Originally posted on 28 May 2010 at The Sardine Tin for Guest Blogger Day. But seeing as I’m on holiday I am recycling in case you missed it!
On Saturday we went to Liverpool to get the 5 year old’s passport renewed. Last Minute Laura struck again. I left the application till 2 weeks before we travel to Italy, her little 4 month old face smiling out of her passport, looking nothing like the 5 year old, long legged girl I was sitting next to. Still the eyes were the same, all sparkly and mischievous.
We had the pictures done at a booth in the Coop. We laughed when the first photos revealed just the top of her head. We spun the stool round so that her little feet couldn’t touch the floor and then tried again. We had to do them over and over again because, her little face kept cracking a smile. The new rules for passport photos are ‘DO NOT SMILE’. The result? A child who looks like she’s being kidnapped.
When we came out of the passport office The Husband had an outburst … I can’t even remember what it was about, but as we were all getting into the car he said “SHIT” very loudly. As I glared at him and made sure that the children were strapped in I thought that perhaps they hadn’t heard, they were too busy discussing the finer points of ice cream Vs lollipops. Then I slapped myself about the face with a virtual fish and realised that although they weren’t registering it now, somewhere in their brain the word was being stored for future use.
Roll on Monday night … the children are playing in the front garden with some friends from school who live just round the corner. The children are taking it in turns to tie the second youngest boy to the silver birch tree with some rope. He is not protesting.
I am upstairs folding laundry and the husband is watching the French Open.
The 5 year old comes in the front door and shouts up the stairs “Muuuuuum …. can we go and play on the grass?”
The grass is an area over and down the road which some of the older children are allowed to play on alone. My children are not allowed on ‘the grass’ yet.
Me “No, you can’t, and anyway, it’s tea time soon.”
At the top of her voice she shouted “SHIT” and then walked back out to the garden.
Just.Like.That.
I spent the next few minutes asking the Husband repeatedly ”Did she really say what I think she just said?”
I resisted the urge to go absolutely ballistic, for fear of making the word even more exciting, and have now decided that as she is nearing six it is time to discuss words that we can say and words that we can’t. Maybe I should have a similar chat with The Husband.
… later that evening when I couldn’t get the loud ‘SHIT’ out of my head I cast my mind back to the little 4 month old face in the passport and remembered when life was easier and she didn’t swear like her father.
8 Comments on "The eyes were the same, all sparkly and mischievous"
In my attempt to curb my swearing I took to calling other drivers F-wits. All the more shameful as Kaede now calls her little brother and anyone else that upsets her an ‘effwit’. I think she thinks they are a type of bad elf or something
Ah – the beauty of the passport office. Why on earth we’re not supposed to smile is beyond me. Perhaps terrorists smile on their passport photos and this is an easy way to catch them?
Anyway, be glad that you did not have to enjoy the consular office in Brussels like I did: http://wp.me/ppqxP-T
interestingly the adults in Finland often seem to swear in front of their kids. Swearing doesn’t seem like the big deal here as it is in the UK
My kids say shit on occasion. To be honest it doesn’t really worry me as long as they use it correctly. I tell them that some grown ups won’t like them saying it and to only use it at home and leave it at that to be honest.
Aaah, the British fear of the expletive. I find it very endearing.
Good lord! you make me laugh…..smiles.
Missed it 1st time ’round….lovin’ it 2nd time ’round. Thank you. Recycle, reuse. Good idea.
But, to her credit, she swore PROPERLY. I hate it when parents don’t teach their children the finer points of profanity usage.