Monday, 4 April 2011

‘mum, well, dad’s a cock, isn’t he?’...

 



















Play dough frolics, big sis giving lil sis the food colouring...NOOOOOOOOOOO!


 
The horn in the car beeeeeeeeepppppppssssssss, I jump, startled. It doesn’t take  very much to give me a coronary these days, this house has damaged my nerves beyond repair, shot to pieces, little nerves strewn around, floating about in my body, drinking vodka and chatting drunkenly amongst themselves going

“maaaan it’s crazy in here dude, how’d d’we get out?”

And the other pissed nerve going “Well, man, I kinda don’t think we really can, unless we give her a coronary and hence end our service”.

And then they get all militant, on a mission to ‘coronary’ me. The sergeant major giving them their orders: “Every noise, nerves, make her jump like a fool, anything that drops, make the obligatory automatic response in front of kids ‘ohforfuckssake’, any car that pulls up, let her truly believe it’s finally THOSE men/woman/ladymen in white coats to put her away!”…

Anyway, back to the horn, I am not aware of having left any kids in the car, but quick head count anyway, one, two, three, yep, four, all there, how is it that the horn beeped on it’s own? I wouldn’t put it past the car, the bibby car lock thing has given up the ghost, and there is now no way of locking our car either, as the front lock with the hole specifically designated for the key opening/locking role, does not work either. We have also lost the one and only house key we possessed, and we have now, an open house, and an open car, 24/7.  But that’s by-the-by, who beeped that horn?  No need for  Poirot, thankfully, as, when I look in the car and open the door, I let out a very belligerent Marjorie, who had been inadvertently shut in there mid egg-lay. She flaps out, and trots off. Kicking her egg out on the way, and thus smashing her efforts to splodge and goo on the floor. Sudden carnage, as the other three chickens rush over, and Marjorie realises she’s missing out, and trots back over, cocking her head at me, and getting stuck in. You see, something has happened to my chickens, and they are actually eating their own eggs. In truth and in the most rankly terms, they are eating either their own future offspring (they’re not to know it’s not been fertilised, well I wouldn’t imagine so), or their own period. There, told you that was rank, but an egg is actually like the equivalent of a chicken period. Nice that. Hope I’ve not put you off your scramblies?

Lola’s reaction to this feast was as though she were observing some tribal massacre, devastated she was, I cuddle her and ask her what’s up? To which she replies, ‘well now that means we’re not going to have any poussins’ (chicks in French). My son intelligently responds, ‘but Lola, there won’t be any poussins without a cock. Everyone knows that, right, mum?’ Well, yes, in his defense he is right, I stifle, to little success, my guffaw, childish I know, but come on…! Mitzi my four and a half-year-old, turns to me wide, big blue eyes, ostrich eyelashes, and also comes up with an equally intelligent response, ‘mum, well, dad’s a cock, isn’t he?’. Brilliant, I won’t tell you what my reply was…! Joke, babes…!

This weekend, we did not have nice weather, as promised (bastards) it rained…so we made play dough, hence the picci, and 'baby' caked in flour, made decorations for the new dolls' house (christmas prezzie form gamma, gampaa, grandma and grandpa to the over twos in the house), painted our little hearts out and coofed too. I have just read this back, and I have no idea what coofed could possibly mean, typos, very frustrating when you have a brian (!) like a sieve) oh, hang on, don’t go, it’s alright, cooked, that’s what I meant to write *phew*. Esmie tonight, after a long day, comes to me in tears, I kneel down and sit her on my lap, and ask her what’s going on, she nods her head, she nods for no, and shakes her head for yes sometimes, confuses me, and herself a bit each time, I think, and tells me she is sad because she cannot hop. I hold her hand, get her to stand on one leg, and help her to hop. And OMG I wish I had never started it, because now she can hop, she just wants to ALWAYS hop, and my arm hurts…someone make this weeny hopping child stop…!

Have a good Monday, see you soon x

6 comments:

  1. That is absolutely hysterical!!!! This is why writing a blog is soooooo good, you will have a record of all these funny/cute things kids say!!!

    Love it!

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  2. it's a great record isn't it!!

    loved ur silent sunday pic, GORG kids!

    wanted to msg u about something, so will do it on twitter, although never enough room! have u got an email?

    love tamsyn xxx

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  3. Ah, coofing, a great hobby, one close to my heart too.

    Chickens seem to bring out swearing in the little'ns - we've had similar incidents in this house. Hilarious post.
    ~M

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  4. in fairness, she thought 'cock' was another word for a boy....!! fair enough.

    thanx for the visit!!

    xx

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  5. My word, manic you certainly are! Things kids say indeed - so so funny. Enjoyed this and as a onsequence you have your 50th follower :) x

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  6. oh, just read this, but have already commented on ur blog...! i was ur 50th follower too!! coincidence!

    see u soon, pleased to have met u, tamsyn xx

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