All posts tagged: #fouryearold

Four Year Old World

Most evenings see me in a pair of yoga pants I bought when I was pregnant because I’ve got this thing about not wanting to “waste” nice clothes on hanging out at home (I blame my half-Scottish heritage for this mindset). Don’t go imagining a stylish “lounging at home in my activewear” getup though; these pants were from the $5 rack at Kmart, and are so old their cost-per-wear sits at about 0.0004 cents. Due to their clingy nature, they made my pregnant ass look like two baskets of rutting hamsters, but goddamit I love a bargain so wore them anyway. Also, nothing else fit. I was wearing these pants as I tucked Amy into bed last night, so was taken aback when she said, “Are you going out for dinner after I’ve gone to sleep? Those pants look fab-lee-iss”. Ah, but Amy is four, and in Four Year Old World a $5 pair of yoga pants can be considered totally ok to wear to a restaurant (stick that in your lemon, Lulu). It got …

Ad life

Amy: “They’re not JUST ads, Mummy! They’re lovely stories about things we can actually buy!” Somewhere, a Creative Director’s brain just exploded with happiness and they started working on their Cannes acceptance speech and clearing shelf space for gold pencil awards. Visions of promotions and future shoots in tropical locations danced in their head. (Meanwhile, a client sent off an email to their account manager, asking if a series of focus groups could be arranged immediately to ascertain whether by “story” she was indicating the ads promote the product as being “false” or “untrustworthy”, and would focus groups be covered by the agency retainer?)

In your face, fairies.

About a week ago, Amy started wistfully staring off into space and wondering, “Mummy, are fairies real do you think? If they are, they’ll probably leave me some chocolate”. So began a somewhat long and involved process of Amy leaving out nightly letters (dictated to me), pictures, piles of glitter, bits of jewelry etc., for the fairies to find. To start with, I was pretty sure she was just hopping on the fairy gravy train in the hope I’d try to convince her they were real by leaving her treats. Now, before anyone accuses me of bah-humbuggedness, this is the girl who got up on Christmas morning when I was happily squawking about Santa having come overnight, and said “oh, Mummy, Santa isn’t ACTUALLY real, you didn’t really believe that, did you?” as she rolled her 3.5 year old eyes at me. This is what I’m dealing with.  She might as well drink unicorn blood for breakfast. But after a week of fairy pen-pal action, she seemed to actually be quite into it, and genuinely bummed on the …