THEY are tricky, my children. Apparently they've been at it for years and only recently one has revealed the reasons for the hidden laughter, the sly looks and the knowing glances they often share.
It's called the Seed of Doubt game and it involves said children, differing circumstances and one very gullible mother. It's a fun game to play, by all accounts and sadly, despite my recent discovery of the game, it continues. Gullibility never really stops with newfound knowledge.
There are variations on the game and, for obvious reasons, not all the rules have been made entirely clear to me. But I have a hazy idea of what's going on, despite not having read the handbook.
Sometimes the game starts with a "Guess what?", rapidly followed by a "Never mind". This scenario, according to my daughter is part of creating something that looms large in the mind.
Simply not knowing something is enough to start the ball rolling, and what kicks off this mind ball is curiosity and guess work. "Guess what?" could be as small as noticing that a tap is leaking and end up as big as a flood.
And once the children have fired off this initial question, they like to sit back and watch the game unfold.
The game is all about not saying things, keeping "Mum" as it turns out then watching as Mum flounders through a minefield of unanswered questions, curious as a cat but without any lives to spare.
A hint, a small interjection, a point of the finger, a head shake, a knowing look, a sly smile - these are all arsenal in the Seed of Doubt game.
Appropriately named, the Seed of Doubt game is about planting (you guessed it) a seed of doubt.
It could be something like: "It's a beautiful Monday, isn't it?". To which I reply, "Yes it is." Score one to children who have skilfully and with great innocent cunning suggested that the day is Monday, when it is actually Wednesday. And there am I, boots and all, agreeing that yes, what a marvellous Monday it is.
Apparently, the points in their favour are vast indeed. And only now, with my new knowledge, do I have a chance of stemming the tide in which I so willingly wade. But I say, if the seed stems so many years of laughter, it is well planted. Perhaps mine is the last laugh after all, Monday or not.
