Hairy emotions, messy paintings and the booger boogaloo

Things I’ve learned from my children today.

I’d like to stop the march of hormones. The other day when Boy One was sharing a bath with Boy Three – generally a noisy and splashy affair enjoyed by all – I spotted something. It was a tuft of what was unmistakably pubic hair. Nooo. My beautiful innocent Boy One can’t possibly be taking the first pre-pre-pubescent steps towards manhood. He’s not really ready and I’m certainly not. So, shhh, don’t mention it – he hasn’t noticed and maybe if we keep quiet it’ll go away.

The modern art big sell didn’t deliver. A while back Boy Two had announced that he’d like to see more messy paintings that made him feel weird. I discerened that this was probably modern art and as I like nothing better than a potter among the Picassos we would plan an outing. So on Sunday after a delicious lunch at Di Maggios (not the one where the boss was stabbed, the one in town), Boy Two and I set off for GOMA. In traditional style we went to the top floor and worked down. In my view saving the best – the main hall – for last. There, I knew, there were messy paintings aplenty. Only not on Sunday. The main hall is closed for tarting up or something. Can anyone suggest a source of messy paintings that would fit the bill?

Snot is for sharing. Boy Three is somewhat besnotted at the moment. He’s got one of those permasnuffle colds that seem to last for months with any babies I’ve ever known. Apart from the cough which is kind of endearingly like a puppy’s bark, his main symptom is yards of viscous snot. There is so much of it – I can’t fathom where it comes from. It could be that the wee fellow’s brain is melting. It’s not that it doesn’t get wiped but I just can’t keep pace. Perhaps I should give in and try to only wear clothes in pale green, slightly shiny fabrics.