The Writing Mamas Daily Blog

Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.

If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.

And for that, you are a goddess.

Thursday, May 03, 2007


The Mouths of Babes

Should we write down those little things our children say? I would say put them in a time capsule for eternity, but most likely it is only the genetically linked who would consider them darling or funny. That said, there have to be some gems that would make any parent go "ah."

But I wasn’t so sure.

So, last night I decided to troll through years of e-mails from and to my college roommate, Andree. Fortunately, we live parallel lives -- two involuntarily globetrotting Aussies with ankle-biters in tow.

Unfortunately, I quickly learnt, we have therefore archived an indulgent (to quote Andree) "gabfest of puffingly vacuous proportions.” Yes, from the mother load (excuse the pun) I found a scant few that make the scrapbook short-list. They may not be classic, but read on for the kid-bits that made me remember when:

Savannah, at 2, playing with my eyebrows: "I love your rainbows mum.” So sad when they finally get the words right. . .

Savannah, stirring the cake mixture vigorously. . . out of the bowl: "I'm getting the grumpy bits out" (translated - lumpy bits). This is going to be my new mantra at the gym.

Savannah, in the next room: "I'm busy mum."

"Okay then."

"I'm really busy mum.”

"That's good.”

"Now I'm really, really busy.” Thump. Next time I peak in to see her mid-spin, tutu on, getting really, really “bizzy.”

Eddie, also 2, absolutely adorable, sweet and gentle little man, constantly asked to ride the "poopolator" -- this is a particular escalator, the Egyptian Art Deco-style escalator at Harrods.

Once aboard and ascending, he would greet the downward-bound with a hearty, "Goodbye suckers!” - never anywhere else, just these particular escalators.

Ed trying to convince his mum to let him keep his brother’s soccer ball: "I will hold it in my armpit for safekeeping."

At the museum, with hand over mum’s mouth: "Please stop singing. You will frighten all the people."

At Hyde Park, 110 degrees: "Here is some breeze. It's to calm down your pants.”

And my all-time favorite: Ed, needing to defend himself and pigeons from his older brother, needs his (imaginary) weapons -- a stick and a spear -- before he leaves the house. He reminds his nanny, "Never go out without a dick and a beer.” Well that is how it sounded. And that is how we have said it ever since.

Should we write down those little things our children say? I say yes, write them, use them and revisit them, put them in a box or a locket, and hold it in your armpit for safekeeping.

By Robyn Murphy

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