Thumb­ing my nose at poo- nut gallery

Townsville Bulletin - - Inside Today -

A quick

apol­ogy to any­one who’s eat­ing break­fast – this isn’t go­ing to be pretty.

Also, a warn­ing to the grouches who mum­ble into their beards when­ever peo­ple dare to talk about their kids in pub­lic: this story con­tains chil­dren. It may also con­tain traces of poo and vomit.

And what’s with the par­ent-bash­ing, by the way? It seems like we can’t win – ‘‘ you work too much, you don’t work enough, there’s no dis­ci­pline these days’’.

Do they re­ally be­lieve par­ent­hood in­volves rolling in a Scrooge McDuck bin of wel­fare dol­lars, count­ing our plasma tele­vi­sions while the kids run riot in the streets?

Are all peo­ple with­out chil­dren self­ish, warty, cat lovers, des­tined to die unsatisfied and lonely, pos­si­bly while eat­ing din­ner on the toi­let? No, that’s a wildly in­ac­cu­rate gen­er­al­i­sa­tion. An­noy­ing isn’t it?

Any­way, I in­tended to write about crap it­self, not about peo­ple who speak it.

It seems ev­ery­one has an em­bar­rass­ing child­hood story about num­ber-twos – my Mum hap­pily tells any­one who’ll lis­ten about the time I po­litely of­fered a bowl of ‘ poo-nuts’ to peo­ple we had over for tea.

‘‘ That was only last year,’’ my Dad will chime in at these re-tellings. Dad jokes are so funny.

But I in­tend to pay it for­ward. My one-year-old daugh­ter re­cently ini­ti­ated a stinking ar­maged­don that could make prime fod­der for her 21st birth­day.

I went to her room af­ter her af­ter­noon sleep, and she was smil­ing up at me – smeared eye­lash-to­toe­nails in the most of­fen­sive mess I’d ever seen.

As I stood there, star­ing in dis­be­lief and won­der­ing where to be­gin, my four-year-old son walked in. He took one look at his lit­tle sis­ter and promptly spewed all over him­self and the floor.

It’s un­canny how these things only hap­pen when my hus­band is at work. Af­ter the clean-up, I had some help­ful hints from hor­ri­fied face­book friends about how I could have dealt with it. Hos­ing them down was a pop­u­lar sug­ges­tion – and one I will cer­tainly keep in mind if faced with an­other epic ex­cre­ment episode. Road Ode: Oh green ute with dents in the door, why are you tail­gat­ing me?

Does your spiky-haired driver have trou­ble see­ing ob­jects in the mid­dle dis­tance?

Is he re­ally talk­ing on his mo­bile and eat­ing a cheese­burger? He looks like he’s about 13. I wish I knew his Mum.

Kath­leen Skene kath­leen. skene@ townsville­bul­letin. com. au

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