Daughter appears to be musical (at least, Daughter likes singing loudly – and has done from an early age: her renditions of The Kaiser Chiefs’ “Ruby” when aged two; and more recently The Ting Tings’ “That’s Not My Name” are a source of constant joy) – and it may be that Youngest Son is developing signs as well: and that’s where it all started.
We had just left Church, when Youngest Son launched into a rousing chorus of “Oh My God” (the Lily Allen/Mark Ronson collaboration) with its priest-bothering chorus of “Oh my God, I can’t believe it, I’ve never been so far away from home!”), when I cautioned him: “Try and say “Oh my gosh”, darling. Some people say “Oh my God”, but we don’t.”
He took that straight. It was Eldest Son who raised the bar:
“Do we say “Piss Fucking Hell”?”
“No, we don’t darling. We would never say that. Where did you hear that?”
“At school, last week.” (At least he didn’t say: “You, Daddy”, as Wife pointed out).
So that’s good, isn’t it? Six years old and using a vocabulary that Gordon Ramsay might think twice about.
