After nearly three years, my stock of nursery rhymes – which, admittedly, was not all that great in the first place – is severely depleted.
We have woken up the bunny so many times she must be really grumpy and we must have been reported to the RSPCA by now for our treatment of poor Tiny Tim the turtle.
Recently I was thinking we surely must have learned (often at the same time) every nursery rhyme on the planet. Racking my brains for something, anything, new to sing (I was seriously considering branching into New Kids On The Block songs), I suddenly remembered.
How could I have forgotten? The main reason I had a child was to have someone to sing a round with – and I didn’t even need to look up the words (wait, there is only one verse, right?)
So we’ve been learning it for a month now and the journalist in me still jumps every time we are out in the car and Freya suddenly shouts: “Fire! Fire!”
What I had forgotten, until she reminded me, was that unlike many other
pointless nursery rhymes, this one is actually about our history.
“Can you show me the fire?” She asked one day, bringing me the iPad.
“Which fire?” I said, starting to get a bit concerned.
It took me a while to realise what she was after. At first I wondered whether she had been watching the news – before remembering that our tele is permanently tuned to Cbeeies.
“Oh, THAT fire. Well, it happened a really long time ago when they didn’t have cameras or television. What people did back then was paint pictures. I can show you some,” I said Googling Great Fire of London and keeping my fingers crossed they weren’t too gruesome.
We looked at some pictures of buildings being destroyed by flames – and I again pondered the wisdom of showing her – when she said, knowledgeably: “A dragon started the fire.”
“Umm, I think it actually started in a bakery in Puddling Lane.”
“No, a dragon.” She was adamant about this (and as we are firmly in the realms of threenagerhood, I decided to pick my battles and just agree).
So now you know. The history books are wrong.
“Can I have a bum bum biscuit?” Freya asked, in what has to be one of my favourite mix-ups yet.
For some reason it really tickled me #childish. Had I been drinking water I feel sure I would have sprayed it all over the living room #classy.
“Do you mean a Bourbon Biscuit?”
“Yes, bum bum biscuit.”
Righto. That one is totally staying.
I expected that as she got older the rate at which she bumped/tripped/fell might lesson but, if anything, she seems to be getting worse – no doubt because she is ever more adventurous.
She will try and ice-skate on shiny floors, sprint along stoney streams and climb anything that is at least twice her height – which not only makes for some heart-stopping moments for me but also for some colourful bruises for her.
After one such calamity, this time at home, she came over and in a little voice said:
“Please can I have a cold pea?”
I’m getting quite good at deciphering seemingly bizarre sentences but this one had me perplexed for a while.
“You want to eat a pea?” I asked.
While she likes peas straight from the pod she won’t eat them cooked (?!) so I wondered if “cold pea” meant pod pea but when I asked she said: “No, it’s for my finger.”
Then I realised.
I injured my leg while running a few month ago and after it first happened I wrapped a bag of peas in a towel and held it on for 10 minutes.
“Oh, to hold on your poorly finger?” I asked.
“Yes,” said in that same sad little voice. Mark couldn’t resist getting the ice-pack (I’ve upgraded) and putting it in a towel for her.
“It’s too cold,” she said.
I’ve been collecting these little snippets for a while so I thought I’d join in with the linky Louise runs (From The Mouths of Babes) again. Please check out what other people have posted.