**My Daughter and I Have a ‘Code Word’ – And Yesterday Proved Why You Need One Too**
This little adventure reminded me why having a secret word with your kids isn’t just for spy films—it’s real-life parenting gold.
When I was a kid, my mum taught me a code word for those *just-in-case* moments when speaking plainly wasn’t an option. Fast forward to adulthood, and I passed the baton to my daughter. I assumed she’d use it to dodge an awkward schoolmate’s birthday party—not that she’d need it barely a month later.
Yesterday began like any typical British afternoon—tea in hand, rain drizzling outside—when my phone buzzed. It was my ex-husband, Simon. We’d once been cosy as scones and clotted cream, but divorce had turned us into more of a mismatched biscuit dunked in lukewarm tea. We kept things civil for our daughter, Poppy, but the tension was always there, lurking like a misplaced apostrophe in a text message.
“Hello, Emily,” Simon said, sounding oddly hesitant. “Poppy’s been asking to chat. Wants to tell you about her day.”
Now, that was unusual. Poppy adored her weekends with her dad—calling me mid-visit wasn’t her style. “Oh, right. Put her on,” I said, sipping my tea calmly while my stomach did somersaults.
“Hiya, Mum!” Poppy chirped, but something in her voice was… off. Too bright, like a British summer pretending it wasn’t about to rain again.
“Hello, love! Having fun?” I asked, keeping it breezy.
“Yeah! We went to the park, and I drew pictures today—a dog, a tree, and… I *really* wish I had a purple crayon to draw blackberries.”
And just like that, my teacup froze halfway to my lips. *Blackberries.* Our secret word. The one that meant, *Mum, SOS, extract me now.*
“Sounds brilliant, sweetheart. I’ll pop over straight away. Don’t mention it to Dad, all right? I’ll explain when I get there.”
“Anything else to tell me?”
“Nope, that’s all,” she said sweetly, but I could *hear* the pinch of worry in her voice.
“See you soon, love.”
“Bye, Mum. Love you.”
“Love you too, Poppy-posh.” She giggled as I hung up, but my hands were shaking. Simon was a decent dad—what on earth had happened? Keys snatched, I dashed to the car, rehearsing polite-but-firm lines in my head.
When I knocked, a woman I’d never seen before answered, looking at me like I’d just asked to borrow a cup of sugar at midnight.
“Can I help *you*?” she said, voice sharper than a cactus in a handshake.
“I’m here for Poppy. Is Simon in?”
“He’s just popped to the shops. I’m Rebecca, his girlfriend.”
Ah. Well. That explained *nothing*, because Simon had somehow forgotten to mention he’d moved in with someone. Priorities, eh?
“Emily, Poppy’s mum,” I said, flashing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Just remembered she’s got a dentist appointment tomorrow—need to prep her. Silly me forgot to tell Simon.”
Rebecca narrowed her eyes but stepped aside. Poppy was curled on the sofa, colouring. Her smile when she saw me was genuine, but her grip on the crayon was white-knuckled.
“Right then, love! Dentist prep time,” I said brightly, steering her out before Rebecca could protest.
Once in the car, Poppy’s brave face crumpled. “Mum, Rebecca’s *horrid* when Dad’s not there. Says I’m a nuisance and I should stay in my room.”
Oh, *hell* no.
“You did *exactly* right telling me,” I said, squeezing her hand. “We’ll sort this. You won’t have to see her again if you don’t want to.”
Back home, after biscuits and cuddles, I rang Simon.
“Emily? Rebecca said you took Poppy?”
“Poppy used our code word, Simon. Because your girlfriend’s been *lovely* to her when you’re out.”
Silence. Then: “She wouldn’t— Rebecca’s great with kids—”
“*Our* kid disagrees. She was *terrified* to tell you.”
Another pause. “Blimey. I’ll… talk to her.”
“You do. But Poppy comes first. Always.”
After hanging up, I slumped onto the sofa. Bloody typical—all I’d wanted was a quiet cuppa. But Poppy’s code word had worked, and that’s what mattered.
So, parents, heed this: a code word isn’t paranoia—it’s a *lifeline*. Pick something obscure (skip “football” or “unicorn”) and practice it. Maybe even a quirky phrase like “jumping jellyfish” or “wonky wellies.”
And if your kid ever drops it into conversation? *Move.* Because sometimes, the smallest word is the loudest cry for help.
**A/N:** Inspired by real-life moments but spruced up for storytelling. Names, cups of tea, and dramatic exes have been adjusted for your reading pleasure. Any resemblance to actual blunders is purely coincidental—and frankly, a bit too real.
