*spits out Lion Bar*
Me: But why, my beautiful girl, would you want to know any naughty words?
Daughter: So I know what that man was saying under all the beeping on Saturday Night Takeaway?
So this is it at just turned six years, we have entered the age of curiosity and inquisitiveness. I thought we'd be debating why there are stars in the sky and where do the birds go in the winter? But alas no, in this house the topics of the day include what actually was potty-mouthed Gordon Ramsey saying on Ant n Dec's Saturday Night Takeaway and do slugs poo slime?
I had tried to fob her off by telling her that he was saying bad words like "shut up" and "oh my God". Words she must never ever say to ANYONE EVER. And the last one definitely not to the parish priest.
She seemed happy with this. Or so I thought. But after having a whispered debate with her big brother who at seven is a bit more switched on and quite a bit more of a wind up, they turned back to me
Son: So the words you use when you are grumpy are okay then?
Me: Erm... what words does mummy use?
Son: You know the one you used when that lady beeped you yesterday?
*breaking into a sweat*
Me: No never EVER say that one!
Daughter: What about the one when Gabe's bus turned up early and you weren't ready?
Me: No never EVER say that one!
Son: But is it okay to use the one you called daddy when he told you off for shrinking another of his work jumpers?
Me: Well actually that was a good word... very apt for the occasion... no no NO. Never use that one either. Now GO AND PLAY!!
Actually Anthony and Declan have a lot to answer for here (I might be ringing their mothers). We very nearly had an unfortunate incidence after re-watching (for the eighth time) the first episode of the hit show last Sunday.
Look mummy I've found that other programme that Ant and Dec are on too. Can I watch it?
Busy feeding Gabe I barely looked up thinking it was some CBBC thingy. I muttered a vague yes and carried on blowing raspberries at the youngest boy. It was only when her giggling caught my attention that I saw Ant n Dec were not alone. Oh no - there they were with Holly Willybooby, Fern Whatshername and notorious boob/penis/sex/sweary funny man Keith Lemon. Oh my days the TV has never been tuned off more quickly. I've seen that episode of Celebrity Juice and I still can't quite see the squeaky clean double act in the same light again.
I can't believe I nearly let her watch it. Believe me when I say the pin number we'd been so casual about was changed on the spot.
This is the thing. The days of Cbeebies and Disney Junior being on loop are now behind us. We no longer live in a household where the only electronic gadget of any note is a microwave. They know their way around the TIVO box (I found 14 episodes of Don't Tell the Bride on there the other day. As if! Disney happy-ever-afters it ain't) and accessing Youtube for further viewing choice is second nature.
Parental guidance has never been more essential.
Even the so-called children's programmes are taking us into new domains. I always thought I'd be quite open with my children about all manners of things related to race, colour or creed. Raise them in a global village so to speak. Yet one favourite show Marrying Mum and Dad left me all out of kilter when Dad married Dad. The children (obviously not Gabe who was busy shaking his socks off on the floor) were especially curious. It is not that I'd didn't have the answers, I just didn't know where to begin. I was not ready and my stock answer of your food grows arms and legs wouldn't work here. It has been glossed over for now to my shame. I might see if we can avoid that programme until secondary school at least.
With a new Hudl each for Christmas (the poor man's ipad) they now have greater access to the internet too, which frightens me. I nearly had a heart attack when eldest boy piped up the other day that he had found a new game called Bum Salon. When I turned white as I mentally conjured up the sort of images to be found in that particular beauty parlor, he swiftly told me he had been joking all along (but wouldn't it be really funny if that game existed, Mum? Er no!)
Phew. For now. Thank the lord for parental controls.
Sometimes those parental controls would come in handy in real life too.
Especially when aunts from Ireland come to visit and said children ask again and again for her to tell them about her brother.
Aunt: It is so lovely that they are interested in Uncle Louis isn't it.
Me: Yes, yes they are great kids. So considerate.
*shutting the door over as children skip down hall giggling*
Daughter: His name is Loo.Wee.
Son: Loo.Wee likes to go to the loo for a wee.
Daughter: He is married to Poo.Wee.
I gave up and put another episode of Marrying Dad and Dad on.
|Gabe says: "Oh good are we playing Bum Salon again!!"|