Just Ponderin'

Some months ago I posted about the kerfuffle that has lit up this fair (well, fair insomuch as a hanging cloud of coal dust will allow) town about the successful DA for a brothel in the main street.  I've been vocal in my support because from what I saw, the application complied with all the regulations and the objections were just spurious, to say the least.  I discussed it with my husband, and we even looked at Council's minutes online about their initial rejection (which was overturned by the Land & Environment Court).  My husband agreed the reasons for rejection were fatuous crap, blah-blah-blahdy-blah, and you get the picture.  Tonight I was wondering had I been too vociferous in my support of a perfectly legal business involving consenting adults.  Y'see, I had to nag at my 10yo to do his homework, part of which was to write suggestions for names of the groups the children are to be divided into when he goes on his Year 4 Camp in a few months.  He's imaginative, my son.  Some of his names were out there: 'The Yellow Ostriches' I thought was particularly interesting.  Then I read 'The Brothels'.  Now, I am an accepting person and like to think I'm reasonably broad-minded, but there are things a just-turned-ten need not be concerned with.  I challenged him, and said, 'What does this say?'  He looked at me as though I was completely demented, and replied, 'Mum, it's 'The Brothers'.   Why?'  Well, phew to the max!  And I suggested he tidy his handwriting a little so the 'r' in 'Brothers' looks like an 'r' and not an 'l'.  

As much as I enjoy being his mum, it can be monstrously frustrating when it's homework time with him.  I was rousing and crabbing, and he was just giggling, and said he could not understand why he was giggling so much.  'Do your homework!' I snapped.  'You're acting like you're on drugs!'

The fruit of my womb then pointed out, 'Mum, I AM on drugs!'  He takes epilepsy medication.  Eventually got homework done.  Eventually.  Then sent him off for a bath and his dad and I spent ages shouting for him to get out.  He climbs out nonchalant and regards us with a 'What?' expression, and rolls his eyes, saying, 'I'm out!  Geez-Louise, you don't have to yell.'  Why did I breed such a smart-arse?  Oh, that's right.  Karmic retribution.

I read somewhere tonight Kyle Sandilands is under fire (it's always 'under fire',  isn't it?  Anyone would think these controversial figures lived in an active volcano) because he has 'fat-shamed' new mums in maternity wards, saying they just have to get on the treadmill for three years and get the pre-pregnancy figure back.  What can you say to this but, 'Dude, get a fucking mirror, would you?'