There are are a lot of goings on at The Funny Little Bungalow. Never a dull moment, in fact.
We are often leaving the house, and as I have mentioned before, this is usually a complicated procedure, that we should have perfected by now.
Yesterday, Number Two wanted to come with me to collect Mini Seymour from school. She knows what time, approximately, I leave.She knows how long – approximately – it takes to get there. She must have heard me say what time we would depart. Yet still, I was revving the Polo engine at the Ostentatious Gates fifteen minutes too late, whilst Number Two leisurely hunted for her footwear of choice inside the house.
This happens A LOT.
I question myself; should I have warned her more? Could I have aimed to leave half an hour earlier? Did I not communicate my intentions well? Maybe, if I had thought it through and not tried to fit too much in, I could have alleviated the situation, and avoided the stress that ensued in the car when I could not help myself but ask all of those “parenty” rhetoricals… What were you doing? How can it take you so long? You do know we will now be late? Blah blah blah.
Maybe this is why I have developed my own language. To alleviate the tension created after I have sat waiting (and revving) for various small Seymours over the years (it was easier when I actually had to lock the front door myself and strap them in), I now use words in a weird way. Instead of saying “O.K. let’s go,” or even “Tally ho!”, this has evolved into “Tally hollocks.”
Why?
No clue.
But whenever I utter the words “tally hollocks” to any of my children, they finish with “and big fat bollocks.”
This does indeed alleviate stress. But it also worries and impresses me in equal measure. I probably should not be encouraging the use of the (very satisfying) word: bollocks. But to know my children will always respond – even if silently- by finishing the family phrase after my prompt, is kind of beautiful.
Maybe it’s because it rhymes with rowlocks, which I could have sworn, up until a few years ago, was spelled “rollocks”. The image of setting out to sea with oars is definitely evocative of a mission – a journey, a beginning. Perhaps, as I pull out of the drive, I am girding myself for the crusade of either getting to Scouts on time, or of dropping someone’s P.E. kit off. Even when no small Seymours are present, I say it. It rolls off the tongue.
But perhaps encouraging the use of the word bollocks is unnecessary.
And so, New Year’s Resolution Number Two is to leave the house earlier – and maybe I need to come up with a new go-go phrase, too. Tally hollocks is getting old.
Off we go! Whaddaya know?
Allez-y! Mind the pee!
Vamanos! Yet more dross!
These are all shit. And so…tallyhollocks it is. It’s strangely satisfying, and kind of ingrained now. No going back.
Tally hollocks and big fat bollocks, all the way into 2022!
0 Comments