The great thing about parenting is that (like all things that are hard work and ultimately thankless) it builds character by the bucket-load.
Specifically, I think it's pretty much impossible to have an inflated head when you have a five-year-old.
Today, Flea and I were driving home from the local water park and I was singing along to the CD.
"Mummy? Do you want to do nice singing?" asked my companion.
"I am doing," I replied.
"No, do the singing with the right notes," Flea insisted.
Charming.
Still, at least that wasn't as cutting as our bedtime conversation last night. Flea's been reading a book about an island where the local wildlife is a bit scary.
"Mummy, are there bears in England?"
"No, not really. Not in the wild"
Flea looked a bit worried. "If there were bears and they escaped, would they eat us?"
"No," I reassured her. "We'd run away, wouldn't we?"
Flea thought for a moment.
"Actually, the the bear wouldn't eat me," she declared.
"Oh?"
"No. It would probably just eat you because you're fatter."
Well, you have to admire the pragmatism.
