We have a seven minute drive to school. Within those seven minutes I can be asked in excess of 100 questions. We have had debates on the existence of God, we have spoken about why boys have willies and girls have ginas. We have fought, some of the car’s occupants have pulled hair, we have all sang in joyous loud unison to Mr Brightside.
Some school runs are good, others can be plain bloody awful.
Today was interesting.
Twin Boy joined me in the much desired front seat. Snapping his belt in with a smile he beamed at me with a smile full of intent.
“Mum” he questioned, before I even started the ignition. “Mum, can I read your blog?”
Whilst being momentarily taken aback by the request, I saw this as an opportunity to enjoy a more peaceful school run. Twin Girl was reading Fantastic Mr Fox in the back and BB was drawing on her legs in Biro – it simply wasn’t worth the fight to tell her to stop.
“Ok,” I said, and before slamming the car into reverse and setting off for school, I brought up northernmum on the phone and found an appropriate piece. I chose one about Portugal, no swearing, no pubic hair reference, perfectly safe.
Four minutes later, Twin Boy looked up at me.
“Mum,” he questioned, “I thought you were supposed to be funny?”
Taken aback again, I responded “well, didn’t you think the bit about Grandad’s skin and the Iguna was funny?”
“No, it was just true,” he retorted.
“What about the bit about mummy being so pretty she could eat for free?” I stammered, feeling the pressure to be humorous.
“Not in the slightest Mum.”
“Oh,” I faltered.
“You know that award for ‘Laugh’ that you didn’t win Mum; I can see why now, your blog simply isn’t funny.”
Tomorrow, we will be back to discussing the existence of God.