Category Archives: …What did you just say?

An Apple a Day.

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Alice: ‘Stop! I see you, Theodore. Put that apple back!’

Theo: ‘But I want it!’

Alice: ‘I think you want it with your eyes, Bubba. But you don’t like the taste of them, remember?’

Theo: ‘I do like them! I want to eat it!’

Alice: ‘I know it’s beautiful, darling. But you are going to take one bite out of that thing and then tell me it’s yucky.’

Theo: ‘I’M NOT!’

This goes on for some time. I have already given Partially-Eaten-Apple Shortcakes to all and sundry. Maybe I’ll stew this lot?

Mabel: ‘Stop it you guys! Look! I’m jumping on my bum!’

Ever the peacemaker, however unorthodox.

Theo turns to me.

Theo: ‘…I don’t like it…’

Apple…pies?

No News Is Good News.

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Theo: ‘Mama; I’ve got some good news and some bad news.’

Alice: ‘Oh, really Bubba? What’s the good news?’

Theo: ‘The good news is I’ve changed it into bad news and the bad news is I’ve changed it into good news.’

 

I don’t know either. But I take all the good news I can get.

It’s Like Torture. But Worse.

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I spend an inordinate amount of time singing to the children. This is often not of my own volition.

Theo: ‘Sing the dog song!’

Mabel: ‘YEAH, SING IT MAMA!’

Alice: ‘How Much is That Doggy in the Window?’, I ask.

‘NO! NOT THAT ONE!’, they roar in unison.

Alice: ‘…what other dog songs are there?’

I know where this is leading.

Theo: ‘The Dog Song!’

Mabel: ‘THE DOG SONG, MAMA!’

Alice: ‘Oh. You mean, as always, The Elmo Song. But about a dog?’

‘YES!’

(The things I have sung this song about, I couldn’t begin to tell you. Well, I could. We would meet at a bar and talk about our days; you’d tell me about the project you were working on before we combed the emails The Person You Flirt With had sent you for cryptic nuances. And then, when it was my turn I’d say, ‘Well, today I sung the shit out of The Elmo Song. For 8 hours. Oh, you don’t know it? It goes like this…’)

Alice: ‘This is the song, la la la la, The Dog Song. This is the song, LA LA LA LA, THE DOG SONG!’

Alice: ‘Now…what do dogs like?’

Theo: ‘Food!’

Mabel: ‘STICKERS!’

Theo: ‘No, no, NO, Mae-Mae! Dogs DO NOT like stickers!’

Mabel: ‘Oh.’

Alice: ‘And why not? I thought that was a good suggestion.’

Theo: ‘Because the dog has claws! They aren’t like hands! He couldn’t get them off! He wouldn’t like stickers!’

Alice: ‘Oh, yes. I see. But don’t you think the dog could just enjoy looking at the stickers?’

Theo: ‘…But…his claws!’

Mabel: ‘…the dog likes flowers now.’

Alice: ‘Are we all happy with that?’

‘YES!’

And we take it from the top.

For the rest of the day.

Six Foot, Seven Foot, Eight Foot, BUNCH!

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We always have the radio on in the kitchen. We listen to some old time a.m station. It soothes me.

Harry Belafonte’s ‘Banana Boat’ invariably comes on once a week. It is one of the songs the children and I can agree on. Hearing him sing ‘Hides the deadly/Black Tarantula’ makes me happy in a way it is hard to explain. It’s just one of those songs that makes you feel better no matter how you are feeling. It is worth listening to veritable hours of ads for life insurance and naturopathic treatments for erectile dysfunction just to hear that opening Day-O while I am loading the dishwasher or neutralising whichever turf war has broken out between the insurgents.

Theo: ‘I like that song. It’s by the Wiggles.’

 

You See What I’m Working With?

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It is bed time. But someone had a nap today.

Mabel: ‘Mama, lie down. Close your eyes.’

I comply. She pries them open.

Mabel: ‘Say you like it! Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. I’m the Christmas Mae-Mae. Open your present, Mama. It’s a flower! Here, this is Theos present. No, don’t open it! Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Look it’s my bum!’

Surprise! It’s Death!

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Theo: ‘The snake is dead, Mama. He was our friend.’

If you have ever wondered what happens when you leave a worm on a piece of tissue, under the lid of a roasting dish, in the midday sun, let me tell tell you now that I think your energies could be put to better use on experiments that do not conclude in a lavish burial ceremony.

(It was like, crisp, you know?)

Don’t Mess With The Best Dressed.

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Alice: ‘C’mon, Mae. Time to get dressed.’

Mabel: ‘No! I am a nudie!’

She says with just as much flourish as you are imagining.

She holds up a range of dresses; each briefly modeled before being flung to the floor.

She selects two socks; both of pink stripes, but unmatched.

‘Mae-Mae wear deez socks!’, she informs me.

I dump her on her bed of pink flowers.

Alice: ‘Alright then; let’s get these socks on’.

I’m hopeful.

Mabel: ‘No! I want to wear them on my eyes!’

So she does.