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!)