Signs of the Times

At six years old, Sapphire is rather advanced in terms of being able to read, write and understand some fairly complex issues. That doesn't mean, however, that she is not six years old in her interests, emotions and intentions.

She is at the signwriting stage, firstly being content to select a pale blue piece of previously-used paper from Love Chunks' workplace to write "Wellcome to my Room. If I am not here, I am at School. If you want to be my friend, sign here..." (a pen was stuck to her door with a blob of bluetak) "...... and put your email address here__________________." I remember doing the same sort of thing, but without the email requirement of course.

This week has seen quite a collection of signs appear around our house. Stuck down using twenty pieces of sticky tape by the front door, the first one reads: "Wellcome to the L's House. Did you have a Merry Christmas and we wish you a Happy New Year," all squeezed inside a large drawing of a santa hat.

Our spare room has a lovely red sign that announces in dramatic capitals: "VISTOR ROOM. Plesea come in." Presumably not if there's already someone in there, surely? To make their stay just that little bit extra special, she's placed the 5cm high rubber figurines from 'Chicken Run' on the quilt cover. Nothing like Rocky the Rooster and Ginger the Hen to really make someone feel at home, especially if they're nestled between two neopet toys from Maccas.

As I pass down the hall and through the kitchen, the laundry door reads: "Plesea Come in. Toiletit Room." Sadly yes, our only loo is still found at the arse end of the house in the laundry. Not too classy, but until Mr Mortgage is under a bit more control, it will have to suffice.

In the laundry itself, the Porcelain Throne Room is tastefully cordoned off by a wooden plank door, reminiscent of those old long-drop dunnies found in churches and halls out in the sticks; big gap at the top, and, like a public toilet, a rather large gap at the bottom. This guarantees you absolutely no privacy if you need to have a sit/shit on your lonesome whilst someone else is loading the washing machine. It is with great relief that I can tell you that it was all the work of a previous owner. Anyhow, Sapphire has stuck the following near the handle: "Toiletit in here. If you need to."

Inside the tiniest room of the house is another two signs, both rather useful in their own ways. "Just a reminder to plesea wash your hands," and "Sorry, but if you want to go and wash your hands go to the front door and look back theres a door go in." A tad lacking in grammar, but she's right. If you pooh-pooh the idea of washing your meat hooks in our trough, you can wander back to the front hall into the bathroom, whose door is directly in line with the front door. I'm not sure what it means in Feng Shui in terms, but living in fear of bending over to pick up the soap in the shower in case Love Chunks chooses that precise moment to fling open the front door and get the newspaper is not fun. No-one needs to see a double-moon courtesy of my sudsy clumsiness and I'd prefer not to give anyone a fright or thrill during one of my more vulnerable moments.....

To move on as hastily as we can from such an awful mental picture, I'll take you out of our hellish 1980s pink and brass bathroom to our back door. Sapphire has taken it upon herself to devise three main rules for behaviour in our garden. They are:
1) "No more than two pepole on the trampaline." Fair enough, and the message is even stronger when accompanied by a rather graphic picture involving three stick figures and many broken limbs;
2) "There is abslotly NO squiting the Dog. Pepole are but only on hot days." Again, this is one that I devised a few months ago. You see (get the violins out), not only do we only have a loser loo in the laundry, but we also don't have a pool and haven't got around to getting Sapphire even a paddling pool. Instead, she and her friends have had great fun with those $1.29 plastic household squirters, taking shots at everything around except the dog and each other. Unless it's hot, and then they can squirt each other, but not the dog. Clear?
3) "And there is no opening the Gate and not Closeing it because the Dog is not trained." Enough said - we love our dog and don't want to see her squashed by passing traffic.

She is even starting to be critical of other signs she sees around in her world. "Hey Mum, are they really the good Good guys? Why?" and "Who is Harvey Norman? The woman singing always says Go Harvey Go Harvey Go Harvey Norman and we never see him on TV, do we?" And the t-shirt I wore to swimming today had 'Diets Stink' on it. "Mum why are you wearing that when you are on a diet? Shouldn't you be off your diet if you're going to wear that shirt today?" Clever little bugger.