One of my mother's favourite sayings that one, usually applied when we as children said something apposite but inappropriate. As a mother myself I now understand why I heard it said so often ... children are amusingly mean, bless them.
Today I entertained three extra 7 year olds for tea. I was happy to potter around in the kitchen and secretly listen to their dinner party conversation. It always makes me jealous of teachers who must hear enough material to write a book almost every week. Apart from a couple of minor incidents with the petit pois everything went swimmingly, until we began to run low on tomato ketchup.
My eldest son decided to give up tomato ketchup for Lent last year, so upon facing an empty bottle his thoughts naturally strayed back to that time. He began to ponder what he'd like to give up next year. His four 7 year old companions predictably shouted 'homework' and 'school' and 'carrots' when I interjected with 'it has to be something you like' to which the response from one of them was 'you should give up wearing make up'. It's not as if I'm plastered in the stuff most of the time so this sounded like a good idea until I heard the next sentence. 'Then we'd have to see your real face and it would be really bad.'
Marvellous.
I laughed nervously and tried to remember that to every child I am an ancient hag because I am 1) over 25 and 2) a mummy and tried not to think of how accurate this appraisal of the situation really was. I then took my eldest to pick up a friend and took them to football practice. This involves a 20 minute car journey in which I try to be a 'cool' Mum and enter into interesting discussions about all sorts, tonight's being favourite chocolates. Scintillating conversation and a good drive put me in good form.
I returned home and collected my youngest from a neighbour's house. To save on the whinging I usually suggest racing home faking slow running like all good Mummies. Not this time. I was beaten soundly by the little darling and showed my delight with a false good natured 'well done, I can't believe you beat me'. No good deed goes unpunished. The loving response this time was 'it's because you're chubby Mummy'.
Again, marvellous.
I have therefore learned two lessons today. Somewhere between the ages of 7 and 10 children learn to be insincere so they can fake being friends with you as they know it pleases you; and never, ever entrust your self-esteem to someone who can't tie their own shoelaces.
Today I entertained three extra 7 year olds for tea. I was happy to potter around in the kitchen and secretly listen to their dinner party conversation. It always makes me jealous of teachers who must hear enough material to write a book almost every week. Apart from a couple of minor incidents with the petit pois everything went swimmingly, until we began to run low on tomato ketchup.
My eldest son decided to give up tomato ketchup for Lent last year, so upon facing an empty bottle his thoughts naturally strayed back to that time. He began to ponder what he'd like to give up next year. His four 7 year old companions predictably shouted 'homework' and 'school' and 'carrots' when I interjected with 'it has to be something you like' to which the response from one of them was 'you should give up wearing make up'. It's not as if I'm plastered in the stuff most of the time so this sounded like a good idea until I heard the next sentence. 'Then we'd have to see your real face and it would be really bad.'
Marvellous.
I laughed nervously and tried to remember that to every child I am an ancient hag because I am 1) over 25 and 2) a mummy and tried not to think of how accurate this appraisal of the situation really was. I then took my eldest to pick up a friend and took them to football practice. This involves a 20 minute car journey in which I try to be a 'cool' Mum and enter into interesting discussions about all sorts, tonight's being favourite chocolates. Scintillating conversation and a good drive put me in good form.
I returned home and collected my youngest from a neighbour's house. To save on the whinging I usually suggest racing home faking slow running like all good Mummies. Not this time. I was beaten soundly by the little darling and showed my delight with a false good natured 'well done, I can't believe you beat me'. No good deed goes unpunished. The loving response this time was 'it's because you're chubby Mummy'.
Again, marvellous.
I have therefore learned two lessons today. Somewhere between the ages of 7 and 10 children learn to be insincere so they can fake being friends with you as they know it pleases you; and never, ever entrust your self-esteem to someone who can't tie their own shoelaces.
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