Creatures with Tiny Tiny Brains

I am probably going to hell.

Any mother that has a 100% guilty record for consuming the birthday cake out of every single party bag her child has ever received must surely be going straight downstairs, sans appeal? I can’t even pretend to myself that I’m doing him a favour: the kid loves cake with a passion. Put a slice of sponge cake within range and he out-snatches a striking snake.

I am thinking vaguely rationalising thoughts about my emotional need for sugar being greater than his today, and that I bought myself an In The Night Garden birthday cake, just so he could chew on an icing-sugar Iggle Piggle. I have now delved further into the party bag and started on the chocolate bar. I can feel the flames licking around my legs, and still I munch on

If he had seen me quietly abstract his very own party bag, then I’m not so sure I could get away with it. Harry is a classic case of compensating for small stature with fiery determination: I swear he levitates through sheer force of will some days. But I wasn’t brave enough to go toe to toe with him about the bag-ownership issue, and I am scoffing my illicit (immoral, Ann, immoral) treat after his bedtime… and out of his sight, just for good measure. 

Having established my character credentials, let me assure you I am also available for babysitting and Godmothering.

Those of you who have had a particularly featureless evening and consequently delved into my archives, may remember I experienced some ickiness regarding the incestous nature of my tiny gaggle last year. Spring is perceptibly just around the corner and I am having the same problem again, although with slightly different protagonists. Alpha male now rules supreme (we were obliged to despatch his male progeny, to save him being slowly pecked to death. Family assassination. Nice.) over his (unrelated) mate… and daughter. Yeeeeees. That’s right. Daughter.

I am told by those who are in the know of all things geesey, that Father-Daughter pairings are Not A Problem, and that It Happens. Well, yes, I can see it happening, right enough. I have windows. I have eyes. My son has eyes, Godammit. We can see the whole Greek thing unfolding in front of us. 

Given the hassle that these last two caused, added to the fact that the offspring would be The Things That Should Not Be, I am fairly reluctant to countenance any more goslings this year despite the fact that Harry (and his mother) would doubtless find the fluffy uber-cute stage highly appealing.  Therefore, Harry will soon be enjoying some extra-large portions of scrambled egg for breakfast.

The goose situation is imbued with some mirth, however. The Gander has his dander up… and is currently going reasonably beserk, attacking cars and people indiscriminately. Hubby and I have both been reminded of that fabulous snippet of Father Ted in which Bishop Brennan, belatedly cottoning on to having been indubitably kicked up the arse, returns to Craggy Island in a monumental paddy. 

Those of you who are already converted to the Father Ted doctrine will not need the link, but will enjoy it anyway. Wait a tick for it to load, and then move the slider to 19.45 minutes.

Actually, no, in fact: watch the whole thing, and then go and buy the box set. Enjoy!


11 Responses

  1. Oedipal Geese. Hysterical!

  2. Put the cake down. Step away from the cake…

  3. You’re saving him from diabetes. It’s all good.

    As for the oedipal drama, well, we put the fowl paddock out of eye-shot of the house for many many reasons, and one of them was so we didn’t have to watch the ducks gang-banging their mothers and daughters.

  4. Not just you and Harry who would love the cute pictures. I want gosling pictures woman, go on let a few live and not become omelette!

  5. I have to agree, all that refined sugar is bad for growing babies. At least that is what I use to tell myself as I raided the children’s treats and gave them cheese and veggies instead. Of course, none of them have weight problems, only me, so perhaps it worked? It is actually more likely that they inherited their father’s skinny marathon runners genetics, but it does make me feel better about my years of theft.
    I believe that it may be a universal mothering truth that moms steal cake, candy and other sweets from unknowing and uncaring children, often before the dog or dad gets it. It is really our right, as we gave birth.

  6. We had some geese, two of which died sad and untimely deaths, and the third we gave away so that it wouldn’t too. I kind of miss them sometimes, but you’re making me feel lots better about that.

    Interesting television references for the non-Brit. One can see that In the Night Garden is related to Teletubbies. But this Father Ted thing demands further investigation. Our internets are too slow to move the slider right away so am eagerly awaiting minute 19:45.

    Agreed with Melissia. It is perfectly normal and justifiable to steal cake, and not only that, it’s better for the children that way. See, now you can envision a halo rather than the licking flames!

  7. Roaring with laughter at the Father Ted reference…no need to watch again as Villa Kore is packed with lifelong fans of the Mad Irish Catholics!

    Can you send any of the cake to me? I’d be glad to help you out.

  8. No chance of a look in to party bag stuff for me anymore – sniff.

  9. Don’t worry – no freaks of nature nor of gosularity will ensue…
    [I just saw today that feed store now had baby chicks & ducklings, so I have this week & this week only to reinforce the chicken coop!]

  10. Well. This expanded my tiny brain slightly uncomfortably 🙂


  11. I watched Father Ted and now I’m pining for a box set. Curse you! (In a loving way, since I am also endlessly grateful to you for introducing FT into my life.)

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