f*cking foxes
much like a previous story, my 2 year old (well ok 2 and a half and a little bit now, but we are talking just after his second birthday here) used to not be able to pronounce fox quite correctly, which led to me having a slightly ammusing conversation with one of his nursery nurses along the lines of..."mr pogo_it you son said something today which was a bit upsetting" "oh, he wasnt playing with a fox at the time was he" "yes how did you know.....ahhh i see" "i know funny isnt it, we always try not to laugh"

sorry thatwas deeply unfunny i suppose, but the memory made me giggle!
(pogo_it, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 17:01, 2 replies)

Cunty Carrots
When my little niece was 2 and just learning to speak, she had a very large vocabulary but her pronounciation was not the best (fair enough, she was only 2). One day I was looking after her at my house and had made her a lovely lunch of chicken and salad, including raw carrots. I asked her how her lunch was and she replied "Cunty!". I was rather taken aback. Partly shocked by her outburst and part impressed with such advanced swearing at such a young age.

Turned out, she was explaining to me that the carrots were in fact "Crunchy". Kids eh!
(Tom Jones's Mojo Hasn't had any since, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 16:54, Reply)

Reminded by Thomas the Spankengine's post
A couple of years ago, I was going through some old stuff in my toybox, and found loads of my old textbooks and exercise books from prep school.

Looking through my science books, I realised that I'd written "orgasm" instead of "organism" every single time. For four years. I don't know why my teacher didn't correct me, but I have three theories:
(a) He didn't notice. Silly teacher. Not paying attention.
(b) He did notice, but was too embarrassed to say anything about it (it would induce discussions and explanations of what the differences between orgasms and organisms actually were).
(c) He did notice, pissed himself, and decided that he'd found the new staffroom source of amusement for the forseeable future. Git.

EDIT: I'm going back there for a reunion soon. If he's around, I'll ask him.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 16:40, 9 replies)

Time saving
I was a creative child. That is to say I had lots of ideas. They weren't necessarily great. Still, throw enough shit at a wall and some of it will stick - and thus I came to the conclusion that the latest idea to congeal in my 6 year old brain was a work of genius second only to the bloke who reckoned you sell people pre-sliced bread.

I didn't like getting up in the morning. I had to get up at 6.45 so I could get a lift to school with my dad. I needed to save myself a precious few minutes so I could stay in bed a bit longer. I sneaked down to the kitchen a little after my bed time, went to the cupboard and got out the box of frosties. I went to fridge and got the milk.

It became apparent the next day, with sugary milky slop dripping out of the cupboards, that pre-mixing milk with cereal was perhaps not quite the revelation in human understanding I had been expecting. The old style cereal packets weren't exactly water tight, meaning the pint of milk had managed to work its way into every other box of cereal on the shelf, the bread, the bag of porridge, and then dripped down onto the shelf with the flour and sugar leaving a spectacular mess. As an added 'fuck you' from the God of Great Ideas the cereal in each packs had fused into a variety of unpleasant slops I was made to tidy up.

No breakfast for me that morning.
(OP, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 16:29, 3 replies)

Organism
A good few years ago my little brother had a summer job at the local pub. One night he came home and announced that one of the more popular drinks was the cocktail called an 'orgasm'. Cue slightly embarrassed sniggers all round.

Even younger sister (aged about 10) was listening and pretty quickly clued into the fact that the word was mildly inappropriate. And says to us: "You don't think I know what that word means, but I do".

One quick and failed attempt to change the subject later: "You think because I'm young I don't know things, but I do. I know what that word means."

Deep breath. Bluff about to be called.

"OK, then, what does it mean?"

"Well, you have your brain, and your tummy, and your lungs...and they're all 'organisms'"

Cue sudden, relieved outburst along the lines of "Yes, yes, you're so clever that's exactly what it means, sorry if we doubted you" etc.

Smug look from sister. Relieved look from parents. Smirk from brother. Everyone wins.

Bless.
(Thomas_The_Spankengine, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 16:25, 3 replies)

I was still a child at the time ...
but I must have been in the early teenage years. Having become aware that hairy legs aren't the greatest look on girls, I asked my Mum for some help.

She handed me a disposable razor.

Now, given my accident-prone history, this maybe wasn't the most sensible thing to do. Nonetheless, I was going to give it a go! I duly soaped my leg, and applied the razor. Peered at it, saw a few hairs, and decided that I hadn't used enough pressure.

Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeoooooooooooooooooow

I gouged out several layers of skin for about 2 inches down my shinbone. Which the soap promptly ran into ......

Having heard a noise which made her think someone was attempting to garotte me with a skipping rope, Mum belatedly decided to see if I needed some help. Gee, thanks. Better late than never, eh?

To this day, I still have the scar left by that first, disposable razor (among other scars) and when my own daughter expressed concern at the hairyness (is that a word?) of her wee skinny legs, I bought her an electric razor. Then made sure she read, and followed, the instructions. It took some time before I trusted her to use a real blade, and I stood outside the bathroom waiting for the yell. She must take after her (more sensible than I) father, as she's never cut herself.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Tue 22 Apr 2008, 16:11, 23 replies)

My ex-boss told me this years ago.
He mum took his twin daughters (ie: her grand-daughters, for those of you struggling) to the chip shop for some fish and chips.

A couple of places ahead of them in the queue was a black man.

The grandma knew that something was going to happen when one of the girls kept peering at the black guy around her grandma's legs. Finally, she piped up:

"Grandma?"
"Yes dear?" (nervously)
"Why is that man doing an impression of a duck?"

Thankfully, he didn't realise that she meant "why was he fashioning his mouth into the shape of a beak by pushing his lips out"... or if he did he kept quiet about it.
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 16:00, 2 replies)

My 4 yr old Son
…was in hospital in January. It was a mystery illness, with headaches and high fever. I was very scared and knew the boy lying on the bed infront of me with all sorts of instruments plugged into him... wasn’t my son. He didn’t want to talk, very unresponsive...

Then on about the 3rd day of Doctors scratching their heads and sending for tests, he sat up in bed... turned to me and said...

"Daddy, did you know 'Woolite' cleans your clothes really good. But you have to wash your clothes with a clean fish tank, and use a wooden spoon to stir with... Sometimes you can just dip tshirts in it and clean half, but i dont know why you would want to do that... you can also clean pennies with it...."

I sat there tears running down my face mouth wide open, flabbergasted that

1.My son had made a rapid recovery
2.He hadnt spoken for 48 hrs and decided THIs was the best way to start speaking again.
2.He had managed to soak in the contents from a Woolite advert and repeat it to me semi-correctly

the fact that he had been so ill, made this moment even more glorious..

Why he found the need to tell me this is beyond me, he said it with so much conviction as well.

Happy days!
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 14:49, 14 replies)

Ooh, nearly forgot (good parenting skills again)
The fruit of my loins' most glorious outpouring is a whole Four Earth Years Old tomorrow.

I'm planning to wake him up by hiding beside his bed in a wolfman mask, then getting my accomplice to flick the lights on as I go "RARRRRRRRRR".

Always a good start to the day.


Many toys for me, sorry him to play with (he's getting into Lego, Yippee), a party on Saturday to be sick at (sorry dear, told you that bottle tasted funny), what a picture of family fun, eh?




Except I got the letter last night from the consultant, and he has more eyeball surgery to look forward to in June.

Some weeks, things wouldn't go right if you fucking paid them.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 14:13, 5 replies)

only in guildford
my mate told me that one saturday afternoon before a gig he was wandering around the centre bit when he overheard the following classic line from a 4 year old child, delivered in piercingly confident cut glass tones

"but mummy! ive spilt pesto on my gillet!!"

classic, even funnier once i'd looked up what a 'gillet' actually was....
(Fake Spaniard, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 14:11, 13 replies)

riposte
you don't mean that, you're just saying it
(beebolbod for those that are hard of hearing - LISTEN, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 14:01, Reply)

boring unfunny post alert
Reading through a lot of the posts here of the "kids vs. no-kids" ilk, and the quite heated responses generated, I think a lot of the problem can be traced to what I like think of as one of the fundamental problems with humans:

Deep down, most people don't honestly believe that other people don't really agree with them.

Really. People say things like "each to their own" and "I respect your point of view" and "it'd be boring if we all thought the same" but when you investigate, it's a very uncommon person who doesn't, secretly, maybe not even consciously, but nevertheless really, *really*, think that everyone must think like them, because they are so obviously right, yeah?

Oh yeah, they may *say* they don't agree with me, but they: are just being awkward / They just don't know their own mind / are afraid to admit it to themselves / have been brainwashed by the media / are being politically correct.

This is true of all things, but most obvious when applied to topics that produce the most emotive responses - children, religion, art, politics.

Honestly - for all they say about respect and tolerance, most religious types still have deep inside them a little voice saying:

"...but if *everyone* was a Christian/Mulsim/FSMist like me, everyone would be happy and everything would be better!"

Equally, most racists you talk to often think that masses of people must agree with them, really, but are afraid to say so. S'obvious, innit? Stands to reason. Etc.

The problem with breeders vs. therest is pretty similar to god-bothers vs. heathens and all the others, except for some reason when it comes to conversation about kids those incapable of using contraception inexplicably have license to basically insult those they disagree with in a way that is unlike any other debate (I'm talking in real-life here, not online, obviously, where any insults are fair game.)

You know, things like "you say you don't want kids, but you do really"

or "you don't mean that, you're just saying it"

or "but look at how cute they are! How could you not want some?"

So, people who don't like kids are either a) mentally unstable, b) liars, or c) somehow less human?

I would imagine most worshippers would get irate if you walked up to them and told them they didn't believe in God, really, or that they would "change their mind when they get older".

I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, I just felt like saying it. Luckily, no-one is going to read it, so that's ok.

To sum up, I'm trying to say: You lot with kids - we're not stopping you in any way, so maybe you might like to tone it down a bit, eh? Maybe, just maybe, some of us actually don't, you know, like children very much, so you could, just for a bit, you know, cut back with the smug?

To bastardise TP, just because you now have a label that says "Parent" doesn't mean the rest of us have one that now says "child".

than q.
(TheUnlightableBarenessOfMeat is ambivalent about Marmite., Tue 22 Apr 2008, 13:56, 8 replies)

Been done i'm sure
Standing in queue. Fat bloke in front. Son (doesn't whisper, oh no) says "look how fat that man is daddy".
Fat man turns round to offer benevolent smile, as if to say "kids eh" only to find me pissing myself.
(beebolbod for those that are hard of hearing - LISTEN, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 13:49, Reply)

they are real goddam stoopid! especially when they are 3..bastards
My girlfriends daughter was told the old adage about eating carrots and them helping you to see in the dark,upon noticing her absence she was found in the windowless toilet,in the dark with a carrot,truing to use it as a torch!
hah!
(monkeybot, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 13:47, 1 reply)

The cat
Our cat put on weight a while ago (the kids learnt to feed him).

He has a habit of tipping glasses of water over and then licking up the minutest bit of water and then fucking off. He always has clean water in the bowl, he's just a cunt.

So we used to shout "fat prat cat" at him following him tipping water all over the remote controls or the magazines or the dinner etc etc.

Anyway, my 4 yo son is somewhat 'friendly' with the cat, and seems to have no compassion for the poor little thing and gives him some pretty hard love.

After one such altercation we heard him crying following a scratch and he let out the mightiest scream "YOU FAT PWAT CAT".
My laughter made him forget his pain.
(beebolbod for those that are hard of hearing - LISTEN, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 13:44, Reply)

FAT KIDS = RENEWABLE ENERGY?
Here's an idea. Let's solve two of the country's problems with one solution.

We have too many fat kids. And when I say 'fat,' I mean 'revolting.' Some of these buggers are just unfathomable mounds of round, sagging blubber by the age of six, and if it weren't for their many chins you wouldn't be able to tell which way up they're supposed to be standing.

We also have an energy crisis. With a shortage of fossil fuels - not to mention a need to reduce emissions - a dislike of nuclear power and a lack of good spots to put wind farms, we're stuck between a rock and a spent duracell.

Solution? Hook some treadmills up to the national grid and make the porky little buggers run. PE lessons don't teach you anything these days anyway, so why not spend the time giving the little bleeders the exercise they need? Fit the treadmills with some nice, efficient little dynamos and let them do it in shifts. Hey presto! Electricity from fat kids*.


An alternative method - for which I should thank The Oscillating Gibbon - is to solve two international problems at once and feed our obese kids to the starving kids in Africa. That one's a bit more difficult to argue ethically, though.

*_{Well, it's easier and more ethical than converting the old coal-fired power stations to burn fat kids.}
(LongJohnBaldry, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 13:44, 24 replies)

Subway
My wife was eating in a high-street sandwich type establishment with my 5 year old daughter and 15 year old son.Periodically,we have to take the boy to task,as he eats like he thinks someone will steal the food from his plate if hetakes too long.My daughter,upon seeing a lady at another table chewing at a fair rate of knots,loudly proclaims,
"Look Mummy!That lady's eating like she's in a race!It's nor very nice to eat like you're in a race,is it ,Mummy?"
My wife shushes the small one,telling her that sometimes grown-ups have to eat in a hurry ,because they have places to go,things to do and that you shouldn't talk about people like that,because its not polite.
My daughter ponders this for a moment,taps the wife on the arm and says,in as Brian Blessed a volume as she can,"Mummy!I'm not talking about that lady over there,but its not very nice to eat like you're in a race,is it?"
(archroy Get down wi' yer bad self., Tue 22 Apr 2008, 13:38, Reply)

KFC
Whilst at a motorway services and looking for the least shite food to give the kids in the car on the last part of the journey we arrived at KFC.

My 7yo son, who'd accompanied me to help, looked up to see where we were about get the dinner.

"KFC" he says. then thinks a bit and says "Kentucky fucking chicken?"

None of my kids swear so this was a nice surprise i thought.
Good use of the word, creative and very apt. He'll go far.
(beebolbod for those that are hard of hearing - LISTEN, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 13:34, Reply)

Why I'm glad I'm not a child today. By Davros' Granddad, aged 37 and a third.
I’m soooo glad I’m not a child today. I grew up in the 70s / early 80s and life just seemed so much less hassle.

School: We weren’t tested to death and actually learned stuff at school rather than learning by wrote. Teachers today aren’t there to impart knowledge, they’re there to meet Government targets. If we pissed about in class, the teachers could discipline you. I’m not advocating the random beating of children (I had a teacher who would throw those heavy, wooden blackboard dusters at you if you misbehaved, and he was a twunt), but if teachers had a bit more leeway to dish out some sort of meaningful punishment (not just a breaktime detention, FFS) without fear of reprisals from (a) the education authority, and (b) little Johnny’s parents maybe lack of discipline wouldn’t be such a problem. I was well behaved at school mostly because I had some respect for the teachers counterbalanced with the tiniest bit of fear of what might happen if I fucked about.

We had little, if any, concept of what stress was. How many kids today can be classified as suffering from depression? Okay, I know it’s not a new thing, but it does seem so much more pronounced and obvious these days. Not helped by the sheer stress some of these kids must be under. And what’s the choice available to them when they leave school? You need a bloody qualification in landscape management just to be able to sweep the roads… What’s wrong with on-the-job training?

There wasn’t the relentless peer pressure that there is today. Kids today seem to be judged on what trainers they wear, whether they have the latest mobile phone, how many games consoles they have. All we had to worry about was whether our parkas had blue or orange fur in the hood.

We had some concept of the value of things. We received new toys on birthdays and at Christmas, and the shops would drastically reduce their range of exciting new toys between the months of January and October. Consequently when we got something new, we treasured it. Kids these days just think ‘easy come, easy go’ and the most common question asked seems to be “can I have?” No recognition of the fact that ‘things’ cost money and that you don’t have an automatic right to have something just because it’s (a) in the shops and (b) your friends have got one. And the relentless TV advertising doesn’t help either. My family had little money, and as a consequence of that plus subsequent working environments (DSS / jobcentre), I have a rabid fear of being in debt that I'm not in control of. In fact, I get all clenchy if I think I'm about to go into my overdraft by £20...

We were protected from exposure to inappropriate images on TV but allowed to play freely in the street, wander off, climb trees, and go off on our bikes with our mates. These days, some fuckwit parents will freely allow their kids access to some of the most horrific and inappropriate TV / films / computer games, and yet will not allow their offspring to voyage more than a stones throw away from the house in case they get abducted and murdered. WTF?

Boys were dressed as boys and girls as girls, not like cut-price pimps and hookers. I mean, high street fashion stores selling padded bras for girls aged 8 for Christ’s sake? I despair, I really do. The utter spaktardery of some people beggars belief.

I could go on.

Rose-tinted spectacles? Perhaps. But I’m so glad I was a kid then and not now.

*EDIT* This makes me sound like a grumpy old man - I'm not. Honest guv. I just think that kids should be allowed to be kids, be allowed to be taught at school rather than tested, and not indulged constantly by fuckwit parents that think loving a child is about buying them stuff on tick, letting them watch what they want and feeding them processed junk.

*Makes indignant 'harrumphing' sound*.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 22 Apr 2008, 12:30, 152 replies)

I was only three or so, but I recall it ever so well.....
My mother, my sister (aged 7) and myself, were aboard a BIGREDSHINYBUS and I was ever so excited as we made our way to town for the weekly shop.
The bus pulled up to let several people on, and one of these people was the biggest blackest man you ever did see (in my eyes anyway, I was only three remember).
As he sat down in front of us, my sister pointed and declared, "LOOK MUMMY, A SAMBO".
We were dragged off the bus by mum, and didn't make it to town until the next bus in an hour!!
(UnstableDan Bah, Humbug! ooooh, humbugs, nyom!, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 12:29, 2 replies)

Blind couple + sighted kids
When I was house-hunting a few years back, I went to a house where the owners were both blind but they had three sighted children.

It was a fairly nice house but in a crap location so I didn't buy it. I also didn't mention to the blind couple that their children had drawn all over the walls of their bedroom.
(BearWithLittleBrain, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 12:27, Reply)

The 'posh' ones are the worst? Discuss.
I believe it has been mentioned in passing that aspirational middle class parents are worse by far than 'chavscum' untermensch for allowing their kids to generally run riot.

Soo, two case studies.....

1. Yummy Mummy and spawn come into my lovely gleaming and shiny showroom. She's eyeing up the Germanic Status Symbols, no doubt thinking how coffee with Jocasta and Bidet will be soo much more pleasant if she can casually recount how she blew £40k of Hubby's cash on an even bigger SUV. While she's getting a wide-on good and proper over the lovely leather and talking magic screen that she'll never use (Sat-Nav, OK?), I amble around the corner.

To find her two sprogs standing on the fucking roof of a brand new C-Class. Wearing shoes.

Option One: "Get off that car you little fuckers" at full Sergeant-Major-With-Piles volume.

Option Two: "Excuse me Madam, would you be so kind as to retrieve your offspring before I kill and eat them both?"

No sale- "I was just looking, must dash". Roof & boot respray required. Which meant we had to register it to ourselves i.e. buy it. £28k down, thanks.

I have also had someone let her sprogs break an indicator stalk off, and release the handbrake so the parked car rolled neatly into a wall. No Sale (didn't see her for dust, in fact). £100 ish for the stalk, £300 for a new bumper. Cheers, Mrs "I was just looking No 2".

Case The Second.

I can't provide a link, but a few years ago a couple were convicted of gross indecency, for having sex in a bus queue. Okay, you can get bored waiting for public transport, but this was a bit OTT. The best bit? The female used another of her children as a pillow.

So Case 1 and 1.5 we have unruly little shites causing financial loss to a nasty man in a suit (that's me folks). Boo to the evil corporations.

Case 2, we have a child so 'well behaved' or sedated, that it provided pillow services while the parents were rutting on the pavement.

Which would you rather see?
(osok Rebel without a clue, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 11:47, 33 replies)

The number one answer to tell your mum
to the question "When are you going to have kids?"
is...
"Just as soon as I can get some sperm near my mimsy. Trouble is, it tastes too damn good."
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 11:28, 23 replies)

various experiments..
The first of which involved leaping off our massive garden wall with an open umberella in the hope of just gliding down Mary Poppins style..didn't. Unbrella turned inside out and I howled..lots!
Second was throwing the poor cat out of the window whilst testing the theory 'cats always land on their feet' (they do by the way), got smaked lots after an astonished mum saw said cat sailing past the kitchen window one day whilst she was doing the pots..
And finally, me and my little mate decided one day, whilst playing in the flat above her mums posh clothes shop..that it would be a really good idea to dress up her huge Doberman. This resulted in mates mum hearing a 'thud thud thud' down the stairs followed by said Doberman crashing through the door and into the shop wearing a pair of silk pyjamas, a wig and a pair of shades, to the great surprise of both her and all the customers. Little bastards!
(misshotlips, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 11:27, 2 replies)

Just learning to talk properly
One of my clearest memories of being a child was this most hilarious incident involving my younger brother who must have been only 5 at the time.

One sunny afternoon he came bursting into the house all excited and was like
"Mum Mum! Clothes Party!"
My mum was confused as he wasnt really pronouncing the words properly. But I could understand him. She said "What?"
"Clothes Party!"
"Whaaaat????"
"next door but one!"
"whaaaat??"
"clothes party next door but one!"
"whaat? Im sorry I cant understand you!"

My younger brothers face suddenly changed from an excitment, to downright anger. With his front teeth firmly perched over his lower lip. He let out the best "FUCK OFF!!" I had ever heard.

This resulted in him getting a slap.
I guess you had to be there. My mother never did go to the clothes party next door but one.
(Miggyman, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 11:23, 2 replies)

Ignorant children
I don't think they do it on purpose, but sometimes kids can be unbelievably ignorant.

Case in point: when I stay at my friend's house, I sleep on the couch. The last time I stayed over there, it was a weeknight. So I need to be at work for 9, and her darling child needs to be at school for 9 too. Fine. That means I'll get up about 7/half-7, the same time as my friend gets up, we'll have a coffee and a smoke, and I'll ride to work.

Oh no. No chance. It turns out that her dearest offspring has to get up at 6-O-Fucking-Clock every morning to watch the fucking telly.

The thing is, I hate telly at any time of the day - but being woken up by CHILDRENS TV, at 6 IN THE MORNING, with a cunting HANGOVER.

At times, I wish I could kick the angel-faced little cherubs in the chops.

I mean, does it not possibly cross their minds that if there's a large adult-sized lump on the sofa, and it's 6 in the morning, and adults don't have quite as much energy as kids do, they could at least turn the volume down ever-so-slightly?
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 11:20, Reply)

#9 On Bullying
As I have mentioned before quite often my kids and I will discuss 'important' subjects in the car on the way to and from school.

A few weeks ago one of them (the entrepreneur) had had his hair cut - he takes after me and has wild curly hair which is really best kept short (for him, not me). So unfortunately when his hair is cropped it gives him the slight appearance of a coconut, bless him.

So there we are racing around the country lanes avoiding foxes with mange, mixy rabbits and the kids' inbred relatives when his haircut is brought up....

"Mum, I'm getting bullied at school because my hair is so short."

*DING*

I go into full on Protective Mother(TM) mode.

"What do you mean, bullied? What's happening? Have you mentioned this to your teacher? Who is doing it?"

He goes into more detail about him being called Slap Head and Baldy.

I begin to breathe a sigh of relief - this is kids being unpleasant little buggers, but not full on Bullying - however, it still requires me to keep him talking to me about it, just in case.

So I prepare myself to launch into various techniques that he could use to deflect the unpleasant comments...

"Well darling, I think what you should say is -"

"Tell 'em to fuck off"

Pipes up his brother.

Well, yes. Erm...good advice actually.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 10:42, 13 replies)

Pissing Picasso
Following a nasty break-up with Sweary Junior's dad, Belly and I returned to Blighty to lick my wounds, dust myself down and all that clichéd shit. Having left my entire life & belongings in Greece, I was left penniless, so greatfully accepted my folks' offer of a roof over my head (and belly). And applied for a council flat.

Such a life was not what I'd envisaged at all. But, hey - it's like a sewer innit? What you get out of it depends on what you put into it - just look at JK Rowling.

Sweary Junior was a year old when we moved into our council flat. Finally we were both free of my parents' restrictions and could live as we pleased. No china ornaments in peril, no nasty pointy-cornered hurty coffee table - the whole place was child-friendly and I didn't give a shit if he drew on the walls with crayon.

My son has always had an artistic streak, which I encourage in any shape or form. Came the time he was ready to progress from potty training to using the Big Boys' Loo. Y'know how kids like to draw pictures / write their names with sparklers? Well, Sweary Junior liked to draw pictures with his wee. (In the toilet, I hasten to add - I'm not that laid back!)

What fun I had, guessing what he'd drawn... S for Sweary, his teddy bear, a Lotus Esprit, JCB digger etc. But one day he had me totally flummoxed. I had to give in and ask what it was. He looked up at me as if I was mentally defficient (which I am). "It's a council flat, of course!"
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 10:34, 2 replies)

#8 Swearing
Some years ago I was visiting the ex-MrChickenlady's relatives and they have three children. Mine had just started Playgroup and so I heard this story from another mum...and I repeated it to the relatives...

S's children were playing in the bath together and she went to check on them (I forget their ages but they were quite safe from drowning). She found one of them hysterical with laughter, the other with a mouth full of foaming bubbles.

She asked what was going on....

"He said CUNT! So it's a bad word and he's washing him mouth out. It's my turn next!"



I told the relatives this story while spelling out the swear word....their eldest child was 9 at the time.

Oh bugger.


Yet another reason why the ex-MrChickenlady's family didn't like me.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Tue 22 Apr 2008, 10:31, 3 replies)