- What are you doing?
- Right now
- What were you doing just then?
- I know you're putting your pants on
- But they're inside out
- Oh you know already
- Right
- Well
- Err
- Why?
- Why are you putting your pants on inside out?
- What do you mean you've worn the other side?
- What other side?
- The inside bit?
- You mean you've worn those already?
- Three days?
- And now you're turning them inside out
- To wear the clean side
- I am not grateful
- No I should not be
- I really don't need you to save me washing
- Because I'd rather you wore clean pants every day
- It's not bad for your health
- I don't care what Pokey, Stu or Bucket Head say
- I'm really not interested
- What competition?
- With Pokey, Stu and Bucket Head?
- A pant competition?
- Well just tell them you lost
- Because you have a wife
- Who has a nose
- Pokey, Stu and Bucket Head only have each other
- Well I don't feel sorry for them
- No they can't come tonight
- I'm very sorry if they're starved of female company
- There's probably a good reason for that
- I'm sure they do say a lot of nice things about me
- And praise my lasagne
- But that's because it's the only non takeaway meal they've ever eaten
- Well you'll just have to un invite them
- What important job?
- Me?
- No
- I won't do it
- I'm not judging the pant competition
- Or washing the winner's pants
- Well you shouldn't have told them I would
- I know I'm the only woman in their lives
- Perhaps if they changed their pants more often they'd find someone
- What do you mean they tried that?
- One week?
- Well of course it didn't work
- I think it'll take a bit longer than a week
- And perhaps a toothbrush
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Things I Have Said To My Husband Today
Tuesday, 18 May 2010
Hips, Dips And Trips Down The Aisle
Last weekend grandma got engaged. This is not My Mother you understand, the kid's grandma, but my grandma, you know, the 95 year year old who lives in a nursing home. Obviously if it had been My Mother this post would not have opened in such a calm, measured, mature way without a hint of hysteria about it. Oh no, if I were talking about My Mother you would have been treated, nay gifted with a multi paragraphed diatribe on the evils of the older generation; their lack of staying power and commitment; how they expect everything on a plate nowadays without striving; and most importantly how you should never ever remarry once your children know about sex, because that's about all they'll think about once you announce you're about to remarry. And thinking about your parents and the merest hint that they may possibly have a sex life is To Be Avoided At All Costs, because you'll go blind. Or something. It'll be their fault anyway whatever the outcome.
So it's My Mother that gets to do the diatribe thing and obsess over not obsessing about the possibility her 95 year old mother-in-a-home (Delia does a recipe) is planning to tie the knot (to the bedpost - ha ha! Joke mum, joke) and possibly embark on a new spring in her step chapter of her life.
It has, to be honest been a bit of a shock, not helped by the fact that grandma is a bit mental. She regularly attempts to buy plane tickets to Belgium at the nursing home desk, thinks that all biscuits talk but only in Spanish and has an unholy interest in s-e-x (as she calls it before describing select portions of it in interesting detail).
Anyway, it's fallen to me to deal with the whole getting married thing and all it encompasses. There are only so many things I can expect My Mother to do and dealing with her own mother's impending (mental) nuptials and subsequent buying of negligees for the Wedding Night is not one of them.
Firstly I had to visit grandma and her betrothed Vincent on Monday to have The Talk. I approached this as a useful practise session for when I have to have The Talk with Isla and Jack. Husband is not doing this, whatever he says; Jack would simply be furnished with a few choice chat up lines and a bumper pack of condoms, and Isla would be encouraged to marry God.
The Talk was no nonsense and to the point (see how mature I'm getting?) and (obviously) loud, neither of them hearing at a level which would be preferred when discussing intimacies. I encouraged them both to wait until they were married (again! so mature!), not least because if the physical effort finished one of them off all my efforts for the wedding day would be wasted and, more to the point, unappreciated.
I was spared the whole gauntlet of contraception for obvious reasons (and if the reasons aren't obvious you sure did miss biology on the wrong day). But I did ask them to pay particular attention to the fact they've both had hip replacements and to be extra careful when thrusting, and perhaps remove their magnetic arthritis bracelets if attempting anything sub naval. I'm thinking of purchasing them a large road sign to place above their marriage bed saying Mind The Hip. Should do the trick.
I've also begun to plan the wedding; I've found a lovely venue with no steps or loose carpet, they've promised to provide a loud hailer for the speeches and a stand in for the best man should his bunions play up and best of all a couple of commodes dressed as thrones. Very Victoria Beckham. I'll keep you posted.
So it's My Mother that gets to do the diatribe thing and obsess over not obsessing about the possibility her 95 year old mother-in-a-home (Delia does a recipe) is planning to tie the knot (to the bedpost - ha ha! Joke mum, joke) and possibly embark on a new spring in her step chapter of her life.
It has, to be honest been a bit of a shock, not helped by the fact that grandma is a bit mental. She regularly attempts to buy plane tickets to Belgium at the nursing home desk, thinks that all biscuits talk but only in Spanish and has an unholy interest in s-e-x (as she calls it before describing select portions of it in interesting detail).
Anyway, it's fallen to me to deal with the whole getting married thing and all it encompasses. There are only so many things I can expect My Mother to do and dealing with her own mother's impending (mental) nuptials and subsequent buying of negligees for the Wedding Night is not one of them.
Firstly I had to visit grandma and her betrothed Vincent on Monday to have The Talk. I approached this as a useful practise session for when I have to have The Talk with Isla and Jack. Husband is not doing this, whatever he says; Jack would simply be furnished with a few choice chat up lines and a bumper pack of condoms, and Isla would be encouraged to marry God.
The Talk was no nonsense and to the point (see how mature I'm getting?) and (obviously) loud, neither of them hearing at a level which would be preferred when discussing intimacies. I encouraged them both to wait until they were married (again! so mature!), not least because if the physical effort finished one of them off all my efforts for the wedding day would be wasted and, more to the point, unappreciated.
I was spared the whole gauntlet of contraception for obvious reasons (and if the reasons aren't obvious you sure did miss biology on the wrong day). But I did ask them to pay particular attention to the fact they've both had hip replacements and to be extra careful when thrusting, and perhaps remove their magnetic arthritis bracelets if attempting anything sub naval. I'm thinking of purchasing them a large road sign to place above their marriage bed saying Mind The Hip. Should do the trick.
I've also begun to plan the wedding; I've found a lovely venue with no steps or loose carpet, they've promised to provide a loud hailer for the speeches and a stand in for the best man should his bunions play up and best of all a couple of commodes dressed as thrones. Very Victoria Beckham. I'll keep you posted.
Tuesday, 11 May 2010
Model Behavior
I have been terribly remiss about updating this blog, I do apologise and I know you will all be breathing a sigh of relief that the absence isn't because of My Mother's bunions again. Thanks to dad's ministering of God-knows-what they're healing nicely (cue global out breath and subsequent raising of CO2 levels, sorry Mr Gore, forget industry, three inch stilettos are where the problem's at).
It's just that I've been lazy, lazy and a little tired. I do love my family, despite what you all may think, and I do love being a stay at home mum, sometimes. But it's been a long time, over six years of being home alone with a baby/toddler/preschooler and I could do with a break. One which doesn't involve finding something new to do with Jack during the day.
Mother and toddler groups just don't cut it anymore. There's only so many times I can stand in a circle, gripping a child's hand to make him/her stay beside me while waving enthusiastically at the teacher during Hello Hello It's Nice To See You; and I'm not sure how long I can stand to look surprised to find my knees again, or how long Jack can put up with me whispering fiercely at him to make him stay during ring a ring o' roses so I don't have to hold another mummy's hand. The biscuits at the end of the session are a small consolation I suppose, but they do insist on giving the children all the good ones and us mummies the ones that look suspiciously wholemeal. I'd do a lot for a custard cream.
Anyway, during one such session last week (where I rebelled a little and neglected to find my knees), I came up with a great idea to make mummy and toddler sessions (there are no daddies in ours) a lot more fun: Male Model Teachers.
Think about it, it's perfect. As Carlsberg would say, this, Ladies and Gentlemen is probably the best playgroup in the world. The Male Model Teachers (TM) could have a uniform of simple, ripped jeans while their torsos could be all oiled and ripped too.
It would mean that the Hello Hello It's Nice To See You song could have a lot more meaning and feel to it, you know? It really would be nice to see them; crikey you'd even arrive early to see whether they actually change into their uniforms at the village hall as the rumours suggest.
Jack and Jill going up the hill would be a chance to snigger quietly as you winked at each other through the version that has them coming (snigger) down with a daughter. And the Goodbye Goodbye song could provide its own opportunity for pathos and real regret as those glistening pecs were put away for another week.
Biscuit time would be changed forever, especially as the wine suggestion was taken up (and paid for generously) by the committee. Conversation would flow as we all waved away the wholemeal biscuits, and failed to look longingly at the custard creams. Who needs custard creams when you're watching your oh-so-slim figure? (this is a fantasy playgroup remember).
I do hate to gloat, but this really is a simple and quite honestly genius way to transform the lives of any stay at home parent. Groups with dads in them could include female models, or any peccadillo really as long as you clear it with the committee. Let me know what you think, and any models out there looking for a change of career, do get in touch, I'm setting up an agency.
It's just that I've been lazy, lazy and a little tired. I do love my family, despite what you all may think, and I do love being a stay at home mum, sometimes. But it's been a long time, over six years of being home alone with a baby/toddler/preschooler and I could do with a break. One which doesn't involve finding something new to do with Jack during the day.
Mother and toddler groups just don't cut it anymore. There's only so many times I can stand in a circle, gripping a child's hand to make him/her stay beside me while waving enthusiastically at the teacher during Hello Hello It's Nice To See You; and I'm not sure how long I can stand to look surprised to find my knees again, or how long Jack can put up with me whispering fiercely at him to make him stay during ring a ring o' roses so I don't have to hold another mummy's hand. The biscuits at the end of the session are a small consolation I suppose, but they do insist on giving the children all the good ones and us mummies the ones that look suspiciously wholemeal. I'd do a lot for a custard cream.
Anyway, during one such session last week (where I rebelled a little and neglected to find my knees), I came up with a great idea to make mummy and toddler sessions (there are no daddies in ours) a lot more fun: Male Model Teachers.
Think about it, it's perfect. As Carlsberg would say, this, Ladies and Gentlemen is probably the best playgroup in the world. The Male Model Teachers (TM) could have a uniform of simple, ripped jeans while their torsos could be all oiled and ripped too.
It would mean that the Hello Hello It's Nice To See You song could have a lot more meaning and feel to it, you know? It really would be nice to see them; crikey you'd even arrive early to see whether they actually change into their uniforms at the village hall as the rumours suggest.
Jack and Jill going up the hill would be a chance to snigger quietly as you winked at each other through the version that has them coming (snigger) down with a daughter. And the Goodbye Goodbye song could provide its own opportunity for pathos and real regret as those glistening pecs were put away for another week.
Biscuit time would be changed forever, especially as the wine suggestion was taken up (and paid for generously) by the committee. Conversation would flow as we all waved away the wholemeal biscuits, and failed to look longingly at the custard creams. Who needs custard creams when you're watching your oh-so-slim figure? (this is a fantasy playgroup remember).
I do hate to gloat, but this really is a simple and quite honestly genius way to transform the lives of any stay at home parent. Groups with dads in them could include female models, or any peccadillo really as long as you clear it with the committee. Let me know what you think, and any models out there looking for a change of career, do get in touch, I'm setting up an agency.
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