Joined at the hip

Slurping Life
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We bimble home from school with our pal, a mutual pal of both my boys. This is one of the great advantages of combined grades of some special education classes, the overlap of friendships and oodles of common ground amongst different age groups and abilities. They all grow older, better able to articulate their preferences, which run the gamut. A combination of sweet innocence and advanced sophistication.

My sons sit either side of their pal, three in a line. They both mimic their pal’s distinctive voice, intonation, emphasis and terminology, with perfection. The phrase ‘oh my god’ has recently slipped into his vocabulary, as it does with so many children. Whilst we also had this for a while too, careful actions by school and home alike, has caused extinction. I would prefer it not to return. They paw over the book and discuss favourites, their first favourite, their second favourite ad infinitum. Amused, delighted and engaged during the journey. My daughter points out the snow on the mountains. My daughter points out the child with a bunny ear head band. My daughter points out the skate boarder pulled by a dog. There is no end to the list of entertainment outside the car but the boys concentrate upon their indoor choice, as three pairs of feet kick to the same rhythm.
“Oh my god. That Coral snake bit off her finger.”
“Oh my goodness!” I squawk from the driver’s seat.
“Oh my god. That Asian cobra bit his arm.”
“Oh my goodness!” I repeat in the hope of penetration as my driving concentration dwindles. With each remark my boys howl with laughter.
“Look over there guys! D’ya see that kid has a heart balloon,” offers my daughter in a loud and enthusiastic tone.
No-one else looks. I give her a quick beam.
“Oh my god! That Fierce snake bit his finger.”
“Oh my goodness!” I need to think of another strategy. This is pointless but at least the car remains in the correct lane.
“Hey guys! Look over there! It’s an aeroplane with a message banner.” She’s relentless in her attempts to distract whilst I concentrate on the road.
“Maybe you could be a teacher or a therapist when you’re older dear?”
“No way mom! I’m gonna be a dog walker.”
“I spose we can’t make em stop kickin either,” she adds wanely.
“At least they’re all happy as clams.”
“Oh my god! That Reticulated Python bit his face.”
“Oh my goodness!”
“I can’t quite make it out…….it’s too far away…..can you drive a bit faster mom so I can try and read it?”
“Oh my god! That Massassauga snake bit his horse.”
“Oh my goodness! Too much traffic dear and I think it’s going the wrong way.”
“Oh my god! That Asian Pit viper bit her wrist.”
“Oh my goodness! You certainly know your body parts young man.”
“Hey guys. Look over there. That guy’s sellin roses. Hundred of em.”
“Oh my god. That Bushmaster bit that girl.”
“Oh my goodness! How can you tell it’s a girl?”
“Coz…………. of the sexy legs.”
My daughter and I lock eye balls before she splutters, “he sure told you!”

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A very common species

[from a few weeks ago]

My children, like many others, have a tendency to repeat what they overhear, but a little more so. As a general rule, I try not use bad language and adopt the alternative mush currently available. My main objection to swearing is that it usually stems from an inability to express oneself more accurately, such as when I drop a hammer on my toe.


As Spring accosts us I have no option but to dig out lighter weight clothing and footwear. I conclude that last year's flip flops are still a health hazard. Last year they were indeed a bargain but that's part of the joy of living in America where they have special shops called 'dollar stores.' In case you are unfamiliar with this kind of a merchant, let me tell you that everything within their doors costs 50 pence, at current international exchange rates. So saying, this particular bargain with it's ever so shiny soles, has proved to be my downfall. Almost once a day I am very close to being horizontal, not deliberately but entirely accidentally. Flip flop slip shod, is not the way to make progress fast. I cannot be doing with such gross inefficiency, vertical at all times is the only way forward.

I debate whether I should donate them to a charity store since they are still in mint condition, but I worry about the poor unfortunate who might be duped into a purchase and then suffer additional misfortune as they're carted off to the Emergency Room. I cannot bring myself to put them in the rubbish either.

By the end of the day I have had far too many close shaves without the benefit of a razor. When I hear the garage door rattle into action everyone roars outside as I skip out to greet my spouse and trip head over heels into a heap. He slams the car door shut and rushes over to assist, “blimey arse over tit or what? Are you o.k.?” I sit up, not dazed or grazed but ever so slightly winded.
“What it is be?”
“What is what?”
“Oh….er….um……it's a………bird….see! Quick! Look over there! Gosh, what a shame, you just missed it.”

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