Grow up!

Petal’s little brother turned two recently. In the morning, she rushed in to wish him a ‘happy birthday’. She quickly stopped in her tracks.

“You still look one-ish!” she exclaimed to him.

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

She looked him up and down.

Looking up again, she said, “He still doesn’t have much hair.”

Then looking down again in disgust, she grunted, “And he still wears a nappy.”

Get a room!

As we pulled up in the car outside our home, my husband reached over and gave me a kiss.

From the backseat of the car we heard, "Stop it!"

We both turned to see Petal glaring at us.

Quite unimpressed, she growled at us, "You have two little kids!"

Hot stuff

As we dined together the other night, Petal asked me the name of the sauce on my steak.

"It's called Bernaise," I explained.

"Is it spicy?" she asked.

"No, not at all."

"Well, that's a bit silly," she tutted.

"Why?"

"Because it's called burn-aise," she huffed.

Fair enough

Petal's aunty from the UK popped over to visit us.

"Where do you live?" asked Petal.

"In London," explained her aunty.

"Like 'London Bridge is Falling Down'?" continued Petal.

"Yes, just like that. I sometimes travel over London Bridge."

Petal stopped in her tracks and looked at her aunty with great interest.

"Are you the fair lady?" Petal quizzed her.

Her aunty was a little surprised by this question.

"Um, er, I'd like to think so..." she uttered.

At this point I interrupted the conversation.

"Do you think she's the 'fairest of them all?'" I asked Petal, explaining to her aunty that we'd just been watching Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

Petal shook her head. "No, that's not what I mean."

Her aunty stepped in. "Have you seen 'My Fair Lady'?"

Petal looked at us both bemused. Then without any warning, she launched into singing:

"London Bridge in falling down, falling down, falling down,
London Bridge in falling down (she takes a deep breath)
MY FAIR LADY!"

Ah, of course.

Something in the air

Petal and I are happily sitting on the couch together, while her baby brother plays at our feet.

"Poo-ey," screeches Petal all of a sudden. "What is that smell?"

I sniff the air but can't pick up on any bad odours.

Holding her nose and grimacing, Petal points to her brother. "I think he's got a poo in his nappy."

I dutifully check but it's all clear.

"Nope, nothing in there," I inform her.

Petal turns to me with her face still screwed up.

"Well Mum, it must be your breath."

Fishing around

Petal finds a box of tampons in my handbag.

"What are these called?" she asked.

Phew, at least she hasn't asked what they are for.

"They're called tampons."

"What do you do with them?"

Shit.

"Er, um, ladies put them somewhere," I answer, vaguely.

"In a pond?" she replies.

Huh? Does she think they resemble gold fish?

"Ah, not usually, why do you think that?" I'm baffled.

She gives me that 'you're so silly, Mum' look before answering.

"Because they are called tam-ponds."

Easy as 1, 2, 3...

I was mentioning to my husband how impressed our son's carers were that he could count to seven. He is only 22 months. I'm referring to my son, not my husband.

Petal overheard our conversation and challenged her baby brother.

"Can you count to five?" she asked him.

He dutifully started, "One, two, three, four, five, six..."

"You can't do it," she gloated. "I said five and you counted to six!"