Sister Bea struck terror into my heart this morning by pointing out that it’s under a month to Mackenzies third birthday. Obviously I know when his birthday is as I was at the inaugural one, I just didn’t realise that a third birthday qualified as an “event”. Bea was horrified. “Of course it is darling! Caitlin and three of her chums had a lovely day out with Rutta for her third birthday – they went to the London Aquarium and then onto the London Eye”. I remember this of course, vaguely. We all trouped round to Bea’s house for a birthday tea to be greeted with four kids under five, all of whom were suffering from air rage and an au pair who had screaming nightmares for two days afterwards about sharks “invading the space of my head”. She’s Latvian. And no longer employed by my sister.
I broached the subject with Mackenzie this morning while he was building a tower out of Lego and a pair of my tights. When asked what he wanted to do for his birthday he said “I want to be a farmer mummy”. I rang friend Eliza to ask what she had planned for her daughter Ashley’s third birthday in May. She expressed astonishment that I was asking her this at the beginning of February. “It is an event” I stated imperiously. Eliza hooted with laughter and said she had to go, the baby was sitting on her bladder and I shouldn’t make 8 month pregnant ladies laugh so much. “A farmer?” I re-approached Mackenzie during elevenses. “Yes mummy, with pigs and cows and a big engine.” Right. At lunchtime he continued the theme. “I’d like wellies and a hat and a black and white dog too”. Before he went down for his afternoon nap (I was tempted to join him) he said “Can I reeeeelly be a farmer then mummy? With Ben and Jamie and Luke and Tom?”. Now my child was forming farming partnerships. With milk yields and crop rotations thrown in for good measure once Anal Jamie got involved no doubt. Can you call a four year old anal? This child either has OCD or has issues with the size of his mother’s breasts (32 double A).
The answer came to me just now whilst I was watching a re-run of Jeremy Kyle on Sky. He was giving advice to a particularly loathsome looking woman who had a gazillion children and apparently never spent time with any of them as they were growing up. Shouldn’t think she had the time anyway. Her fifteen year old son (pierced eyebrow, nose, lip and ear and some kind of Tourette’s) was ranting about the time she didn’t give him the money he needed for his school trip to the City Farm and he was the only one left at school that day.
There you have it. Who says watching daytime TV numbs the mind? A day trip to a working farm! For Mackenzie and assorted friends and relatives! I was so excited with my flash of genius that I almost woke him up to tell him. Instead I’m about to search for ‘childrens farms’.
All together now…….Old MacDonald had a farm………ee-eye, ee-eye, oh!!!
I broached the subject with Mackenzie this morning while he was building a tower out of Lego and a pair of my tights. When asked what he wanted to do for his birthday he said “I want to be a farmer mummy”. I rang friend Eliza to ask what she had planned for her daughter Ashley’s third birthday in May. She expressed astonishment that I was asking her this at the beginning of February. “It is an event” I stated imperiously. Eliza hooted with laughter and said she had to go, the baby was sitting on her bladder and I shouldn’t make 8 month pregnant ladies laugh so much. “A farmer?” I re-approached Mackenzie during elevenses. “Yes mummy, with pigs and cows and a big engine.” Right. At lunchtime he continued the theme. “I’d like wellies and a hat and a black and white dog too”. Before he went down for his afternoon nap (I was tempted to join him) he said “Can I reeeeelly be a farmer then mummy? With Ben and Jamie and Luke and Tom?”. Now my child was forming farming partnerships. With milk yields and crop rotations thrown in for good measure once Anal Jamie got involved no doubt. Can you call a four year old anal? This child either has OCD or has issues with the size of his mother’s breasts (32 double A).
The answer came to me just now whilst I was watching a re-run of Jeremy Kyle on Sky. He was giving advice to a particularly loathsome looking woman who had a gazillion children and apparently never spent time with any of them as they were growing up. Shouldn’t think she had the time anyway. Her fifteen year old son (pierced eyebrow, nose, lip and ear and some kind of Tourette’s) was ranting about the time she didn’t give him the money he needed for his school trip to the City Farm and he was the only one left at school that day.
There you have it. Who says watching daytime TV numbs the mind? A day trip to a working farm! For Mackenzie and assorted friends and relatives! I was so excited with my flash of genius that I almost woke him up to tell him. Instead I’m about to search for ‘childrens farms’.
All together now…….Old MacDonald had a farm………ee-eye, ee-eye, oh!!!
1 comment:
When can we expect the invitation sweetie? I shall have to purchase some designer wellies for the outing no doubt.
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