At nearly eight years old you know everything there is to know about fashion.
You’re the height of cool, you’re sophisticated and you certainly don’t need your mum to dress you.
You’ve got your own sense of style; every outfit is a winning combination.
But something tells me the swimming cap and headband look won’t take off.
Perhaps I should tell her.
IJ arrived home from school this afternoon with news.
Serious news.
Within minutes of walking in the front door she had instructed me to sit down and sit still (my words perhaps?) - she had an announcement to make.
I followed orders.
She had a grave expression on her face. The situation did not bode well.
With no forewarning, no niceties, or preamble of any sort, she announced that she no longer wanted to be a member of my family.
Just like that.
Oh.
Dear.
I hadn't predicted this.
Pretending to be not in the slightest bit hurt, I attempted to find out the reason for this sudden abandonment.
"If I'm in your family, I can't marry you." She said.
Bless.
It's the closest thing I've had to a proposal.
I'm thinking April next year might be a popular date.
Westminster Abbey, perhaps?
This post is also called: Any excuse to spend an afternoon messing about on Adobe Photoshop.
The following is an example of how not to write a blog post, based on my own experiences. Follow this sequence of events at your peril.
1. Decide late at night (or at any other time of the day when you are feeling suitably tired) to throw something together because you have not posted for a while.
2. Allow your child/children to choose an appropriate image to add to said post.
3. Realise you have very little to say so ask your child/children for inspiration.
4. Explain to your child/children that words such as loser, bottom, whoopee cushion and burping are not the sort of topics you really want to be discussing generally let alone writing about in a blog post.
5. Discover that said child/children now thinks it is really funny that you yourself have used the words loser, bottom, whoopee cushion and burping in the same sentence and will now need an extra half hour to calm down before bedtime.
6. Remind delightful child/children that repeating this conversation out of context to a teacher, grandparent or any other person in authority would be unfair and inadvisable.
7. Spend the next ten minutes trying to explain what the word inadvisable means.
8. Realise this has all been a pointless exercise .
9. Forget to spellcheek.
10. Hit publish.
Voila!
Once again it has become apparent that IJ has a lot to learn about the life. She still views the world through rose-tinted spectacles, which, actually, is quite nice. She is only seven after all.
Emerging from our house this morning to brave the local supermarket, it was obvious that a few late night revellers had been hanging around at the top of our street and, for some reason, had decided to leave five empty beer cans on the footpath.
Once again, in true fashion, IJ piped up: "That's a good idea."
Unsure that a trail of empty beer cans on the street could ever be a good idea, I asked her what she meant,
"Well, they are obviously there to catch water. Someone's house must have broken taps."
Now I'm not a beer drinker, but if I was I can imagine IJ creeping outside and displaying my empty cans for all to see in the hope that this would conserve a little rain water.
And the neighbours would be horrified.
Photo credit: Xanderalex
