STORY TELLAH

I recently came across my daughters Weekend journal from year one.
   
 
This is the Journal where they write, every Monday morning,  about what they got up to on to on their weekends.  It was so cute and hilarious.  Oh how we laughed. 


Until of course, I realised after I actually started reading her somewhat stilted words properly, that she had the teacher convinced Phil and I were divorced and more than likely teaching her to speak ghetto.

 
I vaguely remember some odd, concerned and at times, downright questioning looks when picking her up from school, but it never occurred to me she might be painting me as a tainted woman. 

 
And look, things start off quite sedate in the journal:

 
“Yesterday I went to the Bitch for a piknic”  Translation. She went to the beach for picnic.  Unlikely.  I mean, maybe we went to the beach.  Maybe I was being a bitch.  Unlikely her weekend would have involved a picnic in either scenario though.
 

“today I am gowhang to Mi Dads hows”  The Teacher responded with “I hope you have fun at your dad’s house”. Translation.  So, you’re mum and dad are divorced,  noted.  – Except we weren’t and never were.  This is where the lies begin.

 
“On Sunday I am going to Sidny Habr Brig”  - Sydney Harbour Bridge.  I can safely say, she’s never seen that bridge or been to Sydney. 

 
“On Monday, I am going to the Zoo bEcause We are going to move housers”  This came with a picture of a moving truck and six other cars.  Perhaps we won the lotto in her imaginary life.

 
“On Sadurday I am going to my dads house because I messe him vere much” Even though she saw him every day.  In her own house.

 
“This afternnon I am going To ride my bike with my brothel and my mum and I am going to Sizzler”   Cause you know, that kind of work makes a kid hungry for cheese toast.

 
On a Fathers day card: “Dear Dady, you are speceal because you read me books and takes me to the beatch, Love Maddie xxxooo”  Take that Beatch.   That’ll teach you to leave your wife and take the kids on interstate trips to the zoo without advising your ex-wife.

 
“Dear Santa, I hope you hav a god Christmas.  I thincy you are had. I would like a barbie doll please.  From Maddison”.  Don’t worry honey, now you’re old enough to understand, I think you know it’s you who’s been had.

 
Only just over a year ago, Sam’s teacher, in my first parent teacher interview with her, asked me why he goes up to his Grandfathers on the train every weekend.  A)  His grandfather lives in Burleigh  B) He sees him about four times a year. And C) we drive him there in a car.  Apparently he had Mrs Bourke convinced he lived with his grandfather on the weekends and he took a train to get there.  Yeah, NO.

 
I guess my main question is why did my children make up stories about,  or idolise alternative lives to the ones they were living.  Did they hear their friends talking about staying with different parents and it sounded exotic?  Would writing “We went to Aldi and mum flipped out when she found a stainless steel  door stopper for $4.99” just sound too mundane?  Actually, yeah, I think I’m starting to understand.