Forget-me-not-Friday #18


Nearly-three-year-old, ten-month old and I are having lunch in a cafe which has chickens in a coop near where we’re sitting. Nearly-three-year-old is enjoying observing the chickens.

Nearly-three-year-old: “I like those chickens, Mummy.”

Me: “Yes, I like chickens, too. They’re nice, aren’t they?”

Nearly-three-year-old: “Where’s the door to the chickens?”

Me: “It’s over there, but only the cafe men and ladies are allowed in”.

Nearly-three-year-old: “Why, Mummy?”

Me: “Because they might come up to us and go PECK PECK PECK PECK PECK PECK PECK!!”

Nearly-three-year-old: “Silly Mummy. Chickens don’t talk!”


Working Mum of two, living in Didsbury, Manchester, in a house which breeds washing, mushed up raisins and various toys in the brightest primary colours. Oh, and the odd empty wine glass.

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