Wednesday, 17 April 2013

A difference of opinions

And people think Margaret Thatcher's death has polarised opinions. That is nothing compared to the scene which unfolded in my house this morning.

7.30am. Approximately two minutes away from 'if-we-don't-get-out-of-this-house-in-the-next-ten-seconds-we-are-going-to-be-LATE' time. I was in the kitchen, filling up Mr Jamie's water bottle, when from the hallway came the cry every parent secretly fears.

"MUMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! There's a slug in our house!"

Okay, so maybe it's not the cry every parent fears. Maybe it's rather more specific to those possessing an all-encompassing terror of slugs. (Ie: me.) But at 7.30 in the morning, it was truly, truly, the very last thing I wanted, needed, or was in any way equipped to deal with.

Cautiously I edged my way into the hall, armed with a plastic water bottle. Mr Jamie was stood on the third step up, pointing in horror at what I was relieved to discover was a very tiny slug specimen on our hall floor. Less than 2cm long. My kind of slug.

Now, I've always tried to be careful not to pass on my phobias to my children. Tempting though it was to hustle both children out of the house and leave the slimy intruder until Neil's return, I didn't want them to then end up with a life long fear of Going Out In The Rain. Hence I put on my best CBeebies voice, knelt down, and encouraged Mr Jamie to get closer.

"Look Jamie. He's putting up his little feeler thingies." (My knowledge of slug anatomy is scant, to say the least.) "He's trying to say hello."

"Hello slug." Mr Jamie braved the bottom step and crouched down to look more closely. At this point Beth wandered in, clad in her pink wellies, which I suspected may have been the source of our intruder.

"Look Beth, can you see the little slug?"

"No. No snake. I not want snake."

"It's not a snake, it's a slug."

"NOOOOO SNAAAAAAKE."

"It's a SLUG."

I made the executive decision to remove our slug from the house before he was destined to a life of slug therapy as a result of his ear drums having been well and truly battered by Beth. Bravely, I grabbed a wad of kitchen roll, picked him up (whilst all the time screaming an internal "GAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH") and deposited him into the back garden in the hope that he'd be very shortly eaten. And not by Beth. I turned, shut the door behind me, and returned to my children, hoping to see them now reassured that Mummy had dealt with the scary slug.

"Where snake Mummy?"

"It's a slug, and it's in the garden."

"Why?"

"Because we don't want a slug in our house."

"NOOOO. No Mummy. I want snake. I want snake in my bed. You get snake. Nooooooow."

"Beth, no. This is ridiculous. We do not put slugs - or snakes - in our beds. Look, if you go to the window you can go and wave at him."

She ran to the window and sorrowfully pressed her face to the glass. I turned to Mr Jamie.

"Mummy, if we had kept that slug we could have given it a name."

"Yes, I suppose we could have done. I can't tell you how late we are going to be. What would you have called it?"

"Ummmmm ... I would have called it Good Slug."

"Inspired. Right, Beth, come on, off we go. Out the door now. You never know, there might be another slug on the front path for you to look at."

She backed away from me, her eyes wide with terror.

"Noooooo snake Mummy. NOOOOO SNAKE. NOOOOOOOOOO."

Oh for fuck's sake.

******************************

An unrelated Mr Jamie excerpt for you, because I know you'll love it as much as Neil did.

Last night I went up to have a bath post workout and suggested to Mr Jamie and Beth they came up with me. Mr Jamie looked reluctant.

"But Mummy, I'm playing. You shout for me when you're in the bath and then I'll come up and get in, okay?"

"Okay."

I went up. I got in the bath. I turned off the taps and called for Mr Jamie. Several times. No response. Beth wandered up. I told her to go and get Jamie. No response. In the end I got out, dried myself and went downstairs. Mr Jamie was horrified.

"Mummy, why are you out the bath? I wanted to get in with you."

"Well I called for you but  you didn't come."

"You didn't shout loud enough Mummy. You should have shouted like you do when you are really cross with us, then I would have DEFINITELY heard you."

Hmmmmmm.

Tuesday, 2 April 2013

Wronger than a wrong thing

The most wrong thing in the history of all wrongness of all time.

When this happened I decided it was actually too disturbing to blog about. (I KNOW.)

But then, me being me, I've found myself telling just about everyone I've met anyway.

So here you go. Prepare to be ... disturbed.

Bath time. Mr Jamie and Beth are both ensconced in the bath in our ensuite. I'm in the bedroom, putting away some clothes. (This might give you the mistaken impression I have some kind of domestic skills. Perhaps I should confirm that this was in fact my annual putting away of clothes session, before we quite literally get to the point where we all simply have to walk around naked.)

Through the doorway I can hear laughter. A lot of laughter. Laughter accompanied by shouts of "Come on Beth" and "Yeeeaaah Jamie".

I walk through the door. Both children look VERY pleased with themselves. And, if I'm honest, more than a tad suspicious.

"Jamie, what are you doing?"

"We're playing a game."

"What sort of a game?"

"It's a game where you get points." He looked at me shiftily. I recognise that look well.

"And how do you get points?"

"Beth gets a point every time she touches my willy."

"Good god."

"And do you know how I get points Mummy?"

"I genuinely dread to think."

"I get points every time I make my willy get bigger."

That's an end to the shared baths then.

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

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