Hi readers! Just want to lighten the mood today after a shitty shit week. Read on to find out what wisdom my dear husband enjoys passing on to our sons. So, just the other night I was putting my two, sweet, young boys to bed in their respective bunk beds (they are 7 and 3). A small voice chirped out from beneath his duvet. What did that little innocent voice say? Was it “Goodnight Mummy”? Was it “I love you Mummy”? Neither of these.
It said “Pull my finger.”
At which point he and his older brother collapsed into fits of giggles. And then the eldest shouted “Daddy taught us!”. More insane giggling. I just shook my head then made the Marge Simpson noise and left the room. To be fair, I was still recovering from my 7 year old making the universal up yours symbol at the dinner table while asking me “Mummy, what does this mean?”.
Now I’m not a prude. I’m definitely not super strict, but the sight of his perfect little fingers, that small hand I love in the mad way mothers love their children’s hands flipping me the bird? I looked over at my husband who was suddenly concentrating like a scientist on his fish. Hmmm. “It doesn’t mean anything,” I said. “And where have you learnt this?” Eldest child stares at Daddy. Who is now concentrating even more intently on a green bean. Hmmm.
Next, I am in the bathroom showering my two sons. The room is fairly small. There’s no bath, and when the shower is on condensation appears on the mirror. Imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw a drawing of boobs, and a bum slowly appearing on the mirror. “What is that?” I asked my eldest. Bless that child, for he cannot tell a lie. “Daddy taught us. He said it would disappear after the shower.” His tiny brother stood wrapped in his towel, nodding solemnly. “It’s a bum, Mummy” he said helpfully. “And boobies.”
These are not my teachings.
Another great thing that happened was at an extended family function. It was at my Mum’s best friend’s beautiful pent-house apartment. Furthermore, there were a lot of people there who we didn’t know. I get my kids dressed in their nicest shirts and say a prayer to all the gods that they will behave themselves. You know, not draw on the walls with eye-liner or decide to have a planking tantrum because the cheese is wrong or whatever the fuck else, and off we go. We get there, I get the kids a plate of food and some coca-cola in a cup each. I’m not a fan of coke, but it was a special occasion, so, whatever.
I am a bit anxious, everything around us is beautiful, and breakable. Again, there’s a lot of people there who we don’t know and I want my children to behave well. No-one else is really saying much as the event is just getting warmed up. All eyes are on my boys, who are the only small kids in the room. People are viewing them maternally, saying things like “Aren’t they sweet” and “How old are you?”. I am finally starting to relax and maybe even feel a bit smug. Which is the exact point that they race to finish their drinks, shouting “Skull! Skull! Skull!” and then when they’re finished they turn the cups up-side down and put them on their heads. Coke dripping down their faces. I know who has taught them this. It’s not me.
These are the teachings of my husband.
In short order, my husband has also taught them to speak burp, reply in fart and that it’s fun to wear underpants on your head. I know my role in this is to be the straight man (or woman) so to speak. I get it, it makes it funnier for them and I love to hear them giggle. However, at the end of it all I am trying to raise enlightened sons who respect women, have consideration for others and who understand the time and place to skull your drink and put your empty cup on your head. But then…sometimes I think this shit is funny too! I don’t want to be the up-tight Mummy who can’t take a joke. So I think I will save the serious conversations about such things for when they are older and in the meantime just be the one who walks around like this:
Although the other day the news was on and my 3 year old announced “Donald Trump is a twat”. I looked at my husband. He raised his eyebrows and looked back at me sheepishly. I’m not gonna lie. I wasn’t mad.