The Butterfly Eff-ect

“I’m friggin’ bored over here,” Miss4 shocked us by muttering the other day.

She was sitting in a seat at the front of the bus and at first we weren’t entirely sure what she’d said. Or rather, we were hoping we’d misheard.

Unfortunately, though, we’ve been a bit laid up. First I was unwell a few days from Christmas, and now it’s the kids turn. Master11 and Miss13 have been complaining of tiredness and headaches and muscle soreness, and their temps have been up. So instead of exploring the reef and Mossman Gorge, as planned, we’ve been sitting in the bus trying to contain our unwellness to our own little family. And while the three youngest seem to have avoided whatever’s knocked their older siblings for six, they do have a bad dose of cabin fever.

“What was that, sweetie?” Tracey asked Miss4 while I stood behind her grinning.

“I’m bored,” said Miss4.

“Yes, but how bored?” I asked.

“Very?” said Miss4, a little confused now.

“What did you say just before though?” Tracey asked, trying to phase the question without leading the witness.

“I said,” said Miss4 defiantly, “I’m friggin’ bored over here.”

BINGO!

Tracey turned to face me and I grinned at her in a conspiratorial fashion…

…when I realised she wasn’t doing the same. In fact, it occurred to me her expression was a lot more accusatorial than conspiratorial.

“What?”

“She’s four!” said Tracey.

“I know.”

“She shouldn’t be talking like that.”

“I know.”

“You need to watch your mouth around the kids now we’re living in each others’ pockets.”

She’s right about watching our mouths. Master11 has already complained about the way Tracey and I talk to each other.

“Stop it! Just stop it!” he shouted at us on the third day of the trip. “I had no idea you guys talked about sex so much.” Mainly playful innuendo, which we’ve always done and thought nothing of. It seemed odd to suddenly be pulled up on it. “And stop touching each other all the time!”

“I only rubbed her shoulders as I walked past,” I said.

“Well she can rub her own shoulders, can’t she?”

“You should be pleased your parents like each other enough to hug and kiss,” Tracey tried explaining.

“Otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” I added helpfully.

“OMG! STOP IT!”

It’s been fun.

But I haven’t been swearing. Any more than usual. And besides…

“Couldn’t have come from me,” I said. “I don’t say friggin’. I say freakin’.” Actually, I’m more likely to say the actual f-word, but I sensed bringing that up at this juncture wasn’t going to help me win the argument. “I don’t even know what friggin’ means.” Then I went on, poorly attempting to sound coy, and accidentally proved my innocence by catching the culprit in a beautiful Scooby Doo trap. “Maybe you can explain it to me later tonight when the kids are asleep?”

“Friggin’ hell!” yelped Master11 from the back of the bus. “Please! Stop!”

Our resident bird whisperer’s – Miss4’s – incredibly accurate peacock impersonation. No wonder we’re attracting them to our door.

Finally raining cats and…well toads. They were on the girls’ minds because one chased them around the toilet block earlier tonight. “It was sooo scary,” Miss7 told her Mum when we arrived back at the bus. The girls have yet to work out that’s mainly because they ran away screaming.

Raising a family on little more than laughs