My 7 year old son, asked me last night, “Mummy, do you and daddy ever snog?’
“Absolutely not!” I replied.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because his breath smells of bumholes.” I said.
Following which he properly cracked up. I love it that he thinks the word ‘bumholes’ is so funny. To be honest, I think it’s really funny too and, I love getting him to say it, because he always cracks up. When he is pulling a strop, I become very stern and say, “Right, that’s it come here. How dare you be so grumpy. I order you to say ‘bumholes’ without laughing.” Now, this is a nigh on impossible task for a 7 year old boy.
I can’t believe that I am allowed to parent a child, it seems insane but it has its moments of preciousness that I love. Sometimes, I am a very naughty parent. I love the fact that I can tell my son, what to do and he’ll do it (if I am lucky) without questioning me. For example, when my husband is bellowing at me from another room in the house, to instruct me to do something I can’t be bothered to attend to, I summon my wee man over.
“Do me a favour and go and tell daddy he blows goats.” I sigh wistfully.
“Ok mummy.” He says, and off he trips.
While I am lozerking on the sofa, I hear this little voice saying to Hagar, wherever his bellowing has come from,
“Daddy, mummy says you blow goats, but I actually think you blow baby elephants.”
Oh, how the winter evenings fly by.
(I have blogged this before – so apologies if you have read it already but it short and sweet – plus mildly amusing!)