I was walking my girls to school yesterday, and had the following dialogue:
Me to Daisy, “Just let go my hand for one second, I want to put the tissues in my pocket.”
Daisy: “I’d love a biscuit, Mummy.”
Me: “Whut? I don’t have any biscuits. I was just putting the tissues away.”
Daisy: “No, Mummy, you said you had biscuits.”
Me: “No, I didn’t.”
Daisy: “You said ‘If anyone’s hungry, I’ve got biscuits.'”
Me: “Lily? Did I say I had biscuits?”
Lily: “Yes, you said you had biscuits.”
Me: “I don’t remember saying anything about biscuits. I only remember talking about tissues. Are you sure I said biscuits?”
Lily: “Yes Mummy! You did!”
Me: “My God. Are you sure you two aren’t teasing me?”
Daisy: “I promise, Mummy, we’re not teasing you. You said you had biscuits.”
How’s that for scary? I thought I was talking about tissues, and I was apparently talking about biscuits. Or, I talked about tissues, THEN talked about biscuits and immediately forgot that I had. Or, my children heard me talk about tissues, but preferred to imagine that I was talking about biscuits. That would be the version I prefer, but since there are two of them and their brains are younger than mine, I am having to accept that their version (I WAS talking about biscuits) may actually be the real one.
I am going mad. And my madness is presenting itself as an extreme form of over-zealous parenting. My subconscious is burping up random parenting notes. I wonder if it will remain confined to children or if the next time I do an interview I’ll have to remember not to ask the interviewee if he’s done a wee. Or not to remind a friend to put her homework away. Or to avoid kindly offering the guy at the petrol station some lovely slices of cut-up apple.