On Wednesday night, the night of Ruby’s birthday, no less, Elliot decided that he was bored of all the attention she was getting, and swallowed a coin. 

It was 9:30pm.  I had just settled down to watch a bit of telly, and Ross had gone out for the evening with his friends.  There was a pad pad pad down the stairs, and the creek of the living room door being pushed open.  A cheeky little boy face peered around the door frame and I knew somewhere upstairs, there had been some mischief.

my child swallowed a coin

“Mummy,” he smiled, “I put a coin in my tummy”

A large sigh.  I asked him if he was telling the truth.  He nodded.  I asked him if he meant he put a coin in his nappy.  He shook his head, and told me again that it was in his tummy.  I asked him how it got there.  He put his finger in his mouth and gulped.  And then laughed.  A little too heartily. 

I rang 111. After all, my child swallowed a coin!

They asked me all sorts of questions about whether he was breathing, whether he was coughing, if there was vomit, and blood and if he had a temperature, and despite my assurances that he was fine and dandy and entirely too proud of his endeavours, they told me we ought to go to A&E incase it was stuck in his chest.  Ross came home, and off we went.  

Five hours, 10 stories, a viewing of Finding Nemo, 2 doctors, a radiologist and an x-ray later, we were home.  His chest was clear.  The coin, we were told, would have to pass on its own.  Delightful. 

Well, Thursday came and went and there was no coin to be seen (or heard… there was no way I was sifting through poo for any coin small enough to shit out.  I was going to be satisfied with a clink into the toilet).  I was wondering if in actual fact there had been a coin at all, and if our 10pm jaunt to A&E was little more than a massive waste of everyone’s time and resources.  

But then, yesterday morning, we were being lazy.  I languished around in my bed until well after 10, going downstairs only to make the children some breakfast and myself a coffee.  Elliot popped his head around the door at 10:30 and said he’d like to get dressed.  He can do it all himself (although often his trousers are the wrong way around and his t shirt is inside out, still, I am proud nonetheless – he’s only just three!) but he likes me to help him with his pull-up because he doesn’t really like to look at what might be in it, and that way I can give him once over with a wet wipe so he doesn’t stink of wee all day.  So I pulled it down, and there was the offending penny, with nothing more than a tiny skid mark to accompany it. 

You guys! Elliot farted out the penny.

He farted out the penny.  

Can we just take a moment to think about how funny that actually is? 

Never change, Elliot. 

Wot So Funee? Haribo Heart Sweets En Français


wot-so-funeeThis evening, Roo took ages to go to sleep. Ages. She’d read her books and watched the lava lamp, but by the time we’d finished dinner, she was crying into her pillow.  Fortunately we are visiting my Mum, which means my sister is around, and there is nothing my kid likes more than a good late night chinwag with her aunt.

Megan just came downstairs chuckling to herself.  She’d been talking nonsense with Roo, and they’d been making up words.  Ruby had turned around and said,


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Wot So Funee? Four Year Old Physicist


wot-so-funeeMy daughter has an insatiable thirst for knowledge. If there is something to learn, she’s on it, immersed in it, soaking it all up like some kind of genius little Mensa sponge.  For a little while now, she’s been pretty keen on Space.  I don’t like to brag (much) but I do find it pretty impressive that a four year old can name ALL the planets, in the right order, INCLUDING the dwarf planets, like Ceres and Haumea.  I didn’t even know about Ceres and Haumea until I picked up that book.

Last night, we were reading her Space book together.  I was crudely demonstrating the difference between night and day, using my balled up fist (the Earth) and her lamp (the Sun) when I noticed

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Wot So Funee? When Four Year Olds Insult Their Parents


wot-so-funeeEvery morning Roo and I have a stand off, over getting ready for school.  You see, like most four year olds, she is easily distracted.  I’ll ask her to go upstairs and put her cardigan on, and go up, ten minutes later, only to find her immersed in a playing with her doll’s house, or her Barbie dolls – her cardigan where it was left the night before, and very definitely not on her body.

This morning, our stand off is about her school shoes.  To be able to get on with my morning routine of breakfast, shower, packed lunch assembly, etc, and get us all out of the door by 8:30, I quite often let the children watch a bit of TV.  It’s twenty-seven minutes past eight, and Roo is parked on the sofa.  Her shoes are on the floor next to her.  Her coat is hanging on the banister.  Elliot is in his buggy, ready to go.  I am buttoning up my coat, and pulling my hat on.

“Roo, please put your shoes on, we have to go”


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Wot so funee? The Raised Eyebrow of Incredulity and the Spanx


Like a lot of little girls, Roo is quite keen on prinking and preening infront of the mirror, which is fine – with supervision, otherwise this happens.  So, when I am dolling myself up to go out, or even just putting on some mascara and lipstick so I don’t look like a corpse on the school run, she can usually be found hovering nearby.

Last Saturday, Ross and I went to a wedding.  We didn’t take the children but got ready at home before dropping them with their grandparents.  I wore a grey mini dress, with thick tights and my ridiculous burgundy platform wedges which are almost impossible to walk in but that I love nonetheless.  The tights I wore don’t fit amazingly well, and to stop them falling down, I tend to squeeze into my Spanx and hoik them up, superhero style, over my tights.

Ruby thought this was both amusing and perplexing.  We had a conversation that went like this:

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Wot So Funee? Four Year Old Fibs


I think you all have got the gist that my little Roo, the source of most of my blog fodder, the light of my life, my sweet little princess, has started infant school this week.  Ever eager to learn, she skips off into her classroom every day and comes home armed with Biff and Chip books, and artwork she’s coloured in neatly.  Three days in and she’s doing well.

So yesterday, I met up with my friend Kez, mother of Roo’s best friend, and we waited patiently for our tiny ladies to be let out of school.  By the time we’d got round to the pick up point, most of the other kids had already left, which provided me with an opportunity to ask her teacher how she did that day.

“Oh, fine” she said, “She doesn’t like handwriting, but none of them do at the beginning”

I will admit at this point, I was a little confused.  

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