Under where?

Due to a run of bad weather, it's been a little longer than usual between loads of washing. I had no choice on the weekend than to rummage through my drawer to find my rainy day (literally) underpants. This will explain why I was wearing a cream, lacy g-string under my leggings as I did the housework.

Petal was quite surprised to see these sexy knickers poking out as I was bending over. She ran to me and gave them a huge tug. Yes, a wedgie.

I squealed, "What are you doing?"

"Oh Mummy, your undies are stuck up your bottom. I'm getting them out for you."

Tug, tug.

"No, darling, stop it! They're supposed to be up there."

She continued to yank at them. "No, they're not. I'll get them out for you." Cue more bum-splitting wedgie action.

"Ouch! Stop it!" I squeaked. "They're called a g-string, ouch, and they go up, ouch, ladies' bottoms!"

Petal stopped in her tracks. Oh no, what must she think?

She paused for a moment.

"Mummy, can I wear them?"

Question time

I could hear Petal in the next room talking with her dad. Out of nowhere, she asked him this pressing question: "What colour does Madagascar live?"

WTF?

I was curious to hear how my husband would answer this mind-boggling query. He said the only thing he could, "Sorry darling, but I have no idea what you mean."

Petal paused for a while. "Is it pink?"

In a desperate attempt to escape this senseless inquisition, I heard him say, "Yes, it's pink."

But he wasn't free yet. "Or is it blue?" she asked.

"Ah, yes."

"So, Daddy, is it purple?"

"Huh?"

"Well, pink and blue make purple."

Her tone was 'you're so silly, Dad. Don't you know anything?'

Seeing red

This morning she asks me, "Next week can we paint the car red?"

Where did this come from? "No, darling, we are not painting the car red."

"Why not?"

"Because I like the car the way it is, and I don't want to paint it red."

She thinks about this for a while.

"Okay, Mum, we'll paint it blue."

Who am I?

Petal comes racing into the bathroom as I'm showering. She pulls back the curtain, excitedly squealing, "Who am I?"

She stands there wearing her pink Dora the Explorer underpants over her blue pyjama bottoms.

The pressure to get this answer correct is huge.

"Wonderwoman?" Wrong.
"Super Dora?" Wrong.
"Sorry, Super Dora the Super Explorer?" Huh? Wrong.

The pressure is mounting. If I wasn't in the shower, I'd be breaking into a sweat.

"Super Princess Girl?" Obviously wrong.

I give up...


"I'm Superman!"

For the first time EVER the most obvious answer is the right one.

The good news or the bad news

Yesterday morning, Petal told me what she had planned to say for her preschool 'news day'. She was going to share the joy of receiving a new Tinkerbell dress-up outfit. It's cute and sparkly - really sparkly. There is a button that sets off a rainbow of lights on the dress.

She also had one other piece of news she wanted to share.

Vomit.

"What exactly are you going to say about vomit?" I asked.

"Just vomit."

Okay, this was going to be a tricky one. I gently explained to her that maybe sticking with the Tinkerbell dress news would be a better idea. No. She wanted to add the vomit bit.

That afternoon, I asked how she went with her news. Her face dropped and her big, round eyes filled with tears.

"Mummy, everyone went 'eeeeewwwww'!"

"Oh dear, then what?"

"They all said, 'That's horrible news!'"

"Oh darling, what did you do?"

"I cried and sat on the teacher's knee."

"What did the teacher say?"

"She told all the kids, 'You've ruined her life!'"

I'm pretty certain that's not what the teacher said, but I'm equally sure it's exactly how Petal felt.

Liar, liar

This morning she asks me, "Am I going to preschool today?"

"Yes, you are." I thought she already knew this.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious."

She's taking quite a bit of convincing.

"Are you joking?"

"No, I'm not joking."

Is this a joke?

"Mummy, have you been drunking?"

Drunking! This must be her truncated way of asking if I’ve been drinking so much that I'm drunk - and now I'm making up stories about her going to preschool.

"Darling, Mummy is rarely 'drunking' and especially not at 8am when I've just got out of the shower!"

But I do like this new word: drunking. In just one word it so neatly explains drinking to the point of being drunk.

I'm going to use it. It could take off.

"I'm so hangover because I was drunking last night"... "It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been drunking"... "Let's go out drunking this weekend"...

Buddhism 101 (#3)

She asks me, "Mummy, why does Buddha wear earrings?"

I think, "What next... why does he paint his toenails pink?"

Then I look at the piece of art in the hallway and I notice something: Buddha has the biggest, dangliest earrings I've seen this side of eQuip.

But I still can't answer her question, "Why?"

Little Miss-Pronunciation

The top three words she fails to pronounce correctly:

3. Baked beans = bacon beans (mmm... tasty)
2. Sparkle = farkle (it sounds worse than it reads)

And the winner is...

1. Her friend 'Jemima' = Vagina (oops...)

Sign of the times

As Petal bolted through the lounge room she slipped on the floorboards and ended up on her knees... and hands... and chin. Quite unimpressed, she looked at me and asked, "Why didn't you put up a 'wet floor' sign?"

Does she think I keep one in the kitchen cupboard next to the mop and bucket?

Top of the morning

Last night she asked me if I liked morning breath. I told her it's not my breath of choice.

We sat there for a minute in silence. I got the feeling she wanted to give me her opinion on morning breath, so I asked her what she thought of it. This is what she unleashed:

"I like morning breath because I like my morning breath. But I don't like morning breath because I don't like Daddy's morning breath. It smells really horrible. It smells like black apples mixed with Vegemite mixed with disgusting. I really don't like it."

She seemed so relieved to get that off her chest.

In the jeans

Petal has grown so accustomed to wearing skinny-leg jeans that when her dad dressed her in regular ones she complained:
"These jeans are too FAT!"

Hell hath no fury...

Angry at her baby brother, she shouted at him:

"I HATE YOU THE BEST!"

Preschool Idol

It was Petal's news day at preschool yesterday. She had intended to show the class her favourite magazine. At the last minute, she changed her mind and sang this:

"Why don't you bweak my heart
Make it hurt so baaa-aa-aad
Come on give it the best
Nothing less
I want it just like that

Why don't you bweak my heart
Sounds good to me
Do it over again, again, again
You're just what I need
Why don't you bweak my hearrr-arr-arrt"

Did I mention she is four?

Just desserts

After slaving in the kitchen for over an hour, I proudly presented my family with a home-made dessert.

Petal took one mouthful of it, then matter-of-factly asked me:

"Mum, why did you make a pudding out of poo?"

Who's your daddy?

Yesterday she referred to her father as 'David'.

"She's hardly the first child to call her dad by his first name," I hear you say.

His name is not David.