Ok, not quite 10 years ago, but “that trip I took 9 and 3/4 years ago” doesn’t have the same ring to it. These are some pics from the archives. A whirlwind trip to the UK and a Contiki tour through Europe. This is as close as I can get to overseas travel right now which is painful for my itchy feet. I want to go back, even if it’s just to take some better photos!
Canterbury – I think
Shakespeare’s house. Possibly.
A castle in Wales
Roslyn Chapel – This place could have a post all of it’s own, I have so many photos.
Some famous tower in Paris
The weird and wacky and amazing La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona.
I swear. Sometimes quite often. It’s not a secret. But I don’t realise how much until my children use certain words.
When Millar was about 3 years old, he surprised me by exclaiming “Holy Fuckballs!”. I haven’t used that phrase since, but have obviously not removed all swearing from my vocabulary.
The other day, Xanthe and I picked up Millar from school. When I use the car to pick up Millar, the kids know that Millar gets in the car first to cross the car seats to his on the far side, and Xanthe gets in last. This is so Millar doesn’t walk onto the road to get into the car. Safety first and all that.
On this particular day Xanthe got in the car first which caused much arguing between the children.
So I said, “now Xanthe, you know Millar gets in the car first”. To which she replied, “but he was fucking around!”.
“mucking!” I said loudly for the other parents to hear “mucking around” nervous laughter. “yes, yes, that’s what you said.”
It’s true. Millar was pissing about, daydreaming, dawdling and generally taking his sweet time to get to the car and get in and Xanthe was having none of it. But I didn’t expect her to use that word to explain the situation.
We had a chat in the car about what words she could use instead of the one she used and that perhaps mummy needs to not say that word any more either.
Which will be tricky because If I had a swear jar I’d be rich… or something.