I’ve got a what?

Rocket was sitting on my lap when he looked up at me and said:

“You got a cock.”

I was a little disturbed for two reasons. 1) Where had he heard that word? 2) Why did he think I had one?

“Um, no I don’t,” I explained to him without wanting to make too much of a fuss over his x-rated choice of words.

“You got a cock,” he said again, as he grabbed my wrist and pointed out my watch.

A-ha, my clock.

Pick-up artist

As Petal undressed for her evening shower, she left a trail of clothing from the lounge room to the bathroom.


“Come and pick up your clothes, young lady!” I called out to her.

She came back into the lounge room, took one look at her strewn clothes, then marched off into the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

She trotted back in with a pair of tongs.

“I’m picking up my undies,” she said, as she reached down to snap them up. “I’m not touching them – they’re disgusting!”

Hairy subject

While visiting my mother, Petal drew a picture of her. When Petal showed us her artistic work, my mum and I were a little perplexed by the strange lines Petal had drawn on my mum’s face.


“What are those lines?” I asked.

“They are Gangi’s whiskers”, she replied.

There was an awkward silence while I discreetly checked my mother’s upper-lip for any stray hairs and Petal’s red-faced grandma muttered something about investing in some Veet…

“Gangi’s doesn’t have whiskers,” I assured Petal.

Petal peered long and hard at Gangi’s face.

“Yes, she does,” she nodded. “Look at those lines around her eyes”.

“Ah, her wrinkles!” I exclaimed, turning to my mum and gleefully explaining, “See, you haven’t got whiskers, just lots of wrinkles!”

Oops.

YAWN!

Petal lets out a huge, tonsil-exposing yawn.

“You must be tired,” I tell her.

“No, I’m not,” she protests.

“But I just saw you yawn,” I argue back.

Always with the last word, Petal tells me:

“That’s because my mouth is tired, but I’m not!”

Tummy time

As I stepped into the shower this morning, Petal squealed with delight.

"What are you so happy about?" I asked.

She smiled, gazing at my stomach.

"You have baby in your tummy!" she chimed.

I'm not pregnant.

I broke the news to her gently that she was not getting another brother or sister soon.

Then I told her to say goodbye to Mummy as I would be going for a run for the next 40 years.

Love hurts

Petal has had a crush on a fellow pre-schooler, let's call him Don Juan, for months now. Sadly, he was showing little sign of feeling the same way. Petal decided to take matters into her own hands.

"Mummy, I'm going to ask Don Juan if he loves me," she informed me one morning.

"Ah, okay, um, are you sure?" I spluttered.

"Yes, I'm going to ask him and I think he's going to say 'yes'," she proclaimed.

I admired her guts, but I was terrified too.

She left for pre-school that morning with a look of determination.

That afternoon when I picked her up, she came running to me with her big, round eyes on the verge of tears.

"What's wrong, darling?"

"I asked Don Juan if he loved me and he said, 'No'," she sobbed.

Oh dear. "Then what did he say?" I asked.

"Nothing, he just went back to playing in the sandpit."

The cold-hearted bastard!

I couldn't think of any words of wisdom until later that evening as I was putting her to bed.

"Darling, you know you're not able to get married when you're four years old. So really, you don't want to meet your perfect boy at this age." I consoled.

"But Mummy," she protested. "It's too late. I've met the boy I want to marry."

This was going to be tricky.

"Well, I met Daddy when I was 27 and that's a good age to meet the person you want to marry."

She thought about this for a while.

"Or 87?" she asked.

"Sounds good to me!" her father called from the next room.

"Me too" I added.

We lay in bed together, blissful in the thought of 83 years free from heart-break.

"But not 170," Petal piped up.

"Yes, that may be too long to wait," I agreed.

"No, Mummy, because when I'm 170 I'll be dead."

I couldn't take anymore.

"Goodnight, darling," I sighed, hoping that tomorrow we could return to talking about Barbie and glitter.

Feeling like a boob

Petal cuddled up to me on the couch.

"Mummy, when I'm older I'm going to have big boobies," she grinned.

"Just like Mummy," I grinned back.

"No, yours will be old boobies by then... Grandma!" she laughed.

I didn't.