I hate love! I hate kissing!

I keep track of the cute, weird, manipulative and funny things my daughters say and do every day.

As the world continues to be pretty grim, I’m sharing some of what they say for the giggles.

C is six and N is four. Most of what is captured below happened during COVID-19 lockdown.

March 25:

N races down the street on her scooter, ignoring my warnings to be careful. I look at C.

C, shaking her head: “Ah, who knows anything about women?”

April 2:

Everyone is struggling with being stuck inside all the time, and tensions are high. N smashes a melamine plate over C’s head.

C cries and says: “I wish I was the little sister because I am going to die before SHE does.”

April 14:

The Wiggles are on TV and I tell the girls that the purple Wiggle is dating one of the ballerinas (yes, this information takes up space in my brain).

C makes a gagging sound and says: “Yuck. Never show me The Wiggles again. I hate love, I hate kissing, but especially smoochy kissing.”

April 19:

N, getting ready for bed: “I BRUSHED MY TEETH AS GOOD AS A CHEETAH!”

April 26:

N bops C on the nose during a fight about the iPad, and is sent to her room.

N: “I’m not even going to be your daughter anymore! I’m going to move to Sydney and buy my own chocolate mousse!”

April 28:

The girls are patting the dog.

N: “C, you can have his body, but I’ll have his eyes.”

May 6:

N to Joel as we sit outside at dusk: “Dad, you are the sunset of my life.”

To me, moments later: “Your feet are DISGUSTING.”

May 14:

I ask C to do some schoolwork.

“It’s not really my thing. Art is my thing.”

May 19:

It’s dinnertime.

N: Mum, can we go to Min?

Me: Min?

N: For dinner!

Me: What is Min?

N, impatient: MINDONALD’S!

May 29:

N calls to me across the house, asking me to look at the “saddest photo in the whole wide world”. It is this photo, from a book she has about Jack Russells. She’s sad for the dog coming last.

June 8:

The girls are patting the dog, and he gently puts his paw on N’s hand.

C: “Awww! That means he forgives you. (Long pause) But what did you do?!”

June 12:

C, walking from the school gates to the car: “Mum, what is an identity?”

I try to explain it simply to her. I tell her identity might be the way she describes herself, and also how other people see her.

C, sighing: “Yeah, but do I have a secret identity?”

June 14:

We get annoyed when N asks for her 1000th snack of the day, and refuse the request.

N, haughtily: “Yes your majesty, and King Father.”

June 18:

C had to take a family photo to school for news. In the afternoon, I asked her what she told her class about us.

C: “This is my mum. She was a teacher at a university because she failed at being on the radio.”

My hooting laughter is loud enough to make C jump.

June 30:

The girls are home from school because they both have runny noses, and we’re baking choc-chip cookies (they’ve only recently discovered they’re not called “chop-chip cookies”).

N: “You could have been a cook mum! But instead you decided to be a mum.”

C: “You were a writer. Imagine if you’d been a famous writer.”

Later, we take the dog for a run. A man near the dog park is using his whipper-snipper.

N: “That man’s mowing his loin!”