Youngest and the Lord's Prayer

Youngest's version of the Lord's Prayer.
Said with eyes Tightly Shut and hands together.
Just before he goes to sleep.
At his request.
Always.

Are Farder,
Who are Tin Hevvin
Hallo be die mane.
Die King Domcome!
Die Will Bedunne!
On urf as it is in Hen.
Give Usiffday our dairy bread
And for give usustespresses.
As we give doze tespes genstus.
For dine is Dekinden.
De pa and de glor.
Eefor ever an' ever.
Amen

Hope God is listening.
Because Youngest means Every Word.
Bless.

Comment Tart

Right. You are all obviously Psychic.
After the last couple of posts, got rather Fed Up with the lack of comments.
Thought that I might give up this malarkey.
Decided that was spending Far Too Much Time on the computer and not enough doing House Work.
So.
Decided to Stop Blogging.
But, for the hell of it, posted about the Naughty Grass.
Gloomily watched No Comments coming in.
Turned the computer off and Gardened. House worked. Did Wifely things and Motherly things and even went to a Fete.
I think that you all knew. You must have done.
Because when I turned on the computer today I had lots of lovely comments.
Hooray!
Love Blogging!
Must write another post!
What fun!
Quick!
What post shall I publish today!
Yippee!
Isn't blogging the Best!
Well.
You can see that am Very Shallow Person indeed.
Hopelessly needy and such a sucker for a Comment.
Nearly my first year of blogging is up. You would think I would be a Mature Blogger by now and Simply Not Care about Comments and Followers.
But Am Not.
Mature.
Am Comment Tart.
Am Follower Flirt.
Blogger Bait.
Right. Better go and do some more Wifely and Motherly things.
Sigh.
Life doesn't half get in the way, eh?!
xx

Fetch the Naughty Chair!

It seems that Super Nanny has really got to Husband.
Her and her Naughty Step.
At weekend Youngest was a Tad Naughty with Husband getting really rather Cross.
Youngest was issued with Warnings but continued, somewhat unwisely, with the Naughtiness.
Warnings,therefore, were all used up.
Now, what would Super Nanny do?
Yup. You said it. Go to the Naughty Step...! and all that jazz.
Husband followed her lead.
'Go to the Naughty Step!' Husband roars at Youngest. We all looked round for a Step. There wasn't one.
He re-thinks Situation.
'Go to the Naughty Grass!' he yells, with some Force.
We all looked around for some grass.
It was bloody Everywhere.
We were in a Field. A Grassy Sort of Field. Grass Galore, as it were. As far as the eyes could see.
Youngest couldn't make it to the Naughty Grass.
Two reasons.
One was he wasn't sure which bit he was supposed to sit on, it being rather a Large Area.
And two.
He was laughing too hard.
Middle Son, Daughter and I all hard pressed Not To Giggle.
Husband remained Not Amused.

Which made it all the funnier.
Poor Man.
The joys of Family Life.

In Which We Make A New Friend

Met a very nice mother today. Freshly moved from London. Needs to meet some local people.
Five of us met at J's house for Coffee. Like Grown ups.
We were all on our Best Behaviour. Had lovely coffee and Carrot Cake. (The best mixture in the world, those two. A marriage made in Cake Heaven.)
Anyway.
Made polite conversation, told her about butchers and garages and shops and such.
Exchanged numbers.
All Very Nice.
Rounded off morning by all getting into our cars.
'Good Grief, woman, what's in your car?' my friend J. asked me. Looking in some astonishment through the back window. Large pieces of my garden appeared to be loaded in the back, and on the seats. Grass, old bits of bike, and trampoline parts all crammed into small space.
'Just going to the dump,' I said, airily.
Our New Friend nodded wisely.
'Yes,' she said, 'There's nothing like a good dump.'
For a moment we all stared, open mouthed. And then, together as one, laughed our Socks Off. Bellowed. For a minute or two.
Before attempting to contain ourselves and Go Home.
Humour.
The Fast Track to Friendship.
You just Can't Beat It.

The Last Straw

Youngest comes racing up the stairs for his bath this evening.
'Mummy!' he pants, as he bursts into the bathroom, 'You know the cat?'
I tell him briskly that I know the cat Very Well Indeed.
'Well, I fink I put my finger in his bottom.'
Dropped shower head into bath and whipped round to face him.
'WHY!?' I ask. Not Unreasonably.
'Oh' he says, in Relaxed Fashion, 'By mistake, I fink.'
And sticks the same finger up his nose.
Oh, God.
I miss the Glamour.

A Post Script
Mystery solved. Youngest informs us at breakfast this morning that he had tried to remove Debris from Cat Bottom.
Others Horrified.
'Yeeuurrcchh. You put your finger in his bottom?!' Roars of Laughter and Disgust.
In equal measure.
Husband and I pour another coffee.
Welcome to the Nut House.

Spellings for Beginners

Youngest enormously proud of his spelling achievements this week.
Actually has a List of Spellings to learn. Like a Big Boy.
Last one on the list is, inexplicably, SHAMPOO.
So.
He learns it.
Off by heart.
At breakfast this morning we Test Him on his Spellings
Like a Big Boy.
'How do you spell SHAMPOO?' we ask.
'SHER-AAA-MER-PER-O-O,' he says with a Pink Look of Pride.
'Hooray!' we all call out, and clap, loudly.
Daughter claps too.
'Right,' she says briskly, 'Now spell CONDITIONER.'
Youngest Visibly Deflates.
'Oh, alright then,' says Daughter, brightly, 'Try ANTIDISESTABLISHMENTARIANISM.'
Poor Youngest. Crushed, he was.
Aren't Siblings just the best?
Not.

The Joys of Sex. Not.

Following on from the 'Choosing Desire' post of yesterday, thought I would share with you a little Snapshot of our life of Passion. With No Locks. And Children.
Anyway.
Was once, in a frisky and long distance past, having a Nice Time, as it were, with Husband, when in came child. Husband was most definitely at the Wrong End.
'What are you doing?' asked Child.
Husband says, in rather muffled tones, as he emerges from bed clothes.
'Oh, I am just checking Mummy's label on her pyjamas.'
Yeah.
Right.
I wasn't wearing any.
'Thank you, darling,' I said, brightly to Husband. 'Is it still there?'
'Yes!' he answered, equally Bright. 'Still there!'
'Oh, Goody!' said I.
Pink cheeked, we were.
My toes still Curl Right Up and Over when I think of it.

No Sex, Please, We'd Rather Read Our Books

Golly. Just when I was about to press the button to Publish Post, I see out of the corner of my eye an article entitled 'No sex please, we're parents. Can a modern marriage survive without it?' Sitting on my kitchen table. Left there, I think, by Husband as a Big Hint.
I look again at the post I am about to send into the Blogosphere.
Entitled,
'No sex, please, we'd Rather Read Our Books.'
Bugger Me.
Well, don't. Actually. Yuck.
But isn't that Most Peculiar?
So didn't send post but read article from cover to cover.
Fascinating.
Apparently, some of us lie about how much we Do it. And the rest of us lie about how much we Don't Do it.
Anyway.
It's not often that I Have Something to Say, but when I do, I try to make sure that a National Paper of some Calibre writes something similar.
Ho hum.
So.
Here goes.
My post, entitled,

No Sex, Please, We'd Rather Read Our Books

Was sitting in bed with cup of tea and Husband one morning. Lovely lie-in and arrival of tea was heaven.
We sat and chatted about all sorts. And then we talked about Sex.
No, it's OK! Don't run off! Not going to put nasty, sticky details down here. We were just TALKING about it.
I was saying to Husband that while I and Four children had been in Total Pits of Hell-Hole Indoor Bastard Play Area the other day, had come across a magazine lying on one of the tea-soaked tables. Had leaped on it and grabbed the thing before any other mother could do so.
Magazine was surprisingly good. No ghastly Celebrities to read about. Just lots of good, intelligent articles.
Amongst the screaming of excited and hot children I read and read. One particular article was all about Refusing Sex.
Like we do.
Bed. Book. Sleep.
Heaven.
Do not want Leery Husband getting frisky.
Just want to close eyes and go to sleep. Thank you very much indeed.
Well, magazine says No.
Magazine says, and I quote,
Desire is a Decision.
Oo'er, I thought.
There was me waiting for Desire to come knocking on the door again.
Thinking fondly that somewhere down the line I would be as Frisky as a teenager, once the Children Were Older. Vamping my way into the sitting room with a Slinky Black Number and leaping on Husband with Abandon.
Gazing down at my Pyjama Clad body, and sheepskin slippered feet, I was somewhat doubtful that this would be Soon.
It seems that I was wrong.
Very wrong.
Desire wasn't going to come up and hit me on the face.
I had to choose it.
Golly, I thought.
So I shared this with Husband.
He was, as you can imagine, rather Gung-ho about it all, as it might just get Some Results, as it were.
Well.
I told him that I would give it a go.
So I did.
Well, not right there and then. Child tends to yell, from bathroom,
'CAN YOU WIPE MY BOTTOM?'
Or,
'HAVE WE RUN OUT OF CHEERIOS?'
or,
'I THINK THE CAT HAS BEEN SICK BUT IT MIGHT BE A POO.'
And such.
Not Awfully good for the Libido.
But a day of two later...
I'm not going to Brag. Puff out my chest and tell Huge Porkies about how often we get down to it now.
Suffice it to say, it's More.
More than Before.
And that's Good.
Still want to read my book.
Still want to wear pyjamas.
Still think to myself on occasion, 'Oh, no, please Not Now.'
But give Desire a go too.
Husband is thrilled to bits.
And I must say that I am rather pleased too.
There is nothing worse than the loss of intimacy.
And nothing better than finding it. Now and then.
Go on, girls. Give it a go.
Desire isn't a feeling. It's a Big Girlie Decision.
You can always read your book tomorrow.
Or Afterwards.

In Which Youngest Is Proud of his Willy

We went blackberrying today.
Rays of gold shafting through hedges laden with hawthorns, sloes, elderberries and blackberries. Lazy flies hovering over the horses in the fields, and dancing over us as we make our way down the track.
Under mighty oaks we go, flanked by rabbit flattened grass and late buttercups.
Youngest and Daughter are on their bicycles.
Suddenly, through the stillness of the afternoon, Youngest yells out in joy,
'Mummy! Take a look at my willy! It's Amazing!' He is obviously Deeply Impressed with himself.
In horror I take a furtive look. What in hell's name is he doing now?
He is on his bike, front wheel up, scrunching to a dusty and triumphant halt.
'There! Did you see it, Mummy? Did you see my willy?'
With Great Relief I tell him that indeed I have seen it. And that it was as Amazing as he thought it was.
A Wheelie.

Bless.

In which Youngest Becomes a Monster

Youngest ate an entire Chocolate Bunny at the weekend.
Quietly.
Behind the sofa.
Chocolate and Youngest are not Good Playmates. At All. He becomes a Small but Volatile Monster. For an hour or so. Before returning to his normal lovely self.
Was somewhat surprised by his Extraordinarily Naughty Behaviour on Saturday morning.
For an hour or so. Little devil, he was.
And then found an Empty Chocolate Bunny Wrapper.
Behind the sofa.
'Did you eat this?' I asked Youngest sternly.
He put on his Stricken Face.
Think Bubbles working hard.
'Yes,' he said, looking totally forlorn and wretched.
'No more sweeties until next week now,' I say.
He nods, tears welling in his eyes.
'The fing is, Mummy, that I fort that if I ate ALL the chocolate today, then I wouldn't be Naughty tomorrow.'
Had to leave room Quickly as could not keep up the Stern Face.
But not before I had dropped a kiss on his head.

The Iron (Bladder) Lady

Well. Have 'shared' my Iron Bladder Tendencies. It has released a flow, if I may be so bold, of Personal Stories about Bladders and Urinal Challenges around the Globe.
I have learned about people's Pelvic Floors, those who can read an 'entire tome' on the loo before the last drop is Squeezed Out. Another who wees One Drop at a Time.
Another who was wondering if I had 'Finished Yet', when he left his comment at 09.15.(Yes, I had, thank you very much for asking. Was building up for the Next One)
I had a Very Impressed Blogger who was amazed at the strength of my Bladder after four children. (Me too, friend, me too!)
In addition I have received sound advice about padlocks and the need for Privacy and Dignity. I have learned that my Bladder is strong and that incontinency is far away.
I am a little Clearer about the boundaries needed between me and my children when taking my morning Ablutions. I have had some Helpful Hints about wee'ing earlier in the morning, and avoiding Audiences.
In short, I am now Fully Informed. Terrific!
Must share lots more Details of an Intimate Nature. Might learn More!
Could Gain More Insight in one day than have done in Entire Life.
Thrilling!
Right.
What shall I blog about next? Don't have anything much to tell about my Rectum. Long Poos have never really been my thing. Unless you count the one on the boat in the Outer Hebrides. You want to hear about that one? Not on your Nelly. That Poo will remain where it's supposed to be. Long Gone. (We were all stunned by its length. How had it created itself? And where did it hide? Why did I 'share' this with family members? No idea.)

Extraordinary thing is that you bloggers just love Lavatorial Humour. I write a Deeply Sweet and Personal Post on the holidays beginning and get a Paltry and quite frankly Feeble twelve comments. I write about wee wees and get thirty five. Hmmmmm.
Not that I am Counting Comments. We all know that I Never Do That.
Do I Stick with Lavatories and say Pfffff to Sweet and Poignant?
Or leave the Toilet Humour behind and keep to Winsome and Off-handed?
Decisions, decisions.

I'll keep you Posted.
Literally.

In Which My Children Find Me Most Amusing. Again.

It seems I have the propensity to do Long Wees.
Not as in 'Off a Cliff' sort of wees. Or from a Very High Tree. We are not talking Height here.
Just Length, as in Time.
Had an audience this morning.
Staggered from warm and cosy bed to bathroom. Sat on loo, hair tousled and upward standing.
Youngest arrives. Sits on edge of bath.
Waits awhile.
'Mummy?'
'Yup?' Am quite Curt in the morning until Cup of Tea is made and sipped at.
'You do Very Long Wees.' He is looking quite concerned. Listening with his head on one side.
'Oh,' mutter I. Not much to add to that really.
In comes Daughter and Middle Son. Sit on the edge of the bath.
'Listen to Mummy's wee! It goes on and on!' informs Youngest.
'I know,' says Daughter, smugly. 'I've heard her before.'
They start to giggle, as I am still 'Going'.
Start feeling a Tad Cross at lack of peace in my morning rituals.
Carry on, trying to keep up my Dignity.
Giggles start to Crescendo as Wee goes On and On.
Every now and then they think I have Stopped.
When I start again.
Gales of laughter.
Never thought I could be that funny so early.
Finally the entertainmnent comes to an End.
The children wipe the tears of laughter off their faces and go downstairs.
I hear them saying,'
'Let's do that tomorrow!'
Hrmph.
Mortar Locks and Bolts spring to mind.

This So Wasn't in the Parents Manual.