Tag Archives: humour

The rude boy

24 Apr

As I drove to the gym, a semi-truck kept pace in the lane next to us.

“Big f**k!” Daniel declared excitedly, pointing and flapping.

I did a double take.  Did he really just say that?  “Yeah, big truck.” I said, emphasising the t.

“Big f**k, big f**k!”

I held it in as much as I could, but some laughter managed to escape me.  I certainly didn’t want to encourage foul language, but at the same time, it was rather hilarious hearing the f-word so innocently coming out of a 20 month old child’s mouth.

“Big f**k in the tunnel!” Daniel told me with glee the other day, driving one of his toy trucks under his wooden toy railway bridge.

Yesterday we went to Fantastic Furniture to get a desk chair.  Daniel wanted to sit in every chair and on every couch they had.  Hannah wanted to look at the bunk beds.

One bunk bed in particular caught the eye of both kids.

“BIG F**K BED!!!!!!!!” Daniel yelled loudly with a giant smile across his face.  He ran over to the bed and climbed on the bottom bunk.  He loves beds as much as he loves trucks. “BIG BOUNCY F**K BED!!!!”

"Big f**k bed!"

“Big f**k bed!”

Let’s just say I’m glad I was the only customer in the shop at that time, or I would have some serious explaining to do.

The rudeness doesn’t just cover trucks though.  It also extends to socks.  He can say sock, he’s said it many times before, but the other day he suddenly started saying cock instead.

There are no socks Daniel likes better than his dinosaur socks.  He has about 3 pairs.  In addition to trucks and bouncy beds, Daniel also loves dinosaurs.

“DINOSAUR COCK!!!!!” Daniel announced happily when I sat him down to put his socks on.  I couldn’t help myself.  Despite my best efforts not to, I laughed.  Out loud.  Which of course egged him on.  “DINOSAUR COCK, DINOSAUR COCK!”  He said, clearly pleased with himself.  “I have dinosaur cocks.”

Note to self: no matter how hard it is, DO NOT LAUGH when son accidentally swears.

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Copyright 2013 Sheri Thomson

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Dinosaurs

27 Feb

“Where are all the dinosaurs?” Hannah asked as she was looking through her new dinosaur puzzle book.

“They are all extinct.”  Aaron told her.

“What’s extinct?”

“There are none left, they all died a long time ago.”

“I know why all the dinosaurs are extinct,” Hannah said with certainty a little while later, “Someone put too much water in their tea.”

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The old man

31 Dec

“Are you seeing this?” Aaron asked me, laughing as we drove along.

“No, what?” I was looking out the window in the opposite direction.

“Over there.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HIS BUTT CRACK IS HANGING OUT!”

“I think his underwear are from 1970.”

We laughed and laughed as we drove past.  It’s not every day that you see an old man mowing the lawn right next to a busy road wearing only his droopy maroon underpants, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and skin that resembled leather.  Only in the western suburbs….

mowing

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That’s not water

13 Aug

I keep the bathroom door shut. Mostly at all times. Hannah is big enough to open and shut the door as she needs. The exception of course, is when I’m putting water in the bathtub and getting the kids ready for their evening bath.

Usually Daniel is content  ridiculously happy to stand at the side of the bath and eagerly watch the water  level rise as he flaps and squeals in delight like he’s trying to flag down a passing toy boat.

Not the other day. Hannah was half stuck in her shirt, one arm in, one out, the head hole half up her nose, as she tried to remove 2 shirts over her big head at the same time.

“Mommy, can you help me?” She asked

“Of course sweetie.” Giggling “Are you stuck????!!!!”

Meanwhile, Danny, mischievous as he is, took the mom-is-busy-with-Hannah opportunity to get to Hannah’s potty as fast and stealthily as he possibly could. No worries, it was house cleaning day, and I had scrubbed that potty just a couple of hours before. But I still don’t let him play with it. I don’t want him to think it’s ok. Yuck.

“Daniel, no, we don’t play with the potty!” I said in vain as he lifted the lid and shoved his chubby almost-1-year-old hand inside.

And then I saw it.

But it was too late.

As I rushed over, he turned his head, looking at me with that gleeful I’m-so-proud-of-myself smile that is so big, he has to squint his eyes to make room for his cheeks. He made a joyous noise and splashed his hand  in the pee some more.

All in the space of a couple seconds.

Thank goodness it was bath time. And thank God it wasn’t poop.

Ick.

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8 annoying things kids do

14 Apr

Everyone loves their kids. But lets face it, sometimes they do things that drive us nuts. Here are some of them:

1. They ask a question. You answer it. But then they want to know why. You tell them. But then they want to know why to that answer. And so on, and so on, and so on, and sooooooooooo oooooooonnnnnnnnn….

2. You go to put your baby in his car seat. And he suddenly wants to play I’m-a-completely-stiff-tree. Helpful.

3. Toddlers like to dress themselves. They like to choose their clothes. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean just going to the closet, nicely browsing through the choices, and then choosing one. Nope, not like that at all. Sigh.

4. Every time you attempt to put on your baby’s clothes, he thinks it’s time to see how much he can flap his limbs. Not only that, but he also enjoys throwing his head back with a gusto, whilst turning into a little human pretzel.

5. Parents put so much effort into preparing healthy delicious, kid-friendly meals for their toddlers. We serve it up to them in creative ways. But what do they do? They turn their little noses up and declare they don’t like it. Before they try even try it.

6. “No! No! No! No!” Ick, the terrible twos.  Defiance is rife, and often makes me want to scream and run for the hills.

7. You can’t wear your hair down, or wear any sort of jewellery, otherwise giant clumps of hair will be pulled out, earrings will be painfully ripped from your ears, and necklaces will half choke you before being completely broken.

8. When you’re changing a nappy, they seem to thoroughly enjoy playing rodeo. I.E. their little bottom is the out of control bull, and you have to attempt to wrangle it back onto the change table long enough to actually get the nappy on.

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What annoying things do your kids do?

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Fear of the septic tank

5 Apr

I can’t believe it was a whole year ago that I visited my parents in the U.S.  On one hand, it feels like years ago that I was there, but on the other, it feels like it was only a couple of months ago.

Recently I signed up for Timehop, a free service that you link to your social media accounts. Each day, you get an email with your status updates, tweets, etc. from exactly 1 year before.  Since I was in the U.S. at this time last year, I’ve been enjoying re-living a little bit of my trip each day, and seeing the funny things Hannah used to say before she could speak so well.

But, the daily re-living has made me remember the septic tank. Yeah, you read that right, the septic tank. My parents have one. I grew up with one. And well water. Whenever the power went out, we’d have no water either. But that’s another story for another day….

Back to the septic tank. The septic tank is toward the back of the side yard. That doesn’t make a lot of sense, but, I mean to the side of the house, more to the back than the front.

When I was little, I used to avoid (as much as one could) playing near the septic tank. I gave that side yard a pretty wide berth. When I could help it. When other people were around and walking/playing/bike riding/horse riding through the area, I’d go there too. I didn’t want them to know that I was scared of the septic tank. But I was. Wuss.

I always imagined it to be this gigantic deep cylindrical thing, with a very thin lid on top, and dirt and grass on top of that. I thought that if I stood there too long, or jumped too high, or ran too fast, the lid would collapse and it would swallow me up.
RID-X Septic System Treatment: 2 Dose Powder

I’d fall in with spectacular fashion and be stuck in a huge pile of thick poop, trying to swim, but barely able to even hold myself up.  There was no ladder, and the walls were so high, there was no way I could pull myself out.

I was terrified of drowning, all by myself, in a pile of poop.  No one would find me, I’d be totally swallowed up by the crazy poop monster.

When I visited my parents last year, my Dad said he needed to open the lid of the septic tank.

“How are you going to do that?” I asked him, visions of huge tractors in my head. How else would you open a gigantic lid?

He looked at me funny. Like I was stark raving mad. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

We piled on our coats, hats, and boots (it was very cold over there!) and went outside.  I held Hannah particularly tight. I certainly didn’t want her to be gobbled up by the poop monster.

My Dad grabbed a shovel, dug up a tiny bit of dirt and grass, and then stopped.

Imagine my surprise, when the gigantic septic tank lid that I was scared of all those years turned out to be this:

Not even my leg would fit in there. And then I googled septic tanks, and found this:

Septic tank before installation. Image courtesy wikipedia

That is what I was afraid of all those years?!  I could stand up in that and not even get my head wet! Sigh.

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“What’s this Mommy?”

15 Jan

Last week it was really hot.  Like 35 degrees (95f).  And humid. Ick.  Did I mention we don’t have any airconditioning?  Anyway, the kids and I were disgustingly hot and sticky, so we got the pedestal fan out of Aaron and my bedroom and planted it in the playroom (aka the living room…).  I stripped Daniel down to his nappy and Hannah went one step further, choosing to be completely starkers.  We laid on the living room floor, arms out wide, relishing the kinda cool air from the fan.

A little while later, Hannah held something up. It was small, about the size of a pinky fingernail. And dark.

“What’s this Mommy?” She asked me, inspecting it.

She didn’t really let me answer. “It’s a poo nugget,” she stated.

I laughed.  How could I not laugh? “It’s not a poo nugget sweetie!  Maybe it’s a raisin?”

I went over to investigate anyway.  I didn’t want her eating random raisins off the floor.

Then I saw it.  Next to her foot there was indeed a poo nugget. It must have fallen off the tiny piece in her hand when she picked it up. Oh my gosh, my daughter was holding up a piece of poo.  In her hand. EEEEEWWWWWW!

“Oh, it is a poo nugget!”

I got some toilet paper from the bathroom and picked up the nugget and the disgusting nuggety fragment from her grubby little hand and flushed it down the toilet, washing our hands vigorously afterwards.

A bit later she was next to the couch.”Oh, there’s another poo nugget.” She told me.

I didn’t doubt her for a second this time.  I looked all around, but all I found was a piece of fluff.

“Do you mean this?”  I asked her.

“Yeah, it’s a poo nugget.”

Thank goodness it wasn’t.  I threw the fluff away.

The next day I was sitting on the couch.  Something icky kept filling my nose.  Something poopy.  I sniffed around like a dog on the scent of a rabbit.  I got down on all fours, nose to the ground and moved forward toward the scent as it got stronger.  Finally I came to the edge of the couch.  The smell was strong there.  I looked all around, but couldn’t see anything.  It didn’t help that our carpet is a disgusting 80s brown, shaggy thing.

But there it was, under the couch.  Under the couch?  How in the world does a poo nugget get under the couch?  I’m not sure I want to know.  But I was in the playroom/living room with them when Hannah had her nappy off, and I certainly didn’t see her pooping.  Nor did I see her putting anything under the couch.  Not to mention that poo nugget was about 10 feet away from the other poo nugget.  WTF? I’m not sure I want to know….

On the plus side, ever since that day, Hannah wants to wear underpants. But, she doesn’t actually want to sit on the potty, so I’ve been spending a lot of time with a towel and the carpet cleaner.  Sigh.

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Just like Daddy

14 Sep

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How do you know if your child has done a poo?  You pull open the top of their pants and nappy and peer in of course.  You could go by smell, but sometimes that’s a false alarm.  Kids fart.  Farts stink….  You get what I’m saying.  We always check Hannah’s nappy this way.  Yes, she’s still in a nappy.  Sigh.  She refuses to wear big girl undies and flails like an octopus on red cordial caught in a net  if you try to put her on the potty.  Plus I have a newborn.  That doesn’t exactly leave a lot of time for potty training.  Giant sigh (about the potty training, not the newborn…).

Anyway, that is totally not the point of this post.

The other day, Hannah, cheeky girl that she is, went up to Aaron and pulled at the back of his pants.

“Did Daddy do a poo poo?”  He asked her.

“Yeah.”  She said, a cheeky grin plastered on her face.

“I don’t think so, Daddy does poo poos on the potty!  Let me check,” Aaron humoured her as he put his hand down the back of his pants, pretending to search for non-existent poo.

“What??!!!  Where’d this come from??!!!!”

Hannah looked at him mischievously, as she erupted in laughter.

Aaron held up the tip of a yellow crayon.  “How did this get in there?!!”

“I PUT IT THERE!!!” She exclaimed proudly.

I sat back, watching and laughing my head off.  Aaron has always been the joker of the family.  A “torment” as Grandma puts it.  He’s all light-hearted and silly like that.  So yeah, I think it’s HILARIOUS that Hannah torments him back.

Aaron handed the crayon back to her.

She walked straight back to Aaron, pulled at the back of his pants and in went the crayon again.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

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There’s poo on it

8 Aug

Aaron took Hannah to an indoor play place the other day.  Hannah loves these play places, as you may remember from this post/video.

She was playing in the ball bit, happily climbing about, tossing balls around, when she came upon a dented ball.

(c) Sheri Thomson 2011

She pulled it out and held it up to Daddy, looking at him all serious-like.  “I need to go wash it.”  She told him.  She was, of course, talking about putting it in the pretend washing machine they had there. “It has poo on it.” She declared.

(c) Sheri Thomson 2011

And off she went, to put the ball in the washing machine.

(c) Sheri Thomson 2011

Note: the ball did not actually have poo on it.  Just so you know….

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Cleaning out the cockroach nest, I mean the shed….

3 Feb

The other day, we cleaned out the shed.  One of the sheds.  And by we, I mean Grandma and Aaron.  Hannah and I watched while they laboured away in disgustingly hot temperatures.  I wasn’t about to get down and dirty because I didn’t know what was lurking in there, waiting to bite me and poison my growing baby.  No, count me out, thank you very much.  Plus, Grandma wouldn’t let me if I wanted to anyway.

The shed…hmmm…how to describe the shed. Well, the outside is easy: it’s a tinny sort of little shed with a door that’s not actually attached, but rather placed over the doorway and falls off when it’s windy, and there is a tree growing right behind the shed whose branches actually hold the shed down onto the foundation.  It’s not attached in any way what so ever and I’m told that one time (before the tree was there), the wind actually picked up the shed and then dropped it again, not quite in the right place.  So we like the tree, it’s not going anywhere.

Where was I…oh yeah, the inside.  Let’s just say the inside is…interesting.  The inside of the shed is (was) filled with boxes of papers and magazines.  At least they were boxes.  I didn’t actually realise they were boxes because they had been eaten so much by I don’t want to know what, that it pretty much just looked like someone had taken an entire trees worth of papers, and thrown them in a heap inside the shed.  The rain gets in the shed, the wind gets in the shed (because the door is not attached, remember?), and the papers have been in there since, well, I’m not really sure, but at least ever since I’ve been on the scene, and that was nearly 10 years ago.  You couldn’t actually walk into the shed.  No, there was too much crap in there.  If you really wanted to, you could stand in the doorway and throw something in there, but I doubt you’d ever see it again.  The shed was kind of like that awkward kid in school who rarely bathed and a funk about him/her, you acknowledge that it’s there, but you steer well clear of it.  I know, kids are mean.

Aaron and I really wanted to get the shed cleaned out (and by Aaron and me, I mostly mean me) so we can put YaYa’s (Aaron’s mum, not her real name…) stuff that is taking up most of the linen press and the top of Hannah’s closet in sealable plastic tubs and pile said tubs in the shed.  That way, we (I…) could actually put things like sheets in the linen press instead of stacked (thrown, I’m way too short to stack) on top of the freestanding wardrobes (closets) in our bedroom.  Oh my gosh, so much storage to be had!  Plus, none of us were really sure what was living out there, but it couldn’t be good, or healthy, so yeah, it really needed to be cleaned up.

Hannah and I took our front row seats under the shade of the awning in the sand pit (ahem, Hannah was in the sand pit, I, was sitting next to it).  As soon as they moved that useless door and started moving boxes of papers, with the boxes crumbling as they picked them up, their contents falling about, I knew I needed to document it.  I ran straight inside to get my super-special, malfunctioning digital SLR camera.  It thinks it’s on automatic mode no matter what I do, changing it’s f-stop and shutter speed like yesterdays socks. Humph.

I put my feet inside the shed for the very first time.  I was amazed at what I saw.  Mounds of papers, filth, tiny poo of some description, and chewed bits of paper laying about.  I put the camera to my eye.

“What are you doing!!!  Don’t take photos of this!  Stop!”  Grandma, apparently, doesn’t share my love of documenting.

“Who are you going to show this to, no one wants to see this!  No one needs to remember this!”  She was getting really cranky now.

“Don’t you want to see before and after photos?  It will be such an accomplishment!”  Um…yes, that’s why I was taking them….

“Yeah, it’ll be good to see before and after photos.”  Aaron stuck up for me.  He’s great.

“Fine,” Grandma huffed, clearly not in agreement, “but don’t show anyone!  And they are NOT going on your blog!”  If anyone ever saw the photos, Grandma might die of embarrassment….  Yeah, I’ve been strictly forbidden to put them on my blog.  Instead, I’ve drawn you picture:

Humph, that was the only reason I was taking photos.  Nope, couldn’t be bothered if I’m not allowed to post them here.  I didn’t take anymore.  Except for these two, which I was allowed to take, keep, and display.   This little gift tag somehow managed to survive the chaos of the shed while everything else was rendered unreadable, pooped on, stuck together, and discoloured.

The papers in dodgy boxes kept piling up on the lawn.  There was one pile that had a hole about the circumference of a golf ball chewed straight through it.  Like a tunnel.  I don’t think I want to know what lived in that tunnel.  Luckily it wasn’t there at the time.  Not that we saw anyway.  After most of the stuff was cleared out, Aaron made a surprise discovery.  There in the corner was a chest of drawers.  I use that term loosely.  I mean what was left of it after being used as dinner for a whole lot of years.

“I’ve found the coackroach den!”  Aaron exclaimed.  Cockroaches were running around in those drawers by the hundreds.  There was a layer of poop (cockroach poop) an inch thick inside the drawer.  Oh. My. Gosh. Ew!

When they were done moving all the stuff out, they found a thick layer of cockroach poop covering the floor.  Aaron hosed the floor, getting some of it to go out the sides of the shed and onto the grass behind (where no one goes, there is a tree and then a fence there).  It was so caked on that he had to get a shovel and manually remove all the poop.  He removed so much poop that it filled an entire garbage bag.  YUCK!

We were kind of afraid there were be an influx of roaches with nowhere to go entering the house, feasting on tidbits of food we didn’t know were there, running over our feet unexpectedly, and falling onto our heads from the ceiling, completely freaking me out (yeah, that’s happened before), but we have hardly seen any since that fateful day.  I think they must have burned up in the hot sun or something when trying to make a break for it when their beloved roachy lair was empty.  Or maybe one of the neighbours now has an unexpected roach problem.  Hmmm…I hope they don’t read my blog.

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