Conversation had while sitting on the couch, eating Freddos and watching the flood crisis on the news:
Nicola: Mum, why is my tongue stuck inside my mouth?
Me: Um, maybe so it doesn’t fall out when you talk and eat?
Nicola: But that would be good!
Me: No it wouldn’t, what if it fell on the ground and got all sandy?
Nicola: I’d just wash it under the tap.
Me: Fair enough.
Georgia: Where is the fish? (unrelated to anything on the tv, in the house or the previous conversation.)
Me: What fish, George?
Georgia: Omie’s goldfish.
Me: It died, George.
Georgia: Oh… did she eat it?
Me: I doubt it, babe.
Nicola: Mum, look at this. (Opens mouth, shows me chewed frog.)
Me: That’s lovely, darling.
Georgia: (holding up a picture of Toby) Is this Toby, Mum?
Me: Yeh, babe, that’s Toby.
Georgia: Where? Where’s Toby?
Me: In that picture, George.
So don’t judge me for my overuse of Facebook.
In other rambles…
Georgia has taken to yelling “SHIT!” whenever she drops something, breaks something or hurts herself. She said it in Dymocks today when she dropped a shopping bag. The middle aged man browsing books next to her had a good chuckle. I said, “right, that’s it, your dad is in trouble.” And he said “yeh, sure it’s dad’s fault.”
In a way it is my fault. Because Leigh only swears when DIY goes wrong. And I’ve been making him do a lot of jobs lately.
(NB: This is an old post migrated from Tumblr for posterity’s sake.)