Guess the insect

Hello again, sorry again, that is if any of you are still bothering to read this old tosh.

We've had visitors. Lots and lots of them, and rather rude, too. They don't wipe their feet, don't say 'please' or 'thank you', always always bring a friend, several even, and just head straight for the fruit or the sugar without bothering to ask about your day. Rudest of all, they absolutely refuse to die, no matter how much boiling water I pour on them or however strategically I place the stupid traps.

I did have something of a hissy fit a few days ago when I realised the tourists had taken up full citizenship. But I've mellowed in my old age, and no longer bat an eyelid when I behold the dustbin lid alive with tiny, crawling...

.....wasps*

(*not really. It's ants. But gee, let me create some drama, just occasionally)

I was joking about the cane.

I am in a happy place at the moment. In this place, I am watching an African sunset and the wind is rustling the jasmine flowers while Emma and Gloria play peacefully under the avocado tree. They have made friends, found a nice playgroup, some good toys and a taste for goat meat. I have also made friends, found a worthwhile project to get stuck into, learnt some of the local language and have perfectly-toned abdominals. This lovely place is called Denial, down the road from Lazytown and twinned with Fiddling-while-Romeburns.

Orderliness is not my strong suit. The Switzergent is different in this regard. He likes order; neat piles; sticky labels; everything in its place. I don't mind chaos, as I have pretty good object locator memory (e.g."Where are my keys?" "Under the socks in the corner." ) After a while, bits of junk look like they were just meant to be there. I never get the itch to sort through it.. or perhaps the itch is there, but the itch to watch clips of Britain's Got Talent on YouTube is more scratchworthy. Meanwhile, stuff builds up, dust covers the stuff, and we are moving country in less than 12 weeks.

I must stop procrastinating.

But let me make some tea first.

Grasping the nettle

Emma has discovered the word merde.

She first said it a couple of weeks back in the evening after I left her all day with the nice but-still-not-sure-I-completely-trust-her babysitter. "Oh merde!" she exclaimed, joyfully over her pasta and broccoli, apropos of nothing much. She got a telling off (which made her less joyful) and so did the babysitter, who told me the TV repair man said it when he dropped the TV at her apartment. (My first thought was yeah, right! But I gave her the benefit of the doubt.)

She quickly cottoned on that the m word was terrific fun and an excellent way of getting a rise out of Mum and Dad. There were tears and M and D arguing and handwringing over How to Discipline Our Potty-Mouthed Three Year Old Child. Now that's entertainment! Way better than watching the Andy Pandy DVD.

She didn't say it again until yesterday, when out it popped 2 or 3 times, each time E obviously looking for a reaction. As we were out and about with no naughty corner to send her to, I just put on my scary face - it's pretty good - and my stern, scary voice and warned of no choc ices later. But then she was sweet and there were choc ices later.

Today at lunchtime - cheesey toast, thanks for asking - she said it again, loud and clear. But I was tired and I had had enough. So she got sent to her room and Gloria got the remains of her lunch. She stayed wailing and protesting behind the babygate (the bars of which make it pleasingly penal-seeming) for a good half an hour. Eventually, through the sobs, came "Mu..mm.yyy I ...want...to...say.soo rrry". But I was still feeling like hard Hitler mother, and sorry didn't cut it, so I made her say sorry and that she wouldn't say it again, unless she wanted BIG TROUBLE.

She's out now, we're friends again and she's now fast asleep in our bed with Brian pressed against one cheek. I am drinking cherry tea and loving being on the computer after a long blog absence. Glory is screaming and fighting sleep, but you can't have everything. I don't feel guilty about being hard with her... I feel it was harsh but fair, but you never know I s'pose.

My next post will be called The Cane - Underrated, Underused?