Conversations With My Daughter #28

August 2012

Once again, my daughter has got hold of a whistle and is marching around the room shouting out more of her rules (I’m typing as she says them, so apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes):

“Don’t put the butter in the bath!”
“Your Mummy goes to work!”
“This is why things are Star Wars!”
“Don’t check out the computer when your daughter says you cannot touch Mummy’s tummy!”


“Don’t poo over your cousins!”
“Don’t get lost, just stay with your mother!”
“Don’t eat the nursery!”
“You are fat! You are fat, Daddy! Do the Wii Fit! Now put the ball in there!”
“Don’t put it in your mouth! It’s not sharp. It makes six chicken pox!”
“Don’t bite your mama or dada when you are tired! That’s when you’re sick!”
“More horse please!”

[She is now behind the sofa. Silence, apart from some humming]

…any more?

“No more rules, Daddy!” *peeeep* “No! More! Rules! For! You! Now go in the naughty corner!”

Well, that’s me told.
(and no, I’m not going to give her any “horse”)


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