Piles of corruption

“Oopsie!”
I put down the unpeeled onion and skip over to my son buried in half a tonne of dried cat food.
“It broked,” he explains unnecessarily and delightfully.
“Never mind dear. I’ll soon get this swept up.”
“He is be hungrary.”
“Yes I guessed that because of all the yeowling.”
“But you are not be feed him.”
“Yes I’m sorry about that I was trying to feed the humans first.”
“Maddy!”
I dash out of the utility room into the kitchen where Nonna is helping empty the dishwasher. She waggles a wooden spoon at me. I give up "speech" and try hand signals instead. I point to the wooden spoon pot on the cooker.
“Mom!”
“Yes dear.”
“Look it’s funny!” he gaffaws. I jump into the family room where the BBC news has finished and the telly shows a scene of supreme unfunniness followed by a haemorroides advertisement. I snap off the power.
“Mom?”
“Yes dear?”
“When’s dinner gonna be?”
Next Wednesday if there’s a full moon and an R in the month.
“Probably about half an hour, hopefully.”
“But I’m starving now!”
“Have a banana.”
“Can you pass me one……please?”
I look at my daughter in a sea of Webkins on the green carpet.
“They’re in the fruit bowl dear, help yourself.”
I run back to my onion and hack it for speedy skin removal.
“Mom?”
“Yes dear?”
“Where’s the fruit bowl?”
“On the dining room table.”
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Why do we call it a dining room?”
“Because the nosebag room is less sophisticated.”
“Right then!” mutters their father with a face full of biscuits.
“Right then what?”
“I’m off to work.”
“But you’ve only been home 5 minutes?”
“Three actually. See you later.”
“Right then,” Nonna repeats to no-one in particular.
“Right then what?”
“I’m off to bed. Good night.”
“You can’t go to bed yet!” I bellow at her retreating form.
“Why?”
“It’s only half past six……and you’ve not had any dinner yet.”
“Wot?”
I point at the clock above my head with a very sharp sparkling knife dripping with onion juice.
“Wot? It has stopped?”
“No, if anything it seems to be going faster.”
“Where’s he gone den?”
“Work. He’s gone to work,” I yell.
“Oh…….it is breakfast time?”
“Not until tomorrow.”
I stop the conversation with an attempt at rapid chopping, which of course is a silent exercise for many people. I put the knife down on the counter and take a deep breath wondering what to explain first. My son charges through the kitchen with a four foot broom in one hand and 12 inch magic wand in the other shrieking, “ seals leaks instantly! Seals leaks instantly! Seals leaks instantly!”

Now that’s something I could really use.

This must be why we all blog, for a little "Escapism." I really should get out more often.

On a side note, if you have also missed the Olympics here's a "link" that gave me my daily "giggle."

The Ministry of Mis-information

I decide that my brain is over loaded with extraneous distractions. BBC America’s news broadcast blasts from next door as Nonna catches up with the world. Pokemon fly in every direction followed swiftly by their child masters. Everything is far too busy.

"Where am I den?" I nip into Nonna with a cup of reviving tea late in the afternoon.
"You're in the family room."
"No."
"?"
"I mean .....where am I?"
"In America."
"No......what is the date today?"
"20th."
"So dey're over then?"
"What's over?"
"The Olympics."
"I don't think so. They've only just started."
"O.k......so you are turn it on for me then please."

I turn on the telly and whizz back to the kitchen to continue cooking.

“Ooo is it den?” asks Nonna waving at the wall. I put down the onion and nip into the family room still clutching the cleaver for safety. I look at the walls decorated floor to ceiling with my children’s creations.

“Do you mean who drew it?” I bellow. I wonder if I should go and search for her hearing aide?
“No. Who it is?”
“Mario or Luigi, I’m not quite sure.”
“Who?”
“One the characters from one of their games.”
“It’s not im den?”
“Who?”
“You know?”
“?”
“Er ……wot is is name again?”
“Um…..”
“Who was de original one?”
“Original what?”
“President?”
“The first president?”
“Yes.”
“George Washington?”
“Ah yes, such an English name isn’t it? It’s im isn’t he?”
“Er……I don’t think so. I doubt if they’d be motivated to draw anything so conformist?”

Whilst I stare at the wall awaiting inspiration, Nonna turns her attention back to the telly. She is my direct source of information about the Olympics.

“So…..did you know he is out?”
“Who is out?”

I turn to face the screen too.

I see advertisements, very loud ones.

“Ooo wot’s is name again.”
“Er….. which sport were you watching?”
“Glitter something.”
“Gold medalist?”
“No……dah criminal.”
“Which criminal? A drug user?”
“No…..underage.”
“Underage sports?”
“No. I know! Gary Glitter.”
“Gary Glitter?”
“Yes he’s out of jail.”

Please will someone lock me up, preferably in a padded cell.

“Ask er?”
“Ask who? Ask who what?”
“Ah! dere she is!” My daughter appears with armfuls of Webkins. “Tell me, ooo is dat,” she points with a querulous finger and taps the paper on the wall.
“George Washington,” she beams with confidence.
“Really dear? Are you quite sure? How did you know that?” I ask bewildered.
“Coz it looks like him,.... kinda, and it’s got his name on the back.”
“Well I never, I must be slipping.”
“Don’t worry,” beams Nonnna, “it appens to us all as we get older.”


Move on over Methuselah!