Bum Jammie Dodgers.


I started writing a blog post this afternoon, it felt boring, dull, stale even. I’ve deleted it. I talked about how we’d looked at a Nursery school for the boys, how I’d felt awkward and nearly died trying to remember not to swear and sound normal. I also told the story of how I swung Edgar round in a moment of sheer joy on Thursday, lost my grip, shot him 6ft across rough concrete and broke my heart. His beautiful white chin gashed wide open and required a sit-com style, covered in blood and tears, crazy terrified Mummy run into A&E. But this afternoon there’s been so much bum jam I can’t be sensible.

“Bum jam Jim jam jom Jim bum jam.” My boys have discovered jam. This week they’ve discovered Jammie Dodgers. They loved both. The word jam has led to much word based experimenting, rhyming, singing, shouting and jobbing bum jam in every sentence possible. Jon and I are trying so so hard to ignore the constant bum jams. “Mummy want to say bum jam?” silence…… “Please I want lemon squash bum jam.” “Of course you can have lemon squash.” Inside I add the bum jam, because dear God it’s catching. Like when you first learnt the word cool, or everyone started calling each other chicken, bum jam has landed in the Rathmill house and I fear it may never leave, because despite it not being acceptable for a 2 year old to say, it’s funny! Mine and Jon’s love of inventive expletives (I’m aware bum jam may not be new to you and I, and probably already has a definition on Urban Dictionary, but to my boys it’s homemade) has clearly been passed down via some unnecessary gene. Although not quite as awe inspiring as Emma Kennedy’s (perhaps Richard Herring’s) ‘cock juggling thunder cunt’, it’s not far off.

I don’t really like Jammie Dodgers, given the amount of jam in them, I’m starting to realise I like jam more than perhaps I thought. On research it seems it probably contains far more sugar than fruit anyway. I think I probably even like fruit more than I realise. I looked into it as since trying it 4 days ago all Rufus wants in his sandwich is jam, I was worried it’s not so good, but apparently Jon grew up on it so it can’t be all bad, bum jam’s not done him too much harm.

I’ve been singing one of my favourite Lucy Rose songs this afternoon and it was requested that I insert the words bum and jam into my casual warbling, so I did. At the top of my voice, on the toilet, I sang a beautiful modern folk song to the correct tune but with the words bum jam Jim jom jam Jim jom on a loop. Eddie loved it. Ruru joined in. Sheer happiness. As Eddie started to descend the stairs after this episode of lunacy he declared, “Bye humans”.

The boys are in bed, Jon’s just entered the room and he said, “Hello bum jam”. Oh dear.


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