Vignette at the swings

Muslin Mummy gently swings and sings to her little daughter, who chortles cheerily, waving at the six-year-old hogging a baby swing next-door.

Badly-behaved Six-Year-Old: Dad, Da-a-a-d, Dad, come push me on these baby swings! Now!
Grumpy Dad: Who you talking to? Youse too big for them baby swings. I’m not fackin swingin you, you can do it your ownself.
Badly-behaved Six-Year-Old: I’m kicking off my shoes. They’re off now. Look! Swing me. Da-a-a-d.
Grumpy Dad (now grumpily pushing): Say please. Say thank you, cantya.
Muslin Mummy (to pointing Hungry Mouth): Yes, those are pretty pink shoes. Soon you’ll be walking and then you can have some shoes too.
Hungry Mouth: Hah! (chortle)
Grumpy Dad (to Muslin Mummy): Yes, and as soon as she turns sixteen she can put em on and walk out the house and never come back. (to Badly-behaved Six-Year-Old): Gerroff! Put em back on. Come back ere!