There are many things I worry about. Not fitting into a size 10 pair of trousers, going for a swim in someone’s pool and leaving one of my hair extensions in it, upsetting the few relations that are still speaking to me by writing about them, grey hair in all the wrong places (see naked in the rain post), not sleeping through the night, conjugating French verbs in front of my children’s friends. But last night I was faced with the ultimate threat.
At 10.30pm Leonardo was still not in bed. Well, he’d been in bed about ten times but was out again.
“Get me my car,” he demanded, pointing at a yellow toy Mercedes.
“Get it yourself,” I told him.
A look of fury came over his face. The vein on his neck that swells when he gets angry started to grow.
“Ggggget it for me now,” he yelled (he tends to stutter when really riled). “Or or or I will never call you Spider-Man-Girl again.”
Now I’m scared……
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007
Oh speak not of conjugating french verbs in front of small bilingual offsprings friends! I speak, only to be met in french by the whisper of some diminutive Breton asking my litle cherubs after q pquse of chiiling silence qnd confused stqres “what did you mother say? ” I may as well speak swahilli at times!
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