Without A Weg To Stand On.

Since Rory turned the big 03, at bedtime he’s been all “NO Mummy NO cuddles NO kisses NO.” He’s being a stubborn little turd about it (don’t know where he gets it from). He will even tell Daddy to remind me there is to be NO cuddling when I come in; my arm has to be completely off him and not touching him in the slightest. I am permitted lots of cuddles during the day but dammit the kids are so effin cute in their fuzzy pyjamas all curled up in bed with their stuffed animals and about to go to sleep for 11 hours PRAISE THE LORD.

I even tried reverse psychology but it only worked once; I made no attempt to put my arm over him and just lay there, feigning interest in a picture on the wall. After a while he rolled over and asked sweetly “Mummy, will you hold me? I won’t say no. I won’t say not right now.”

YES! Victory. But he was on to me after that; I am now obliged to either lie beside him with my hands by my sides, or perch on the end of the bed like a family pet.

Anyway a couple of nights ago during bedtime “cuddles” I lay down beside him and we talked for a while about the usual stuff – our day, toys, rainbows. He was so involved in telling me all about some ‘Lego contest’ I managed to casually drape my arm over him without his noticing. (Yay! You will love me.)

Roars snuggled into his blanket, cuddling Teddy. He gazed adoringly into my eyes. I got the warm fuzzies; aww, children are such a blessing.

He traced my eyebrow gently with a small finger, his big brown eyes peering into my face. “This is fur.”


Oh hahahaaahah kids say the darnedest things don’t they? I attempted to correct his confusion. “It’s hair darling. On people it’s called hair.”

But no, he wasn’t confused. Apparently it was Mummy who was confused.

“But Mum, it’s fur. Look there.” He poked me in the eyebrow, obviously expecting his finger to sink up to the knuckle into my thick, Malamute-like coat.

How Rory sees me.
How Rory sees me.

GAH! No it isn’t! It’s a (somewhat) elegantly shaped, (mostly) non-bushy eyebrow, which I’m sure I’ve plucked fairly recently. Well at least sort of sure… THAT’SBESIDETHEPOINT it’s HAIR NOT FUR. Very important distinction! I tickled his eyebrow and said you’ve got them too! He giggled, possibly to humour his furry-faced freak of a mother, then patted my head. Which was to be expected, as it was also apparently covered in fur. He would not be swayed. Then he pulled up his PJs leg.

Rory: Look at my wegs.

Me: What’s wrong with your wegs?

Rory: It’s not wegs Mum, it’s WEGS.

Me: Oh right you are. What about your wegs?

Rory: See? I have fur on my wegs too.

I said “It’s hair. Everyone has it. Me too, see?” I pulled up the leg of my trackie dacks. He looked closely at my proffered calf and said, with emphasis, “THAT IS FUR.”

“No but Roars, fur’s different! It’s thicker, like on cats and dogs. Look here, my leg has… (double take) really…” shit! How long have I been looking like the Sasquatch from Harry & the Hendersons?!

Okay kid; point taken. Tomorrow Mummy shall be shearing her furry winter pelt. By the way, and completely unrelated, would you like me to knit you a scarf?

– Michelle

Because even Sasquatch has standards of grooming.
I may also need to get to the hairdressers ASAP.

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