Oh, Grow Up

We all grow up sometime, for the most part anyway. We start seeing bank holidays as an opportunity to do DIY rather than take road trips to the beach, and spending what little spare money we have (if it hasn’t already been spent on DIY) on mortgage over payments and children’s school shoes rather than bad fashion and booze. It’s all fairly boring really.

So I am grateful for the parts of me that stubbornly refuse to grow up, they make life just a little more interesting…

Bodily Functions

Admittedly there is a time and a place, but in your own home, bodily functions can provide hours of entertainment. Recently a friend and I held a burp off while eating pizza. The kids watched in awe as we downed whole cans of Coke and tried to create the loudest, longest burps. The kids were crying with laughter and bursting with pride when Mummy performed the winning burp, proving that girls too (in the appropriate setting) can enjoy and execute impressive belching (thanks Big Bro for teaching me that particular talent).

Naughty Words

I’m not talking about swearing, I mean the silly childish words that can raise a snigger in situations which really call for a straight face. Even as a grown mother of two I find it hard to go to the doctors and discuss faeces, penises or anuses (should the plural of anus be ani and penis be peni?) and prefer to use poo, winky or bum, and I still struggle to avoid a smile when I do. And sometimes naughty words pop up in unexpected places. I stayed at my mums recently and giggled for an entire day after finding a packet in the garage containing a “Drain Off Cock”. The images it brought to mind left me feeling slightly disappointed and bereft to find a boring old piece of plumbing inside the packet.

I am currently reading Bill Bryson’s Notes From A Small Island, and he noted that Bournemouth Pleasure Gardens used to be called the Upper Pleasure Gardens and Lower Pleasure Gardens, but in recent years they saw how dangerous it was to have Lower and Pleasure in the same title so we now just have the Upper Pleasure Gardens and the plain old Pleasure Gardens. I don’t really blame them, but if you ask me simply Pleasure Garden itself is rife with slightly naughty connotations (snigger).

Watching Neighbours

It started hundreds of years ago with a media storm around kids bunking off school to watch it and yep I still tune in. And to those of you that are asking “my god, is that still going?” (I get asked this question a lot when I tell people I still watch it), yes it is still going, and no Bouncer is no longer in it (although Paul Robinson is still going strong). There is something comforting about watching Neighbours, it has none of the depression or angst of the UK soaps (all of which make me want to jump off the nearest bridge with all their moody weather, dark, dank streets and chavvy irritatingly depressing characters), even when it’s raining on Ramsay Street it looks sunny and happy.

Making Wotsit Structures

For the benefit of my international readers Wotsits are type of corn snack, much like Cheetos, only smaller. Turning a packet of Wotsits (never tried it with Cheeto’s, this could be a new avenue for me next time I’m on the continent, wow imagine the possibilities) into one massive long cheesy stick and poking someone with it is the most fun you can have with a convenience snack on a long car journey. In fact, I think making Wotsit models overtakes Eye Spy as my number one car entertainment.

Ok so we all have to grow up, but come on, sometimes kids have absolutely the right idea. Every week I drive Son One to his swimming lesson and we park in the multi story car park. And every week he asks me to park at the very top. But being a sensible grown up I take the ‘sensible’ option, by finding the space as low as possible, as close to the door as possible, squeezing my mummy mobile in between two massive 4x4’s slightly parked over the lines, spend ten minutes trying to get out of the door without bashing the paintwork of the badly parked beast next to me, all to save valuable seconds walking from car to lift/stair well. But this week I finally gave in, and man, am I glad I did. I think I would go so far as to say the very top level of the multi story car park is the best kept secret in my town. Not only was our car the only one there (everyone else had obviously wedged themselves between two 4x4’s slightly on the wrong side of the lines) but the view was phenomenal. We excitedly looked over the edge and could see for miles around. It felt like we were the only people on the planet and ran about with our arms out in this huge space that for that moment belonged to just us. I don’t think I’ll ever park on a lower level again, even when I don’t have the kids with me (although I may not do the twirling around with arms in the air thing, there are some things a grown up really can’t get away with when not accompanied by children).

You might tell me to grow up, but I will firmly say that you are missing out (before sticking my tongue out and poking you with my two foot long Wotsit).