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?