November 3, 2013

All The Little Effers

I know, I know . . . I've been so quiet with the writing. Do you want my excuses? No? Well here they are anyway. Skip the next paragraph or two if excuses bring out the finger-wagging school teacher in you.

Our other business has been ridiculously busy which, after ten years of trading, we're pretty happy about. Like the birds flying south for the summer, we've been migrating both our website and our accounting over to new (hopefully better!) systems.*

However, unlike the dozens of dead migratory birds we've found washed up on the beach lately (too tired to keep going apparently - I know how they feel!), our whole flock of data has successfully migrated across and I can stop waking up at 3am shouting things like "The CSV file needs to be sorted by Column B!" and "Stop! Don't enter pre-1 July orders!!"

And then also, um, life. She's got her busy bottom on. Big client projects, rugby trips away, a new extra-curricular routine involving hapkido and piano, SOS calls from friends and, of course, these are the Big Birthday Months for our family. You want lots of crazy summer sex, people? You need to suffer the consequences of birthday burnout in September/October as all those little summer conceptions turn into actual people who expect presents and parties and cakes in the shape of popular animated characters for the rest of your life. Consider yourself warned.

But then, those little people do keep us entertained do they not? Francesca, for example, is at the perfect age for linguistic faux pas.

She now recognises the letter 'F' as the letter her name starts with. Whenever she sees an 'F' in a sign or a headline, she says 'Look Mummy, there's my F'. Which is all fine and good and isn't she clever? But when she sees an 'M', she also says 'Look Mummy, there's your F', upon which I correct her and say 'No darling, that's my letter, not my F.' I guess it shouldn't have come as a surprise when she accidentally dropped an alphabet puzzle last week and exclaimed "Oh no, I dropped all the little effers!" Cue snorts of laughter from surrounding adults.

As if the alphabet wasn't hard enough to master, there's all that tricky alliteration to get your tongue around.

The offending chicken with the salty skin
I roast a chook once a week, rubbing lots of salt into the skin, and the kids and I eat it, hot and sizzling, straight out of the oven. A few weeks ago, we were sitting around the kitchen table with chicken juice running down our fingers, and Jack announced that he loved the salty skin. Of course, little Miss-Contrary in one of the moods that makes me quake in fear in anticipation of her teenage years, announced loudly "I don't like sulky kin". And because it's fair sport in this house to make the toddler repeat her most hilarious mispronunciations for our own comedic pleasure, I asked 'What did you say sweetheart?'

'I don't like skulky sin!'

So there you have it. Sulky kin and skulky sin. Be warned suitors of the future who may wish to woo our girl, she simply won't stand for your grumpy relatives or crimes of a cowardly nature. And if you rub too much salt into the chook, then God save you young man!

*Business Catalyst for the website and Xero for the accounting in case, like me, you have a nerdy interest in these things.

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