The trouble with thinking too much...

... is that you ask questions like:

"Mummy, do you spell DVD D-E-E V-E-E D-E-E?"

And then look hurt when the two people meant to care most about you in the world burst out laughing and can't speak for five minutes. Especially after you ask it so earnestly.

I haven't written this blog for so long. Mainly I have started work and breakfast is sadly fifteen rushed minutes before leaving the hosue for a very long day. I'm the first to admit these early mornings make me grumpy and I don't feel much like talking or listening until I've properly woken up. Plus we've now got chickens and the children spend most of breakfast pretending to be chickens with superbly thought out names like 'Chick chick' 'Superchick' and my own personal favourite 'Chicken'.

However, last Saturday we were blessed not only with the DVD question from Child the Elder, but an almost equally funny "if I plant the seed off this bagel will it grow into a bagel tree?" (asked just as earnestly) from the Younger. Oh to be in their world.

Sign of the times

Should I be worried when the question of the day is "How do you kill someone?" ?

Hmmmm, tricky one that.

Mr H decided to look at the practical aspects ("Well you could shoot someone, or use a knife.") I took the moral ground and refused to answer on the grounds that it was very wrong to kill someone (and if anyone does the police man comes straight away and takes them away for a long long time. It didn't wash, but I felt better for doing it)

I recently read "We need to talk about Kevin" by Lionel Shriver, which was a thoroughly uncomfortable read as a parent, and does rest like undigested brain fodder on my mind from time to time.

I can't remember the follow up question, but it was something entirely disconnected to killing and the awkward moment was soon over.

Puberty myths debunked

"Daddy, is Hana mummy's daughter?"

"Yes."

"Am I mummy's daughter?"

"No, you're her son."

"Are you mummy's daughter?"

"No, I'm her husband."

"Oh... Daddy will I have a daughter one day?"

"You might, yes."

"Can I have one now, if I met the right lady?"

"No, you have to hit puberty first."

Then chimes a small voice from the other side of the room, "But daddy you can't hit people.... It's very naughty."

Even wise men need to be quiet sometimes

It's a fact that we haven't had so much banter over breakfast as late. And even more of a fact that if there had been, I probably wouldn't have heard it because my mind has been on exams, which are now thankfully finished. Aside from the small matter of business accounts at 9.30am tomorrow morning.

I shouldn't be on here now but if I don't write down the more recent ones I will forget, and not be able to recall them at the appropriate 18th birthday parties where parents make inappropriate remarks about their offspring (if you are still young and haven't had children yet I can warn you that those remarks are saved up a long time and painstakingly planned to cause deep embarrassment in retribution for years of parental abuse -the early mornings for 6 years, then the "I won't get out of bed for school ever" mornings for the next 12, the smelly farts when you are sat next to important people, the hairclips that stab your feet when you stand on them because they are always on the floor, hiding, like little wicked weaver fish waiting to prong you...)

But I digress...

"Mummy, are too many carrots bad for you?"

"No, probably not. In fact probably good for you"

"No mummy. Too many would kill you."

"You'd have to eat an awful lot. You'd turn orange before you die. And you'd have excellent night vision."

" I think carrots are unhealthy. If you eat too many."

We've also had a foray into world politics recently. He asked who ruled the world. I said no-one was really in charge of the whole world. He said someone must be, so I thought, fine, well, why not give him the spiel. I explained America, and the G8, and the EU and various other things I could think of to sound intelligent. I thought it was quite a good effort actually, and I thought he was convinced. Then he looked at me pensively and proffered "God?".

And lastly, we had thought he would become a doctor, or an engineer, or a scientist of sort, until today when he sat down amidst a table piled with books and fixed me with his eyes before asking "Mummy, do you enjoy your job?" very seriously. So psychiatry perhaps. Or personnel?

Bob: " What is a country?"

Me: "Ummmm. Daddy? Defintion of a country?"

Mr H: "Country or independent state?"

Bob: "Country."

Mr H: "Ummmm. A group of peole living in a certain defined geographical area with their own customs, langauge and currency."

Me: "The Germans don't have their own currency anymore, or the French. They have Euros."

Mr H: "OK (sarcastically) a currency then."

Bob: "Is England a country?"

Me: "Yes."

Bob: "America?"

Me; "yes"

Bob: "Africa?"

Me: "No."

Bob:" Is America bigger than England?"

Me: "Yes, lots."

Bob: "Five times bigger?"

Me: "More"

Bob: "100 times bigger?"

Me: "Don't know exactly"

Bob: "1000 times bigger?"

Me: " Don't know exactly?"

Bob:"Have a guess."

Me: "OK (glance at map, make a crude estimate of size from a not to scale map on the other side of the room), maybe 10 times?"

Mr H: "(guffaws loudly) Much bigger" (didn't notice him proffering an answer though).

Wendy: "Mummy's so silly!"

Bob: "Well?"

It amazes me how wan smol boy (one small boy, surprisingly, in Bislama) can eat so much. Given time at the weekend he'll devour two eggs and soldiers, 2 toast and jam, a grapefruit, stripped off every fleshly part and most of the pith too, and still ask "what's for pudding?"

When we were in Vanuatu he insisted on eating porridge for breakfast, every day in 35 degree heat. They don't have oats over there so we had to buy prohibitively expensive imported ones from the french supermarket, they were about £5 a box. Once we opened them only to find the oats crawling with maggots. We took the box back and the shop assistant opened several more boxes to find more of the same.

Did Bob ask himself straightforward questions like "why do I insist on eating hot meals for breakfast when it is far too hot and very illogical to persist in doing so?"? No, he did not. Instead he asked us unanswerable things like,

"Why do mangos have a large flat stone and not a small round one?" (Because they do).

Mangos became Bob's staple food over there - even usurped the porridge. 10 for a penny and tasty at that. Unfortunately, now that we're back in the UK where we don't grow mangos, he costs us the earth... again. At least oats are cheaper though, even if the questions are just as hard...

"Mummy, are oats the same as wheat?"

"No, they are different. Different plants, different cereals."

"Why?"

Bob on Life

" The problem with life, mummy, is that it just goes on and on".

Glances exchange between me and Mr H.

" You see, a baby turtle hatches, and then it grows up, lays and egg and gets old. And then a new turtle is born and the same thing happens. It just goes on and on mummy".

I would have thought life eternal was not a bad thing for a child to contemplate - particularly as most small children think they are immortal anyway. I don't think he has a problem with life in general, I just think he finds the circle of life, well, a little too uncomplicated for his liking. He'd prefer something more flanimal-esque, he's rather touched by Ricky Gervais' spin on things.