Love is not a virgin on the Guest Blogger scene anymore. I did the deed over at Merbear’s this week.
I am younger then by the same amount of time it takes a foetus to reach term, if that stands to reason. There is a gestation period of difference between my husband and I. His parents wouldn’t have even known that they were going to give birth to their first child, a son, the day I was born. So while I was taking my first breaths of air he was still sucking on amniotic fluid. He was growing downy hair all over his body when I moved onto solid foods. By the time he was born, I was on the move; wearing out the knees of my romper suits and collecting lint and hair off the floor.
When we’re young it’s all about the milestones and birthdays. Cheers ring out and hands are clapped in delight as a baby or toddler manages to learn a new concept, skill or ability.
As we get older those milestones are more about the number attached to us. We carry that sucker around like an extra appendage. Some lie while others are creative with subtraction. For many it’s a matter of remaining young at heart-it’s the inside that counts, after all.
At a visit to the doctor with Now 6 when he was a 3 year old, an elderly gentlemen sat down beside us. He must have been close to his octogenarian decade but seemed to have retained most of his faculties. He took an interest in the scribble drawing my son was doing and then said to me, ‘that’s a fine looking grandson you have there.’ I do remember mumbling a reply about him being my son as my heart only just managed to regain a regular rhythm. It was fortunate we were at the doctors as I was certain a heart attack was imminent. Perhaps he was there to see the doctor about finally getting a prescription for glasses.
Several weeks ago, I had an informal meeting with the principal at Now 6’s school. I was being scrutinised to see whether I would be an appropriate replacement for the German teacher when she takes leave in the Spring. My experience was asked about and when I answered the question I included the year that I first began teaching. I was met with raised eyebrows and an audible ‘wow’. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve hung around 5 year olds for nearly half my life that has kept me young. Hmmmm.
When I met with the teacher whose role I will be filling she kindly concurred about the difference between my chronological age and my perceived age. (Note to readers: I have known this teacher since 1999 when I taught her son who is now 26 and we have kept in contact since then). Apparently I am thinner now even though I’ve been the same weight since high school, except during pregnancies, and have given birth twice since then. I don’t have a forehead full of Botox and on a good day I feel every one of my near-40 years. This ‘holding my age well’ card might come in handy if I ever have the need to chat up some young gents at the R.S.L. I could fill the role of a 60 year old cougar to get a free shandy or two.
If I had to categorise myself, I am one of those people who find it to be a difficult and dicey situation when someone asks me how old I think they are. Think of a number and subtract 15? That should cover all bases. When I’m asked how old I am, particularly by cheeky students who haven’t learned the unwritten code of conduct for someone who wants an ‘A’ this semester, my generic responses include:
‘How old are you?’ -answering a question with a question sometimes deflects the inquirer.
‘How old do you think I am?’ -see above.
‘Old enough to be your mother.’ – which normally puts them back in their box.
The time will come soon enough where my final response will have to change to Grandmother.
So herein lies the question. Does it matter what’s written on your birth certificate or what others think? How do you tackle the age old questions, ‘how old are you’ or ‘how old do you think I am?’ Have you ever done creative number crunching, turned 21 for fifteen years in a row or had someone overestimate your age by a whole generation?
Image from: here.
There’s nothing like a confined space and two small people with loud voices both competing to be heard.
My favourite driving experiences are:
The School Run: Short and sweet. Hmm, short yes, sweet no. Those few short minutes can feel like sheer torture. Is the bickering and banter their way of saying, ‘I’ll miss you or I’ve missed you?’ Whatever the case may be it’s enough to drive anyone batty.
The Trip to the Grandparents: similar to the School Run just longer in length. There’s also the added anticipation of arriving. The excitement builds to a crescendo just as we pull in the driveway. My eardrums feel as if they might explode and the grandparents think that a tornado is about to hit the house. It is obvious to all concerned that I have little/no control over my terrors.
The Big Day Out Drive: setting out at shortly after the sparrow’s have sung their morning tune and arriving home close to dinner time denotes a Big Day Out. Wherever we may be headed we have a packed lunch, picnic rug, esky and bag (filled to the brim with spare clothes, hats, sunscreen, etc). The expected, ‘Are we there yet’s?’ start when we’re approximately half way there. It’s been smooth sailing the whole way if we don’t have to stop for petrol or the toilet en route.
The Great Escape: we’ve prepared for this for weeks but nothing can prepare us for the journey ahead. The car is crammed with half the contents of our house. The tailgate on the wagon will only just close. There’s pillows between the kids on the seat. It’s like we’ve tried to build the Great Wall between them so they can’t touch or see each other. The kids have got numerous things to keep them occupied. A game of ‘Eye Spy’ starts before we hit the freeway. If we’re lucky they’ll nod off (syncronised is heaven) for a while shortly after, ‘Are we there yet-i-tis?’ has commenced.
The Solo Cruise: doesn’t happen too often but when it does, Oh Boy! A chance to listen to adult tunes at any volume you please. Window up or down, whatever takes you fancy. And that annoying noise coming from the back of the car? It’s completely gone!
Mum’s taxi will be off again in the morning with the boys I love on board.
How do you cope with the calamity of children in cars for the quick trip or the long haul?
Footnote: After originally publishing this post in February, I decided to revisit it today as it was one of the first ‘pieces’ I wrote that exceeded several lines in length and had some substance. It is also the basis for the idea of my first picture book manuscript. My self-imposed deadline of June 30 is looming. I think my set of wheels needs a car detailer.
Image from: here.
A Rainbow of Love
Mother Nature produced a spectacular display in this neck of the woods recently.
Not being one who particularly likes rain, I shifted my focus towards the blue sky in the east.
Unfortunately we were headed west which looked grey, dark and miserable except for the majestic rainbow that had materialised in front of us.
As I drove Just 3 to our first stop, Now 6 and I talked of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
We neared our destination and I said, ‘Look! The rainbow ends right on top of the roof at childcare. Maybe the teachers know where the pot of gold is.’
Now 6 chimed in with a positive comment concurring with my suggestion.
The talk of rainbows and the illusive treasure ended as I hustled Just 3 through the drizzle, without the aid of an umbrella, in through the front door.
The formality of hugs and kisses over, I made the dash to the car and Now 6 and I continued to our second stop.
School drop off completed, I headed for my final destination-work.
Reverse the above scenario of stopping and starting until finally arriving home in the afternoon.
At the dinner table that night we all talked about our respective days as is customary when we all spend it in different places. After hearing recounts of everyone’s activities, highlights and plans for the following day, Just 3 had one more thing to add.
‘I asked the teacher today about the pot of gold.’ With eyebrows raised, palms up and a shake of the head, he said, ‘She didn’t even know where it was.’
Love those golden moments.
Image from: here.
Does Monday roll around quicker than any other day of the week? There’s a touch of fruitcake-iness going on here today and this mum is definitely in a Momdaze. Trying to shake it off will probably be a fruitless exercise.
The banana phone is renowned the world over for giving us a glimpse into kid’s imaginations.
If the conversations that have been relayed through the crescent-shaped fruit could be recorded and put into a book I’m sure it’d sell millions of copies.
My offspring would be able to contribute a few humdingers.
Last week Just 3 picked up his banana from the bench. He took it, sat down and started to have an animated conversation. I listened, not sure who he was talking with. After some pauses, where one can only assume the other person was talking, he said, ‘Mummy can’t come to the phone right now. You like to leave a message?’
As he peeled his banana and started to eat it, I said, ‘Buddy, I’m right here. You could’ve handed the phone to me.’
‘They didn’t want to talk to you and I wanted to eat my banana.’
Ah. Out of the mouths of babes.
Image from: here.
On Momdaze it’s difficult to think creatively, write about current issues or delve deep into my psyche and bring forth something worthy of discussion. With this in mind, I bring you humour at the beginning of the week.
The day will come when I, as a parent, am told something I was totally unprepared to hear by my child’s teacher.
Until that day comes, I feel it is only right, if not my duty, to share one of those moments that I had as a teacher which had me giggling and then cringing.
This story is almost folklore in the school that it happened at over ten years ago. Innocence met a bunch of hidden truths and learned a valuable lesson.
Show and tell (a.k.a news time, show and share, sharing time, news, etc.) takes place at schools across the globe every day of the school calendar. Kids bring in something they’d like to talk about in front of their peers. Sometimes they just share news of current events from their own lives. It fosters confidence in oral language skills and speaking in front of an audience.
The kids were gathered on the carpet and two had already had their turn this particular morning. Adam brought a paper bag to the chair at the front and was ready to start.
After greeting everyone he pulled $500 in notes from inside the bag.
‘This is my Dad’s money. He had it hidden under his side of the bed at home. I saw him put it in there and he told me he won it on the horses. He asked me not to tell Mum because she thinks he just loses all the time.’
While the children oohed and aahed at the large amount of money being waved in front of them, my eyebrows were trying to come back down from hiding in my hairline.
Adam finished his turn and I promised to look after it until home time.
I don’t know if there has ever been another time in my life where I have been responsible for $500 that doesn’t belong to me. I knew being mugged was unlikely but wasn’t sure what to do with the money to keep it safe.
It was decided to keep it at the office until the end of the day and then give it directly to the parent.
Mum came to pick up Adam that day and the moment he saw her he burst into tears.
I told him not to worry and that I would explain everything to his mum.
He said, ‘I’m not worried about getting into trouble with Mum. I’m only upset because Mum is going to be so cross with Dad. I bet she’ll probably take his money away and ground him from the horses for a long time.’
Show and tell taught me a lesson that day. I’m pretty sure Adam’s dad learned something too.
To find a new hiding place, possibly?
Image from: here.
Sometimes it’s naked and running free. At other times it’s shadowing me.
Wipe, powdered and soft as a baby’s; the fat rolls and wrinkles perfect in every way.
Naked from the waist down; jiggling as he runs with jocks upon his head and socks worn as mittens.
Bending over to look for a lizard that just made a dash; plumber’s crack facing up to the sky.
Making music in the bath; bum trumpet tune makes him cackle.
Built-in padding for accidents; falling flat on his arse stops him briefly.
Watch it wiggle and jiggle; dancing to the beat.
Nudie run to the shower; if I catch it, I’ll tickle it.
I’ve powdered, kissed, washed, tickled, dressed, wiped and watched that bum.
I’ve fussed over, worried, laughed and shaken my head at those little cheeks.
It may be responsible for a number of functions, some of which are the anti of cute.
But I made that bum.
No butts about it – love my little monkey.
There’s a constant hum in the air as the crowd awaits the return of the band on stage. Fans are still buzzing from the last set (or from something else?)
The crowd is cheering. They must be coming back on. I’m having trouble seeing-the joys of being a short arse. Can someone hoist me up on their shoulders?
Amber should have renamed this award after she received it. Amber’s Brilliant Content or Amber’s Butt Crack would have fitted perfectly. She believes I’m the queen of one-liners. I think I talk too much to be restricted to one line. She is the queen of funny and I know she won’t mind me killing this award in order to make it easier.
I’m supposed to list words starting with every letter of the alphabet that describe me or some such other business which is supposed to entertain you.
I’d prefer you go and see Amber’s underwear and let her entertain you. So I’m covering my butt with one word “ABUZZ’. It starts with A and ends in Z. There were no rules posted on Amber’s post anyway so technically it’s not cheating. She’s not one to follow rules. Bleedin’ Texans!
I will nominate though.
3 of my new followers who I’m yet to go visit:
A – Aimi
B – BGBowers
C – Contrary Mom
If the written word, rather than singing, is more your cup of tea then Melissa has the buzz on writing. She’s a writer and aspiring author like me. Melissa wants to step out of her accountant’s clothing and I, my teacher’s threads. If she’s anything like I imagine I’ll be when I’m a full-time writer she’ll spend her day in trackies with a pencil behind her ear.
Thank you Melissa for thinking that I inspire you on what really matters. You inspire me in return to go grab my manuscript and get to it.
The next set will be where some legends are on stage.
Life makes me smile and laugh often. Until recently I had just forgotten to listen. Eavesdropping on life’s little moments warms the cockles of the heart.
In the school grounds I heard a child crying. It didn’t sound like the type of cry that’s normally attached to a tantrum. Just crying. Incessantly.
As my boys and I saw the little girl come into sight, we watched as she walked holding her mum’s hand; still crying incessantly. She wouldn’t have been much over 2. Next to her was her older brother who would be about 10. Another boy of about the same age was also walking with them. As we passed there was a brief exchange between the two boys.
‘Why is your little sister crying?’
‘I dunno.’ Pause ‘Little kids just do that. There’s no other reason. They just do.’
Hearing these two young boys discuss the logic or reasoning for the onset of tears made me laugh inwardly on many levels. I wondered if the friend had any younger siblings or whether he, himself, was the youngest. It amused me that ‘just because’ resolved the issue as far as they were concerned and the need to delve deeper was not present. It got me to thinking, if this exchange took place between two girls of the same age would the conversation have been as brief? Would they have gone on to decipher the cry and list all the logical reasons as to why it might be occurring in the first place? Credit to the older brother though, in not identifying this as a trait of little girls-just little kids in general-or did he make an assumption based on his experience?
This simple dialogue is shared between adults the world over. In my mind’s eye I pictured these two boys as men discussing their own children, beer in hand, and the actual spoken words would not change too much from that of a 10 year old boys that they were. On the other hand, we ladies-while sharing a coffee-would list, analyse, dissect, suggest, advise, sympathise and offer assistance.
I’m just a stereotypical mum of two. What would I know?
If anyone has a better explanation, I’d love to hear it.
Image from: here.
Bloggerellies you have rocked my socks off. Thank goodness you did too as I needed my toes to count and remember the awards I needed to do this week. I’m more flustered than if I was front and centre at a Led Zeppelin concert, armpit to armpit with some die hard fans. I wonder if they’d mind if I borrowed their zeppelin to fly my awards home in.
I hope you guys are up to rockin’ out with me for awhile until we get to the end of this gig. It’s gonna be a mammoth show over the next 5 days. I’m going to post two awards each day or until I pass out from the excitement of it all.
Firstly, I’d like to pay homage to the blogenius who decided that it was totally cool to post the receipt of an award that one has already received; just acknowledge the person who bestowed that award upon you. I would more than likely give you my gold ticket if I knew who you were as you’ve probably saved me several hours of post-i-tis and the audience from burnt fingers after waving their lighters in the air for too long.
The stage is set. Let’s rock this joint.
Chopping Potatoes is what Jennifer does best. She’s got it down to such a fine art form her spuds have been Freshly Pressed. I am in complete awe of her writing style (not due to fact of the FP) because she doesn’t put starch in her posts. They’re open, honest, funny and I can relate to them. It is awesome to have received this award from you, Jennifer. Thank you.
As I have already received this award I won’t post the rules here. You can find them on Jennifer’s site if you wish to take this award home with you.
Pieter, a.k.a Ah Dad…, did some rocking and rolling of his own recently. He sang, ‘You Give Love a Bad Name,’ with Bon Jovi and woo hoo’ed when he reached 100 followers (I wonder if Jon has that many?). Unfortunately he’s approaching the big 4-0h, like my good self, and didn’t do so well on his hearing test. Pieter makes me laugh frequently-just don’t ask him about the air-conditioner guy. Thanks, Pieter.
I’ve also received this one before so I won’t nominate-just go check Pieter out. I’ve prepared him for the hoards of adoring fans (ahem, one or two of you) who might head over there based on my perspective.
Well that was a pretty easy first set. I’m all warmed up now and raring to hear what’s coming up next. I hope there’s going to be some classics in the mix.
Love will be back in the spotlight after a drinks break.
Note before reading: Just 3 is still in toilet training mode. The potty is gone and using the big toilet calls for reinforcements. As much of a fan I am of cleaning other people’s urine (the mini Masters’) off the floor I would rather use that time for other endeavours. With this in mind we have invested in two ping pong balls. One is a basketball and the other: a soccer ball. One bobs around in the bowl of each toilet in our home so that no matter which toilet is free or whichever Just 3 is closest to when nature calls he can, ready, AIM, fire! at the ball.
Family had gathered at ours recently for a celebration. During this time beverages of the alcoholic variety were consumed and trips to the smallest room in the house began, myself included. Once they start there is a constant parade of people in and out, flushing, wiping and washing.
Mum pulled me aside after a brief pit stop and politely informed me that she had removed the ball from the toilet thinking that Just 3 had put it in there. I thanked her, explained and then dropped it back in.
I daren’t ask anyone who went into retrieval mode how they completed their mission.
Have you reclaimed something from your own toilet that really wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place? Ever had an experience while at someone else’s home? You might like to add a ping pong ball to the toilet at your next party. Even the Misters like to hit the target, apparently.
Ping pong anyone?
Image from: here.
In a single moment today, the next 20+ years flashed before my eyes. Opening with caution, I suspected something might jump out at me. Little did I know that it would contain………..
Until I awoke this morning I had planned to write a wonderful, heart warming post for my mum. It may have only been read by her as the reader would be bombed throughout the day with ‘Mum’ posts but she would be the only must-have reader today.
Instead I opened my eyes to Just 3 and Almost 6 laden with gifts and my OH with breakfast and a cuppa in hand. Surrounded by my family I opened my presents. I marvelled at Almost 6’s choice of gifts from the Mother’s Day stall they’d had at school on Friday. Of course this was bought with our money but, hey, I loved it all the same. I feigned surprise at the new oven gloves, pot holders and jumper I had bought myself. My inner smirk was hiding the fact that Just 3 was with me when I purchased them and did not question why my mouth was agape.
The absolute kicker, which is why I decided to change my post, was the card that Just 3 gave me.
I cried tears not of happiness.
I cried tears not from heartfelt love.
I cried tears of laughter.
Shock, fear and the reality of the promise being issued forth rendered me speechless. Everyone joined in the laugh-fest even if they were asking themselves ‘what’s so funny anyway?’
Visions of death-defying stunts flashed through my mind. Visits to the Principal’s office and hospital stays will probably be a given. Girlfriends ringing at every hour of the night and a pisty needing to be picked up on more than one occasion. The police knocking at the door to tell that you’ve done………that’s where I draw the line.
And don’t forget, I may be your mother and will do many eye rolls, deep sighs and cussing over the next 2o years, but I can also give as good as I get.
You ain’t seen nothing yet!
Kids make people laugh on a daily basis. They’re witty without understanding why which makes it all the more thigh-slappingly humorous. Faux pas and writing gaffes by younger students are, by far, the most hilarious.
The Top 10 list includes innocent misspellings of everyday words that turn sentences into somewhat inappropriate expressions. All words have been spelt correctly except the funny word so you won’t need a translator. The italicised sentence are my thoughts upon reading these beauties.
- The hores galloped through the rain. (horses) I hope they’re wearing their wellies.
- When we were driving we had to follow the sins. (signs) Are you driving to hell?
- We had to wait for three nits. (nights) I wouldn’t wait for ONE.
- My tits got a hole in them when I fell over. (tights) Do new ones cost a lot?
- I shared my Cock with my friend, Samantha. (Coke) Not touching this one, other than to say it was a gorgeous girl of 5 who wrote this one.
- Daddy’s shit was blue and white striped. (shirt) Did it come out like toothpaste?
- My mum is not a moaning person. (morning) Maybe she prefers sleep ins.
- The race cars went fart around the track. (fast) That would make them noisy and smelly.
- The lion was really big butt I wasn’t scared. (but) It’s not that end that scares me. It’s the other one.
- Two great examples for the same word that I could not separate :
Dad likes eating penus. (peanuts) I need penise. (pennies). No comment needed as they are rib ticklers all on their own.
Teaching children aged between 4 and 13 for near-on two decades has taught me a thing or two.
- The English language is far too complicated for any one system to work in assisting students to learn how to read and write.
- When reading back what a young student has written it pays to have them by your side to decipher. This ensures you avoid any… ehem….’misunderstanding’.
- Practising and perfecting a poker face is essential.
- Kids always know exactly what it is they are trying to say/write even if the listener/reader hasn’t a clue.
- Universities should provide, as part of teacher training, a crash course in translation of kid-speak.
If you’ve any other doozies to share please add them below for other readers to giggle over.
A big shout out to Stuff Kids Write for providing me with laughs.
© 2013 Kelly Hibbert, all rights reserved.
Image from: here.
Making a pit stop for love.
It is customary that my boys and I make at least one trip to the school playground each week after the bell. On our way to the playground Almost 6 tells me how the boys launch themselves from the rail at the top of the slide and land with a thump on their bottoms about half way down. There’s also reluctant confessions about the chasey games they play at break times. While Almost 6 has had ample time to monkey his way across the obstacle course throughout the course of the day, this little pit stop allows Just 3 to tire himself out: climbing, sliding, swinging and jumping and sometimes falling.
Last week I had the opportunity to sit for a couple of minutes while the kids did their thing. I watched from a distance as Just 3 wanted to do everything himself. A little boy, probably 6 or 7, shouted back to his mum, ‘watch me, Mum!’ While turning to smile at the other mother in that knowing way, I thought to myself, ‘make sure you keep watching otherwise you’ll get dragged over hot coals by your son if you don’t see his amazing accomplishment.’ He proceeded to get himself up onto the top of the monkey bars as I’ve watched Almost 6 and thousands of other children do many-a-time. I willed her to show enthusiasm and wide-eyed astonishment when he mastered the manoeuvre he was attempting. ‘Please act like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen such a feat in all your life,’ I prayed. Ok, honestly, I didn’t pray but these little things are so important to our little ones….well I’m sure you get my drift.
Boy then draped his legs over the bar in front of him, placed his hands strategically then lowered his body down between the bars and let go. Hanging upside down, his hair stood on end and his shirt slipped down over his face. ‘Look, Mum! I did it!’ he said triumphantly as he tried to pull his shirt back down (or up depending on which way you want to look at it).
“OW! MY PIT how to categorise S! MUM, IT”S HURTING MY PITS! CAN YOU GET ME DOWN? IT’S KILLING MY LEG PITS!
The other mum’s on her way over while I start to laugh out loud. Leg pits? Well I never!
It’s all I can do to stop chuckling between breaths. I guess in theory this would be a good name for the backs of our knees. We have armpits after all. Why not leg pits? They do get sweaty and they have a kind of hollow to them. Best put deodorant on them after showering in future.
As for the other mother, I’m not sure if she knewmy laughter. I best be careful or Mums will start realising their kids are just fodder for my next piece of writing. I guess I won’t have to worry about being invited for a play date though!
If you’re stuck for things to write about, can I suggest you take your kids to a playground. It’ll be a win/win. Your kids will burn off some extra energy and you just never know what you’ll hear while you’re there. Maybe just don’t laugh too loud.
‘Boys are it.
Chuck ’em in the pit.
All the girls will
kiss them on the lips.’
The pit of love.
Image from: here.
Your boarding pass awaits your arrival at Pier 3. Let’s set sail and be sure to leave all your cares behind.
I’d love for you to join me.
There’s only one condition…….
You need to pack all your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile!
I know for most of you this may be a difficult thing to achieve. Please be assured there is no weight limit to the baggage you bring with you. So get all that crap, shove it in and don’t look back. Pack everything you can think of: worries, troubles, concerns, issues, things that p%*@ you off and any other unwanted stress. If you can’t do up the zip, don’t worry. Carry-on can be left below*.
Now upon boarding you’ll need to join in the sing-a-long. You can practise now if you’d like or just stand near the back.
‘Love, exciting and new
Love, life’s sweetest reward.
Let it flow, it floats back to you.
The Love Boat soon will be making another run
The Love Boat promises something for everyone
Set a course for adventure, your mind on a new romance.
And love won’t hurt anymore
It’s an open smile on a friendly shore.
Please accept the complimentary T-Shirt as you walk the gangway. The staff on the upper deck will have extra gifts for our First Class RCC passengers.
We trust you will enjoy your carefree journey and be prepared to carry only souvenirs home with you. Any residual distress, anxiety, woes and doubt will be seized by Customs.
*Please leave your kit bags below in the comments section as we head out of the Quay.
The Comments section today is for you to offload anything you do not wish to carry with you for the remainder of the day. It may be one word, an issue or concern or maybe you’d just like to vent. This can all be done here instead of on your own blog. If you don’t wish for me to reply just add DNR to the end of your comment (I will resuscitate if necessary but will not respond).
Your Captain ♥
As some of you aware I’ve nicknamed Mondays ‘Momdaze’ now.
I’m normally in somewhat of a fog and need a giggle or two to get me through the day. It seems that Just 3 was aware of this fact this morning after we had dropped Almost 6 at school. We arrived home and I was about to commence my happy dance after getting Just 3 out of the car.
He crossed his arms, put on one of his best grumpy faces and stated,
‘I not talking to you anymore Mum.’
Allow me to clarify at this point that I had done nothing to be in receipt of this kind of threat.
My response, ‘Oh well! It’s going to be a pretty quiet day then.’
2 second pause……..’Mum.’
This was my first giggle for the morning. It will be a pretty quiet day here regardless. Hopefully, though, the grumpies will disappear and we can recommence smiles and giggles for the rest of the day.
I’d love to chat but I’m off to find more funnies. I’ll talk to you later. Promise!
Image from: here.
Ok folks it’s Monday and I’m not one that likes to exist in a maudlin state. So I’m going to be seeking out the humour to bring you at the beginning of each week. My hope is to leave you smiling on Momdaze. Some will feature from the mouths of my own lovelies, some will be stolen from work and others pilfered from the public at large.
Some people read magazines at the supermarket checkout. I love observing and listening to snippets of people’s lives. Call it eavesdropping or whatever else you may. I refer to it as express lane escapism.
Recently I overheard a conversation between a mum, and what I assumed to be, her son. He would have been between 3 and 4. It went a little something like this:
‘Mum, vegetable oil comes from vegetables doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, they take the oil from lots of vegetables and put it into bottles.’
‘So peanut oil would come from peanuts?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ (Mum looks pretty proud of her son).
‘And so that means orange oil is squeezed from oranges and olive oil is made from olives?’
At this point child begins to cry with such instant force that he attracts the attention of not only his mum. Once he’s in his mother’s reassuring arms he begins to calm enough to ask between sobs, ‘So that means they squeeze all the oil out of babies to make baby oil?’
Image from: here.