Seriously. I've just heard her say 'you're right in my ear, you bugger, you are humming in my ear, sorry, but I'm going to have to squash you, now where have you gone now? Ahhh yes.....'
So either it's a mosquito troubling her or she's taken up 'Polite Dominatrix Phone Line Sex Chat' - and I know which is most likely. And it's not the one that pays.
Actually, I'll pause now whilst I hear her shout 'BUT YOU'RE LOCAL!'.
No, it's defiantly a mosquito, the paper just came down, hard and fast. And the phone's still on the hook......
Anyway here we go folks - HAPPY HOLIDAYS! My kids broke up today and we now have 6+ week of sheer unadulterated fun FUN FUN!!
My oath not to shout and to enjoy every tiny moment of these precious days (which I do truly appreciate in case you have no sense of humour and think I don't actually realise the magic of these days) lasted until about 3.25pm (10 minutes after school was out) when I was heard to bellow 'what did I just say about not making big noises!? SHUT UP' down the corridor of the hospice - approximately 10 times louder than either of my children.
Anyway - this holidays - family tragedy and other such crap aside - if the strain of the kids doesn't get me, the poo talk will.
Let me just say NOW you can not comprehend the depth and breadth of poo talk unless you have ever held custody of a 5 year old boy child. Or possibly a girl (depending on whether they are into Hannah Montana or poo - I'll pause on making a judgement there.....).
If you don't 'get' just how all encompassing and random and just NUTS poo-talk is here is today's bath time, the songs mentioned are actually hymns. Hymns with bespoke lyrics:
Son 1 (singing in a lovely fashion): He's got the whole world in his hands, he's got the whole wide world in his hands, he's got the plants and the poo poos in his hands, he's got the whole poo poo in his hands.
Son 2: HA HA HA HA HA.
Me: Deep exhale, what did I say about poo poo talk in front of grown ups?
Son 1: Carpenter carpenter make me a wee, that's the work or some poo poo far greater than me. Somebody greater than you and me, put the poo pants in the apple tree,the flowers in the earth and the poo in the sea, they're by somebody far greater than you or me.
Son 2: COCK A DOODLE POOO!!!!
Son 1: I can't stand the rain on my poo poo pain.
Me: And breath.
Son 1: We are climbing Jesus' ladder ladder, we are climbing Jesus bladder bladder, poo poo of the LORD.
Son 2: Who is the Lord?
Son 1: What?
Me: Who IS the Lord? In your song?
Son 2: LADY GA GA.
Me: Or dear LORD ABOVE, not this again.....
Son 1: Lady Ga Ga is ........................................... boobies.
Me: BATHTIME. NOW.
(10 minutes later as I try to extricate children from bath, by this time one glass of wine and 1 pint of cider later, under the distinct impression that parents get is wrong-diddly-wrong when they crack open the booze after bedtime - DO IT BEFORE - it's the secret to being able to get excited about 'The Great Big Little Red Train' for the 350th reading. NEVER will have the coupling-up of a load of logs to a wagon of old sofas sounded so utterly, endorphin fuelled, thrillingly FANTASTIC. It's like being back on that podium punching the air and thinking you can dance the world out of depression all over again - but with a little red steam train and a quaint sketch of a forest. Maybe).
Me: Right, out of the bath now (as I swing down the Thatcher's Old Rascal with the one hand not holding up a flannel, because this isn't my house and I can't find a towel).
Son 1: Mummy, if I'm going to get out the bath you need to know this very important thing.
Son 1: This icecream tub, with a lid (only the best bath toys for my children) contains my PRECIOUS water. NOBODY, especially not that toddler more than anything, must EVER DESTROY my precious water.
Me: Err, fine.
(Rustling of flannel and attempted drying of children ensues).
Son 1: MUMMMEEEEEE, the toddler's got my precious water!!!
Son 2 (who is NOT a toddler): This is WEE WEE!!!
Son 1: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO (and thus takes precious water and runs, yes RUNS, with a rapidly draining icecream tub of water through the upstairs floor of my mum's house).
Me: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO (and thus pursues rapidly draining ice cream tub of precious water through upstairs of mum's house).
Son 2: That water is WEE WEE.
Me (under my breath): Jesus.
Son 1: Jesus CHRIST. If that toddler doesn't stop ANNOYING ME, I'll send him back from where he came from.
Me: I think I need to open another bottle.
Son 1: The water, water of life, Jesus gives us the wee wee of life......
My mum: Darling, can you bring down the Wasp-Eze, I've been bitten......
Me: Where are those mediational singing bowels when you need them?
Son 1: Go down to the city into the street, tell the people of Jesus, let his poo poos meet.
Me: If you don't actually follow the instructions and inhale Wasp-Eze , deeply, what does it do......?