The one where her kids call her out as a wino …

One of my items to get crossed off my to-do list upon arrival here was to register the boys and I with the local doctor’s surgery. 

It was all very easy.

Perhaps a little too easy.

I was already in the system so to speak as an old patient and all I needed to get my boys set up was to bring in their passports for identification purposes.  The next step was an initial appointment with the nurse to get our records established or re-established in my case.

So, the other day the boys and I trooped off to the surgery and met with the rather surly nurse for said appointment.  It all went nice and smoothly … until we got to my little question and answer session.  When the nurse asked how many alcoholic beverages I consumed a week, I honestly replied just a couple of glasses of wine or lager.  However, I heard what could only be described as muffled gasps from the peanut gallery behind me.  Followed by sniggering and a mumblings along the lines of “eh … doesn’t she mean a night?’

The little jesters.  How very dare they?

Needless to say I turned around and glared at them with my best mean mum face.

I’m not sure if the nurse heard or even noticed, but I was more than a little red-faced and maybe a bit too smiley and apologetic for the rest of the appointment.  I mean, I know it was all tongue in cheek, but she didn’t.  And, I wonder if she’ll remember when I have to go in there next.


Only me.

More recent conversations posssibly overheard at the grocery store …


Me to my middle son as we’re walking through the grocery store:  Son, you get the chicken nuggets and I’ll get the cheese and meet you down the next aisle.

Littlest one:  Okay and I’ll fight the zombies. *proceeds to fake punch cheese zombies while I wipe the tears from my eyes from laughing too much*


Middle son to me:  Mum, can I pick out a cereal?

Me:  Sure, but make a healthy, natural choice.

Middle son:  *rolls eyes and heard mumbling* What does she want me to eat — grass and rocks?


Littlest one to me at the checkout:  Mum, can I have some gum?

Me:  No, son.  Not right now.

Littlest one:  Please mum.

Me:  No, we’re going to have lunch soon.  Why would you want gum now?

Littlest one:  Because I love you.

Me:  Awww, that’s sweet.  Tell me why you love me.

Littlest one:  I love you because you’re so soft.

Me:  Oh, right.  Thanks babes.

Me again:  *mutters under breath* Does he mean soft as in the head or soft as in fat?


Oldest son shouts across to me in the fresh produce section:  Mum, do we need some melons?  *holds up two melons to boob level and giggles*

Me:  *OMG, why is he doing that*  Yes, son and we also need a twig and some berries.

Oldest son *blushes and walks off disgusted with me*


Elderly bag boy: Can I help you out with that ma’am?

Me:  No, thanks.  I’ve got my helpers right here. *points to my sons*

Elderly bag boy says to my boys:  Now, you make sure you help your mum now.

My boys:  We will.

Me:  Awww, thanks sweet cheeks. *said to my boys but elderly bag boy mistakenly thinks it’s directed at him*

Elderly bag boy:  Erm, thanks. *walks off*

Me:  Oh, no, no. *too late, now I try and avoid him every time I’m at the grocery store just in case he thinks I’m going to use that pet name on him again*

The one where her three-year-old told her he was free balling …

Oh, let me raise a glass to the joys of raising sons of varying ages … and while we’re at it, raise one with me.


This morning, I was trying desperately to convince my three-year-old to put on his underwear UNDER his clothing when he turned to me and said, “No thanks, mummy … I’m free balling today.”

What, what, what?

Free balling?

Well, you can imagine my surprise, then shock and horror as I realised what he meant.

Free balling?

As in going commando?

I’m still in shock that my precious little boy uttered these words and once I picked myself up off the ground, feigned my ignorance and told him that we really should wear underwear … all … the … time, I silently cursed his brothers.

Oh yes, the joys of raising sons of varying ages indeed!

I wonder if this sort of thing happens in the Duggar household?

A Sort of Thursday Thirteen . . . An Interview With My 9 Year Old

So, for this week’s TT, I interviewed my 9 year old with the below … ahem … 15 question meme.  I know,  I know!  It’s supposed to be 13 questions . . . oh well!  Oh and BTW . . . you’re all tagged!

1. What is something mom always says to you? “Don’t make me say it again.”

2. What makes mom happy? Her children.

3. What makes mom sad? When {insertmy oldest son’s name} doesn’t do what he’s supposed to.

4. How does your mom make you laugh? When she laughs, it sounds funny.

5. What was your mom like as a child? I don’t know.

6. How old is your mom? 38

7. How tall is your mom? around 5 or 6 feet.

8. What is her favorite thing to do? Go shopping!

9. What does your mom do when you’re not around? Goes to restaurants.

10. How do you know your mom loves you? She gives me hugs and kisses and buys me really cool presents on my birthday.

11. What is your mom really good at? Soccer and trying to get the best bargain.

12. What is your mom not very good at? Video games.

13. What makes you proud of your mom? Because she loves me a lot.

14. What does your mom like most about your dad? His cooking.

15. Where is your mom’s favorite place to go? The mall!

Stuck . . .

Was giving the littlest one a good morning hug earlier today, squeezing him and telling him over and over that he was, “mine” which is one of his new favorite words, I might add. 

I asked him “What are you?”  Now, every day, his vocabulary improves so I kind of expected him to say “mine” right back at me, but no!  Not that one!  He replied . . .


Great!  His mummy gives him a hug and he thinks he’s stuck.  It was actually very funny and had me in hysterics!  Stuck indeed!

Conversations . . . Dora vs. Spongebob


A recent conversation overheard and rudely interrupted by moi in my house:

DS#2 said in reference to Wonder Pets: “Who’s ever heard of a talking duck?”

DS#1: “Yeah, really?  Or what about a talking fox that swipes everything in sight?”

DS#2:  “These baby shows really are stupid!”

DS#1:  “Yeah, they’re brainwashing our baby brother.  I mean, come on . . . a talking backpack?”

Next, a great discussion takes place between the two of them on the demerits of their baby brother’s favorite television shows.

Chuckling, I enter the conversation after hearing this:

DS#1:”What will they come up with next?”

Me:  “Oh, I don’t know . . . a talking yellow sponge?  How about a 100 year old boy with an arrow on his head?”

Silence.  They turn to look at me, but with no decent comeback (come on, they really have no argument) they shrug their shoulders and wander off.

A Proud Moment for Mummy . . . She Says Facetiously!

It was such a proud day for me yesterday.  Can you just picture me welling up?  Let me . . . sniff, sniff . . . grab a tissue and dab the tears from the corner of my eye.

Why am I so proud?

Because my littlest one joined the ranks of children all over the world who, when asked a question by their parent, shrug their shoulders and proclaim “I don’t know.”  Except his was more of a hand gesture than a shrug of the shoulders and he sounded more like, “I dunna!”

Oh dear!!  The joy of having older brothers!