The Queen’s Birthday Frog Highlights a Huge Bum

“She had a huge bun,”

I shout, shoving my hair in a pony tail and hoping my mother realises I’m talking about the Duchess of Cambridge on the balcony yesterday as part of Trooping the Colour for the Queen’s birthday weekend. NW is away for a long trip so we are staying with my parents. I am in the downstairs loo, watching the street party in the Mall on my phone, which is propped up on top of the cistern, whilst I help NG rinse her hands.


I am sorry about the awful buns in my posts.

“What, like a bustle?” my mother calls back from the kitchen. She is sipping her lunchtime glass of wine and trying to ignore the fact her two smallest grandchildren are in residence by resolutely reading the front page of the paper, even though NC is bouncing up and down in his high chair next to her, eating the headline.

“No. Bun. A chignon,” I say, drying my hands on our Labrador, NL.

“What’s a she nong?” asks NG, wobbling on her wooden steps. “Look, my poo looks like a castle.”

“It’s the sort of hairstyle that takes two hours and three pairs of hands, none of which are your own,” I say, flushing and pushing my daughter out so I can lock the door and have a few minutes’ peace.

I settle myself on the loo (seat down) with my phone in my lap and watch the picnicers. Yesterday, as the Duke and Duchess emerged onto the balcony with George and Charlotte, I wondered how NG and NC would behave if it were them. One o’clock was a good time: too early for an afternoon nap but risky if the children hadn’t eaten. George looked unimpressed; Charlotte looked teethy. I wriggle uncomfortably: my bum doesn’t seem to fit the loo properly which makes me a bit cross, especially when I remember Kate’s sylph-like frame – in white, she looked like a bit like one of those beautiful painted Christmas twigs.

“My bum’s grown,”

I shout forlornly through the door. “Had you noticed?”

The only noises I can hear are NG waffling on about how yoghurt is yummy for children but not rhubarb yoghurt, only raspberry or chocolate or pepper.

“Pepper?” my mum says.

“Pig,” I call, realising with relief I am sitting on NG’s fold-out loo seat.

“I wouldn’t say that, darling,” calls my father. “You’re not that greedy. I think you just need to start running again. I’m sure you’ll snap back into shape soon. NC’s only nine months old still.”

We convene in the kitchen, where my parents are packing a canvas holdall full of quiche, strawberries and cream, ready for the street party that is starting at 3pm. I pour some apple juice and give NC’s face a half-hearted wipe.

“That apple juice looks a bit off,” my mum says doubtfully as I down the glass. “That’s a shame. It’s French, and quite expensive. It looks like the Queen’s coat.” She’s right: it tastes vile and is almost exactly the same neon green highlighter colour as Her Majesty’s Trooping the Colour outfit. “How about some wine?”

“No thanks, I’m trying to just drink in the evenings,” I say, feeling like a prissy head girl next to my parents.

My father looks thoughtful. “Did you know the pubs are extended their hours last night?”


I did have a good caption but … ‘scone

“Yes,” I say pointedly, as they both rocked in well after 1am. My parents’ social life and energy in their sixties resembles mine at at university. This is pride-inducing and depressing. It is also noisy. “Do you remember you woke up the baby?”

On cue, NC starts yawning.

“We weren’t loud,” says my mother, defensively. “And we made sure you were asleep.”

“You checked on me?”

“Of course. You’re our daughter,” my father says. “We peeped in to see if you were ok.”

“Did you check on the children?”



“They’re not ours,”

my mother says airily.

“But they’re 8 months and nearly three. I’m thirty eight.”

“You’ll always be three to me,” my mother says fondly, then looks panicky. “Where’s the pastry brush? I don’t think we’ve got enough quiche. I might have time to whip another one up. If I can find it.” She looks accusingly at NC, who has tired of newspaper and is gumming the wine cork.

“It’s in the car,” I say. “I gave it to him this morning when we went to the shops. It calms him. Let’s get it – come on.” I take NG’s hand and we go outside into the drive.

“Why does Nana need the pastry brush?”

asks my daughter as we scramble-search under empty packets of snacks and muslins festering in the back seat.

“She’s making food for the party we’re going to soon. For the Queen. Her birthday party, remember? She has two.”

“Wish I could have two.”

“You’re three soon.”

“I just want two.”

“You’ll have one. Not two. When you’re three. Your brother has one, too, when he’s two.”

She narrows her eyes at me. We have been here before.

“Found it!” I say with relief and we head back indoors with the pastry brush. My mother descends with delight. “Brilliant. I’m making scones because, as your father has rightly pointed out, quiche is French.”


The Queen? You must be croaking.

“The Queen will eat them. Because she is a frog.” asks NG, confidently.

“What?” I say, shocked. “Who told you that?”

“Yesterday Daddy said on the iPad in the sky the Queen did look like a frog and frogs are French.”

I look at my parents uneasily. Xenophobia is not something I have encouraged. “She means Skype,” I say, and turn to my daughter. “When we Skyped Daddy, he did say the Queen looked a bit like a frog, I know, but … why do you think frogs are French?”

“Because the frog in my Frog Prince Potty book does say ‘oui’. ‘Oui’ means French for ‘yes.'”

“He says ‘wee,” I sigh with relief. “He says ‘wee’ because he’s trying to help the princess go on the potty.” (Don’t ask … it’s a strange book but it’s worked for us). “I think Nana is going to make scones instead.”

“One actually,” says my mother, decisively. “In honour of the Queen. I am just going to make one enormous bun.”

“But you’d better not have any, Mummy,” says NG to me, looking deadly serious. “Because your bum is already a bit big.”



Characters are abbreviated as follows:

NW – not William (husband and father)

NG – not George (daughter, sister and two and nearly three year old)

NC – not Charlotte (son, brother and nine month old)

NL – not Lupo (a Labrador)


A Mum Track Mind
Keep Calm and Carry On Linking Sunday


  1. June 12, 2016 / 4:14 am

    lol i loved this! what a cute story. the queen is a french frog <3

  2. June 12, 2016 / 4:28 am

    I must say I thought the Queen was wearing a particularly kermit-esque shade of green! Kate’s hat with the flowers was gorgeous though. Wish I looked her straight after giving birth. I suppose it’s only been three weeks; I should be kinder to myself! I’ll keep telling myself I’ll snap back to her size in no time (not that I was really her size beforehand!). #KCACOLS

    • June 12, 2016 / 6:22 am

      Oh thank you – I think the Queen’s outfit was a matter of taste (see what I did there? :)) And yes, after only three weeks you absolutely have to make sure you treat yourself like a goddess as far as possible (or Duchess)! Good luck with the baby – how very exciting. xx Thank you for your comment. #KCACOLS

  3. June 12, 2016 / 6:37 am

    I’d love to know how they managed to produce the dye to make that outfit quite such a “vibrant” shade of green. Reminded me a little of the glow stick parties we used have in the Students Union sometimes. Or wheatgrass shots (not that I’ve ever tasted one of those, they look vile).
    I did think the Queen pulled it off though, in fact she always looks very elegant, love her.

    #kcacols (only because I see you’ve linked it, I didn’t actually arrive here through kcacols! 😉 )

  4. June 12, 2016 / 7:40 am

    Love this!! So funny. Glad I’m not the only one who has to do a live feed translation of all things child-speak to the grandparents (Peppa vs Pepper etc etc). Trips to their house are never *quite* as relaxing as I anticipate they might be, sadly.

    • June 12, 2016 / 7:55 am

      I’m pretty sure every parent of young children has to translate. There is a secret language that exists for a couple of years and you’re right; they can make trips to other people’s houses quite draining sometimes … x

  5. June 12, 2016 / 8:56 am

    Haha, it was rather lurid! I was more impressed that Philip can still balance that hat on his old noggin. Xx #KCACOLS

  6. June 12, 2016 / 10:08 am

    Oh this one has to be my fave of all your brilliant posts so far! Just fantastic, had me really laughing, so much so that my sides still ache. You have to love grandparents and their ability to carry on as normal even when their grandchildren are visiting and causing havoc. Also I am quite sure that those Peppa Pig yoghurts have some sort of addictive drug in it as Youngest is quite obsessed with them. That pig has so much to answer for #KCACOLS

  7. June 12, 2016 / 12:26 pm

    Aren’t kids charmers.
    And hey, if was the queen, or both, I’d give zero fecks what anyone thought! She rocked it.

  8. June 12, 2016 / 6:25 pm

    Ha ha! Love it! A friend said that the Queen must be wearing that colour to stop her getting lost now that she’s 90!

    I’m sure you haven’t got a big bum. We can rely on our kids to make us feel great hey 😉 Love all the conversations that happen as you’re getting ready.

    Hope you enjoyed the street party 🙂

  9. June 12, 2016 / 8:00 pm

    Oh, that valuable 2 minutes in a locked WC!

    I think the Queen wore that outfit because the bookies would insist on you describing the shade of green before they would pay out. She knew no one would guess it would be ‘Kermit Green.’

    I can just imagine her sitting down with her Royal Dress designer. ‘I was rather hoping you could make me a dress in green, Kermit green. George is rather fond of that little American frog.’

  10. June 14, 2016 / 1:29 pm

    Oh I love this! I loved seeing the Royals on the balcony. George looks like a little rascal leaning over! I bet he’s like Harry. I love your writing style. Makes me giggle each time xx

    hanks so much for linking up at #KCACOLS. Hope you come back again next Sunday

    Rachel x

  11. June 14, 2016 / 8:12 pm

    I loved seeing them all on the balcony together. I got the impression Kate and Wills were literally holding their breath and crossing their fingers the kids behaved! I like to think they were anyway. I loved how your parents insisted they didn’t need to check on the kids because they’re not theirs made me laugh! #fortheloveofblog

  12. June 16, 2016 / 6:52 pm

    I must say that a lunchtime glass of wine sounds awfully appealing some days – perhaps the grandparents have it right! What on earth was Queenie wearing that horrendous shade of green for? It certainly made her stand out, but for all the wrong reasons? I thought the kids were just gorgeous, they were lucky that there was no meltdowns though. My little one is really shy and would freak out if she were faced with all that noise and those crowds. Thanks for joining us on #fortheloveofBLOG x

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