Think you’ve got it tough raising your kids? Spare a thought for a friend of ours who, thanks to her tradie husband, is raising a right little ocker.
“Now,” she said to her seven year old son, who’d been in the corner for seven minutes fuming over the indignity of it all, “why are you in the naughty corner?”
“Because you put me here.”
“Yes, but why did I put you there?”
“Because you got angry.”
“But why did I get angry?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because you keep talking back to me. It’s rude.”
“Well, it was rude to put me in the naughty corner.”
“This is what I’m talking about! You keep back-chatting me!”
“Yeah, alright,” he told his mum. “Keep your knickers on.”
Which kind of killed any hope this was going to end well for him.
“That’s it,” she told her son. “I’m contacting Santa and he’s not bringing one of your presents.”
At which point her young son looked positively shocked for the first time in the entire exchange. Finally, she thought, I’m getting through. Finally, we might see an improvement in the way he talks to me.
Not this week.
“For fark’s sake, Mum!” he said, spreading his hands wide in appeal: Nearly, but not quite, as wide as the distance now between his mum’s top and bottom lip. “You can’t do that! I’ve only asked for four bloody things!!”
She didn’t say, but I’m guessing those are stubby holders, thongs, blue singlets and wool shears.
Something tells me Dad’s going to be on ‘Santa’s’ naughty list now and could well be sitting in the naughty corner himself when he gets home.
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs”