas costume. Yes, it’s March. Did I frown? Did I disapprove? Well, I actually found myself smiling. “How lovely”, I thought to myself. “That little girl was probably so passionate about dressing up that maybe just for once, her mum put aside her own vanity and cares about what other people might think and surprised her daughter by saying ‘yes, darling of course you can wear your santa outfit’.” What a lovely nurturing mum and what a lucky girl I thought as I sat smiling to myself.
Then the little girl proceeded to have a tantrum and throw down the packet of crisps she’d just been bought from the vending machine and stamp on them. She didn’t stop screeching for ages. “Mmmm” I wondered. “more likely her mum just let her wear the santa outfit because she was shouting blue murder when they left the house.” Perhaps not such a rosey image of parenting as the one I’d conjured up before. But ooops! There I go judging again…
February 11, 2009
Posted by plumsource under Family
I was dye-ing my corduroy jacket a blue denim colour today. Put the dye and the salt in the machine and then the clothes. Turned the machine on. Nothing. Faffed about on and off for a few hours leaning on, slamming and waggling the door. Nothing. So, while I figure out what to do next, thought I’d share some amusing things said recently by Miss R (just turned 4 this week):
There’s a baby crocodile in my cup. His name is Burt Elburt. I named him that. That’s his surname. His real name is lemon squash. And his middle name is cup. He and the spider were playing a racing game and he won. He fell over and got mud on his knee and then I washed it with the water in my pink cup. Look he’s all dry now.
There were friendly monsters in my bedroom. They were blue yellow and red. Like sonic. Sonic was blue, yellow was yellow and red was red. They were on my wall when I opened my eyes and then on my pillow. I saw them twice. No. I saw them 3 times because I saw them once on my wall and 2 times on my pillow.
Mummy, why have you got hairs on your lip like Daddy?
Mummy, why have you got hairs in your nose? You’ve got a haunted nose.
You know that big room at the sports centre? That’s where they do the jam-nistics.
January 31, 2009
I woke up most concerned that I was late for my 10am rendez-vous at the Post Office with Noel Gallagher. We’ve all got colds so sneezed and tissued our way through breakfast still half asleep. Not Noel, that was a dream. The night before’s dream was about my house being knocked down and replaced by a bungalow which turned out to be a tourist attraction with people buying nick nacks from the shop in my front room. Ahem… anyway, spent almost the whole day trying to make some sloe and apple jelly. Did it set? Did it heck. Tastes nice though.
Mr. P called me outside to look at our catastrophically blocked drains. I won’t go into details. There’s a brave man coming to sort it in the morning. He did say “not sure what time it’ll be as I’m going out tonight.” What a job, never mind with a hangover. (more…)
January 22, 2009
4am: “mummy, I had a horrid dream, a blue beetle was crawling on my leg”.
I foolishly allowed R into our bed and endured the next 3 hours being kicked, poked, coughed and farted at instead of sleeping . When it apparently became morning, the loo got blocked and nearly overflowed, so despite my eyes being barely open, I had marigolds and bog water right up to my elbows.
Later on while R was occupied doing some painting, I resolved I must do something about the stray sheep that’s wandered into the field at the back of us. The farmer who owns the field told me yesterday it wasn’t his or the farmer to the right of us. So I went about tracking down the numbers of the farmers to the left and straight ahead. Farmer to the left said it wasn’t his and gave me the number for the other farmer. I jotted it down on a piece of paper on the table.