A word on competitive mums
“When am I going to get humpy?”
It’s not a question I’d ever dreamed of hearing from 6-year-old DD, nevertheless it’s one she posed in front of DH and I this morning.
We exchanged panicked looks. I can still see DH’s face, frozen in horror as he pored over his sock drawer. I knew what he was thinking: “I know they grow up fast, but…”
I took control.
“Sorry, darling? What did you say?”
[DD in irritated voice]: “When am I going to get humpy? It’s just not fair! I’ve been waiting for ages!”
Quizzical look from me.
“You know! Humpy? The class camel? Everyone else is getting to take him home for the weekend, but I never get him! It’s not fair!”
She was referring to a stuffed camel that’s sent home with a different member of the class each weekend, so they can document what they did at the weekend, illustrated with photos of Humpy.
You won’t believe how competitive it gets.
It’s like the mums, once Humpy falls into their hands, start taking speed.
“I know we were just going to go to the mall this weekend, and maybe for a bike ride,” I imagine them telling their startled offspring, “but why don’t we actually jump on a plane to the Maldives? We could get the Presidential Villa at Soneva Gili and row Humpy over in a boat! If we flew via Sri Lanka, we could go elephant-riding and be back in time to take Humpy sky-diving over The Palm then out for dinner at At.Mos.Phere? What do you think, kids? Maybe we could make a tiny parachute out of silk and diamonds and throw Humpy off the top of the Burj Khalifa and make a video of him floating down over Dubai Fountain as we toast him with champagne and fireworks? Whaddya think? Has anyone else done that?”
I can tell you now, when DD finally gets Humpy, he’ll be eating toast and marmalade on the sofa and watching CBeebies. Period.