Here’s a blast from the past entitled, ‘At No Point…Ever…Never…Well Maybe’.

Our house is a happy house. It’s like sunshine and lollipops, and full to the brim with frivolity and jovial laughter. Many games are played in our quaint little house of fun, games which provide us with hours upon hours of endless entertainment.

One of the countless games that the little man and I like to pursue is the, ‘I’ll tell you one thing and you do the opposite’ game. I cannot express enough to you, dear readers, the immense joy that this particular activity brings me. The rules are quite simple and are pretty much as the title suggests. I will ask Spawn to do something and he will, in turn, completely ignore me.

jessica “Excuse me, my little turtle dove of peace, can you please go up to your room and put on your pajamas, you precious jewel in my crown you?”

My darling Prince Charming.

My darling Prince Charming.

“Of course dear beautiful, sweet mother of mine. I shall do immediately as you have requested”.

*10 minutes later*

jessica“Oh, my sweet child made from the lap of the gods, why are you dressed in your ghoul costume when I specifically asked you to put on your night attire?”

Sweet Cupid.

Sweet Cupid.

“Because I want to.”

Oh how we laugh at this response, the sound filling the air as our mirth rings out throughout our happy home.  At no point do I feel the urge to unfasten the belt from his costume and securely tie it around his neck until his face turns a particular deep shade of purple. EVER. The next game on our list is, ‘I’ll give you a very basic instruction and you just go right ahead and ignore me.’

jessica “Good afternoon, my little joy of joys. Can you please grant mummy the favour of making sure that your bedroom is still as tidy as I left it this morning, you angel that just makes my heart swell with pride?

Angel of the heavens above.

Angel of the heavens above.

“At your request woman with whom mother nature chose to bless with all the goodness of this earth”.

*30 minutes later*

jessica“Why my little star in the night sky, your room seems to now resemble the local farmyard in that it is filthy, diseased riddled and smells just like a dozen pig have decided to use it as their own effluent laden toiletry system. How pray tell, could this be?”

My precious diamond in the sky.

My precious diamond in the sky.

 “I just couldn’t be bothered to tidy up”.

And as we roll upon the crust of his effluent laden carpet in a merry heap, at no point do I think of killing him, gathering up all the putrescence as well as his dead carcass, shoving them into a black bin liner, before taking them down to the dump to await with glee, the incineration process. NEVER. Finally but certainly by no means least, is the game that my little river that runs through my heart, loves to play the most. This one is called, ‘Ritually humiliating mummy in public.’

At the local store:

My sweet bundle of joy.

My sweet bundle of joy.

“Mummy can I have a sweet? Mummy can I have a sweet? Mummy can I have a sweet?” (Repeated at least 100 times)

jessica“Now my little flower that blooms forth and bursts with a thousand seeds of love, each one punctuating my heart, you know that repetition doesn’t work. What about when I repeatedly ask you to pick up your things? Do you ever listen?”

My little fawn dancing merrily in the forest of love.

My little fawn dancing merrily in the forest of love.

“No. That’s because repetition doesn’t work”.

And as the surrounding customers laugh in my face and the shopkeeper points and  shrieks, “he got you good,” I at no point feel like taking him home and bludgeoning him with a blunt implement, whilst all the while shrieking, “yeah!, Now whose got you good?!” Before burying his body under the patio. Well maybe.

Yes folks, our house is a happy house. It’s like sunshine and lollipops and is full to the brim with frivolity and jovial laughter.

~Lily

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19 thoughts on “Here’s a blast from the past entitled, ‘At No Point…Ever…Never…Well Maybe’.

    • Susan, they say that karma comes back and bites you in the arse in the form of your children. But I was so sweet as a kid, that people use to suffer from tooth decay, just from looking at me. If Spawn wasn’t similar to me in every way, (morally, he has the higher ground) then I would think that there had me been a mix up at the hospital.

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  1. I think a bit of reverse logic may be called for. Tell him that you expect him to keep his room messy and dress like a Zombie or its no treats. But he can only have treats when you are happy so he either has to do what you say . . . make a mess or clean up and get the treat.

    Mind you the Lil man is reaching that age when they are a bit of a problem. I remember ours being returned to the house by the police because he and his mates were trying to set fire to a river, O yes it seemed to make sense to them apparently. He is a decent member of society now and knows that it is not easy (or almost impossible) to set fire to a huge body of water.

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    • My Z, reverse logic never works on my child. In fact, he seems immune to anything that pertains to the word ‘logic.’ I must admit that although his room is a pit in which even cockroaches fear to tread, his bin is immaculate…as everything is heaped upon the floor.

      Hahaha! Please say that your son trying to set fire to the river is a true story. PLEASE!

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  2. Oh I so remember this passage, from the time I read while was perched on my ceramic throne a while back. And wasn’t this one of the posts that got you inducted, outwardly, into the mommy bloggers club? 🙂

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    • Nice mental image you conjured up there PorkStar. No, really. *goes and throws breakfast in the trash after suddenly losing appetite*

      If by ‘inducted outwardly’ you mean vilified, abused and told that I should burn in the fiery pits of Hades, even though I have an aversion to extreme heat, then yes.

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      • Ma’am, the ceramic throne I made reference about is my bath tub, the place where I rest my ass some evenings before bed and take a nice bubble baff. Sometimes without bubbles. Yes i call the bath tub my ceramic throne. Not sure what it is that you had in mind. Dirty lady.

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        • Ah, I see. So you rest your arse on the bath. Do you not have any chairs perchance? Anyhoo, in England a ‘ceramic’ or ‘porcelain throne’ is known as a toilet, (I know, I’m a font of knowledge, none of them useful) hence the mix up. I wondered why you were reading my blog whilst excavating your innards. I mean, I know my writing is shite, but come on!

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  3. Brilliant writing, Lily! Your conversations with Spawn and all the captions are priceless. It takes a real creative talent to find humor in those frustrating everyday situations (oh, and I admit to laughing out loud here, again you had me in stitches LOL!). Well, wish I could offer advice but having no spawn of my own I can only offer that I’ve heard they eventually grow up…and until then, there’s always chocolate to go with the sunshine and lollipops! 🙂

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    • Aww thank you Madilyn, you’ve just made my morning! Any advice on how to handle Spawn without the use of poison darts and a visit from the local priest, (to perform an exorcism) is more than welcomed.
      Ooh, now I fancy some chocolate flavoured lollipops.

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  4. Yeah here that throne would be referred to as the same as there. But mine is the tub. Just like my bed is my shake shag, although no shagging ever takes place there. Or anywhere. Or my bubble bath do not have bubbles… shit like that. Not like you’d know that there are no bubbles… etc etc. 🙂

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    • You call your bed your what now? And you wonder why no coitus takes place there or anywhere else? Shake shag sounds like having sex with someone who suffers from extreme tremors!

      Just a friendly tip here. Next time you go on a date, DO NOT offer to bring the girl back to your shake shag. She WILL run…

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  5. Thank you for the early morning laugh!

    BTW, never bury a body under the porch. Its just to hard to deny if its ever found.

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  6. I was going to write something inciteful here but then I noticed my battery was low and I went to find the charger and in the process of gaining electrificationizing my telephonical apparatus I lost my message. Sorry. Maybe it’s not enough alcohol.

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