Of ranting, love and jingle bells

Rant alert sirens can be turned off. I did enough ranting yesterday, thoroughly ranted out ... until the next time.

If you want to see what got under my skin, have a look at this http://jottify.com/works/suffer-the-children-no-more/

or read the papers. Got to change the subject quick or I'll be off again.

I've said it before, but - you've guessed it - I'm going to say it again, the best three words in the English language are "I love you, Mummy." For daddies, insert Daddy. Oops! I never was good at maths, or even basic counting ... four words! These are the best four words, probably in any language. In my house, they are usually followed by several minutes of "I love you more" and "No, I love you more" and "You can't know how much I love you anyway, but it's definitely more than you love me" and "I love you infinity much" and "I love you infinity-much-times-a-hundred" and "Which is still infinity, so we love each other the same" - by which time Littlest is either so tired that she gives up ... or continues for another ten minutes, conjuring up bigger and bigger ways of loving. If you haven't read Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney then you should, and if you have, you'll understand why the moon usually ends up embroiled in this argument over who loves who the most. And also why ... sorry, I know there's a lot to keep up with here ... if you've read my Jottify entry/rant above, you'll understand that this Christmas if I see the moon, I'll be thinking of those poor parents in America, and cuddling my Littlest very tight.

Littlest accompanied her sister, father and friends at a local carol concert, on Sunday evening - they were the instrumental entertainment between carols. Littlest played the jingle bells.

I wondered if inside her head she was singing the words she composed recently:

Jingle bells
My dog smells
Run and get the soap
He might try to run away
So tie him up with rope

and

Jingle bells
My dog smells
We must get the hose
Spray his coat and don't forget
The mud between his toes

Afterwards, when the frozen expression of terror slipped from her face, and she smiled, she was allowed to play with an accordion.

Guess what she now wants for Christmas?

Comments

Colour, Delacroix, flochetage and why don't we all have a go at inventing words

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My beloved boy, how lucky I have been

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Bollockworts

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Walking The Dog

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