Who broke the toilet seat?

Clyde has just been toilet trained and to flush the toilet he needs to stand on the seat to reach the button. During a recent expedition to climb to the top of the bowl, he managed to break one of the plastic bolts which hold the toilet seat in place. There’s still one bolt in tact so the seat sort of swivels around a bit.

This morning when I was getting him ready for day care, I took his pj top off and it got wedged on his head (like everything without buttons does). When I finally removed it from his massive skull, I said “gee, you have a big head”, to which he responded, “yes, like daddy’s big head. Daddy has a big bottom too and he broke the toilet seat!”

Talk about palming off the blame!

Where’s my EH????

The first time I heard it was when Napoleon was yelling it at some guy he caught breaking into his car about a month after his EH Holden had been stolen… punch… WHERE…punch… IS… punch… MY… punch… EH punch, punch, punch, punch, punch???

Yesterday it was Clyde! He’d lost his little matchbox EH and absolutely tore the house apart looking for it. Definitely his father’s son!

Another magic JinkyArt masterpiece!

She Won, She Won, She Won!

Today was the book parade and the announcement of the winners of the colouring in competition and it appeared the colouring in Gods were smiling on Bonnie again, because she won!!! She was the kindergarten winner and won a $10 Dymocks gift voucher. She is over the moon.

Can you tell I’m proud???

How nasty can a 5 year old be?

Bonnie and I were having a blue this morning after I said “no” to something she wanted. She asked again. Again I answered “no”.

She was pretty dirty by this stage and while her eyes were shooting daggers at me I could hear the wheels turning as she searched her limited 5 year old vocabulary to find an appropriate insult. At times like this I would normally use a four letter expletive, but I guess that’s a luxury a 5 year old doesn’t have. So I waited patiently as I couldn’t wait to hear what insult she’d come up with.

When she finally got it, she crossed her arms, jutted out her chin (like she was just waiting for an uppercut) and roared at me… “YOU’RE A MEAN LADY!” before turning abruptly on her heel, storming into her bedroom and slamming the door.

I couldn’t help it, I laughed so hard that I rolled around on the floor with tears streaming down my cheeks… and that just made matters worse.

Book Parade

I spent yesterday with Bonnie trying to decide what character she shall portray at this years Book Parade which is on this Thursday.

The school gave us plenty of notice (sarcasm)…7 days… when really I couldn’t organise a root in a brothel with a month’s notice and a blank cheque.

Anyway, we decided she will go as Esmeralda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. She’s all excited about getting dressed up and going to school when I realised neither Napoleon nor I can make the damn parade. I have Friday’s off and the only day they hold “events” at school are Thursdays… I really should have organised that a little better.

Napoleon managed to make it to the Easter hat parade that I missed, but I couldn’t let my little gypsy go to the parade sans parents, so I came into work and asked the bossmen if I could possibly have this Thursday off for the book parade. I thought with the lack of notice and the fact that we’ve been pretty busy at work would have resulted in a “NO”… but they both said “I’ve got no problem with that… have a good day”.

How the hell did I land a job like this??? I’ve got two fantastic bosses who completely understand my family situation (as they both have young kiddies too), they pay well, they don’t make me cry and I actually enjoy coming into work. Who’d’ve thunk it?

Anyway, Nick and John, thanks for letting my little girl have her mum for the day.

Yesterday was a bitch

I already felt like shit because Bonnie had missed out on entering the colouring in competition at school and then I had to spend the day alone at the office. I was bored stupid and in the end was reduced to actually doing my filing!

After 7½ hours of listening to my own thoughts bouncing around inside my head, I got on the train with a new book that is probably more valuable as toilet paper. Upon alighting the train, I get to my car to find some fuckwit has parked illegally and parked me in! Well, actually he hadn’t parked me in but it took a 300 point turn for me to get out. I left the following note on his windscreen…

Dear Wanker

Next time you park this close to me, leave me a fucking can opener so I can get out, arsehole!

Let me tell you, if I was still driving my poor Hyundai, that hotted up WRX would be needing a new rear door today.

But thankfully, when I got home I found out the colouring in Gods were smiling upon us because Bonnie was still able to enter the competition. Thank the Lord!!! She showed me the picture she has to colour in… and it’s the most sorry-arse thing I’ve ever seen. It can be completed with 2 colours! Let me tell you Bonnie, you’d better put Picasso to shame!

Capitalism (Continued)

I feel like shit!

Poor Bonnie came home from school yesterday quite upset because she didn't have 50c to enter the colouring in competition at school. Evidently, this is why she wanted the 50c for getting dressed yesterday morning. The previous evening she'd asked Napoleon for the 50c and told him about the competition. He told her she had to do a job to get the money and she'd forgotten and therefore asked me the next morning for 50c to get dressed.

Napoleon and I should learn to communicate a little better I think!

Capitalism is alive and well…

in our house, anyway.

Now, I don’t know when all of this started but apparently Bonnie wants to save up some money to buy some colouring-in thingy. She allegedly (yet to be confirmed) has a deal with Napoleon that she gets 50c for any jobs she does around the house.

This morning I handed her school uniform to her and told her to get dressed…

Bonnie: That’ll be 50c, thanks
Me: What are you talking about?
Bonnie: Daddy said if I do jobs around the house, I get paid 50c
Me: Getting dressed is NOT a job. I’m not paying you 50c
Bonnie: Then I’m not getting dressed
Me: Okay, I don’t mind if you go to school in your pyjamas

Needless to say, she didn’t go to school in her pyjamas and my 50c is still securely in my pocket!

Little Secrets...

Napoleon bought Bonnie a diary, complete with padlock and keys. Bonnie is so excited that she can write down her secrets and personal thoughts, safe in the knowledge that no one can read them… only problem is… she needs to ask me how to spell every word that goes in there.

I don’t think 5 year olds are entitled to secrets.

Little Parrotts

The other night I was giving Bonnie and Clyde a bath and they splashed so much that I was ankle deep in water and my carelessly discarded pyjamas were soaked. I was bitching and whinging that my pj’s were wet when Bonnie eloquently advised me that I should not have left them on the bathroom floor. “You’re absolutely right, I shouldn’t have left them on the floor”, to which she responded “Ha-ha, Buggered yourself!!!”

My 5 year old daughter just told me I’d screwed myself up the arse! What can you say to that?

I think Bonnie learned about cows today...

Last night at the dinner table I was staring off into space when Napoleon asked me what’s wrong?

I snapped out of my daydream…

Me: Nothing, just thinking about a pair of shoes I saw today that I want.
Bonnie: Oh, what do they look like?
Me: Well, they’re black and white leather…
Bonnie: Cows become leather. Did you know a cow has four stomachs? A cow eats its food then brings it up and eats it again. That’s gross!

I guess for a 5 year old the transition from cute shoes to cud chewing cows is obvious!

Money, Money, Money

The other day I was driving the M5 and stopped at the tollbooth to pay the toll (I’d feel a lot better about paying the toll if the collector wore a stocking over his head and pointed at gun at me while taking my money… but that’s beside the point).

Now, paying the toll is not new to my children and as we pulled away from the booth, (surprisingly) the following conversation ensued…

Bonnie: Who was that?
Me: I don’t know. The tollman. I have to pay him to use the road.
Clyde: He’s not the tollman, he’s the money man, he gives you money!
Me: Darling, I wish that were true.

Later the same day, I had to pay for parking at the airport. With ticket in hand I approached the pay machine, slid my ticket into the slot and was charged $19.00. I paid the said amount and starting walking away from the machine. I realised I had one missing child and turned to see Clyde still standing at the machine. I asked… “What are you waiting for? to which he responded, “I’m waiting for the machine to give you some money.”

Apparently he thinks everyone I meet just hands out cash willy-nilly to me. My poor boy has a lot to learn!