A few more of my many recently entertaining conversations with my older son:
Scene 1: The toy room
INC: Okay boys. It's time for a bath
Bundle: No. I want a zebra
It is mildly comforting that this was a reference to a hand puppet, but perhaps not as comforting as one might think.
Scene 2: The toy room: More recently
Bundle: [proudly wearing his 'big boy' undies] I'm going to say something to the nappies
INC: Okay....
*Bundle walks over to the nappy box*
Bundle: SILLY NAPPIES!
INC: .....
Scene 3: Also the toy room: Only slightly less recently
Bundle: What time is it?
INC: It's 8.30.
Bundle: Oh
*Five minutes later*
Bundle: What time is it?
INC: It's twenty five to nine
Bundle: Oh. Good.
*Five minutes later*
Bundle: What time is it?
INC: It's twenty to nine
Bundle: Hmmmmm
*Five minutes later*
Bundle: What time is it?
INC: It's quarter to nine
Bundle: QUARTER TO NINE! REALLY? THAT SURPRISES ME!
.......
It surprised me too. Quite a lot, actually.
Wednesday 30 April 2008
Thursday 24 April 2008
Identity
A couple of recent conversations with the boys.
INC: Do you know something, Cherub? I think you're gorgeous
Cherub: Noooooooooo
INC: Yes you are. You're gorgeous.
Cherub. Nooooooo. Cheeky boy, actually.
And then there was my attempt to explain to Bundle why, whilst grateful for the offer, I was not going along with his suggestion that he could carry some ridiculously heavy item up the stairs for me (I think it was our large metal tool kit). It went like this:
Bundle: But why can't I carry it
INC: I wouldn't want you to drop it on your toes. It would hurt. You would say "oooo ouch. My toes" I don't want you to have to say "oooooo ouch"
Bundle: Seals do that sometimes.
So, one child has picked up the bizarre notion that his incessant cheekiness makes him less gorgeous, not more, which is not an idea he could possibly have got from his parents, and the other one thinks my impression of a toddler with a sore toe sounds confusingly similar to my impression of a seal.
Ever get the feeling that if the results of your parenting match your intentions it is more or less entirely a happy coincidence? I do.
INC: Do you know something, Cherub? I think you're gorgeous
Cherub: Noooooooooo
INC: Yes you are. You're gorgeous.
Cherub. Nooooooo. Cheeky boy, actually.
And then there was my attempt to explain to Bundle why, whilst grateful for the offer, I was not going along with his suggestion that he could carry some ridiculously heavy item up the stairs for me (I think it was our large metal tool kit). It went like this:
Bundle: But why can't I carry it
INC: I wouldn't want you to drop it on your toes. It would hurt. You would say "oooo ouch. My toes" I don't want you to have to say "oooooo ouch"
Bundle: Seals do that sometimes.
So, one child has picked up the bizarre notion that his incessant cheekiness makes him less gorgeous, not more, which is not an idea he could possibly have got from his parents, and the other one thinks my impression of a toddler with a sore toe sounds confusingly similar to my impression of a seal.
Ever get the feeling that if the results of your parenting match your intentions it is more or less entirely a happy coincidence? I do.
I know every tune about dardi-cars and hurts and hearts and moons
So Grizzlewick went on his first excursion yesterday, to the botanical gardens.
He came home pleased as punch after what he considers to be his first ride on a bus (actually we used the bus frequently when in Preston, but don’t try telling him that).
Also, he was excited about the cannon in the gardens, which I understand was clambered over by many an over-excited young child.
It also prompted the following conversation:
Grizzlewick: So mummy, the cannon doesn’t work now.
Me: Mmm-hmmmm…
Grizzlewick: But in the old days, it used to go peow peow peow!
Me: Uh-huh….
Grizzlewick: Yes! And it used to shoot at the dardi-cars!
Me: ???!!!
Subsequent conversations have been unable to tease out the true identity of the “dardi-cars”.
My thoughts are initially that
a) he made it up entirely or
b) he means the “Dardanelles”, in which case I have to wonder why my son is being provided with a detailed history of military campaigns and ordinance.
Any advances on these thoughts?
He came home pleased as punch after what he considers to be his first ride on a bus (actually we used the bus frequently when in Preston, but don’t try telling him that).
Also, he was excited about the cannon in the gardens, which I understand was clambered over by many an over-excited young child.
It also prompted the following conversation:
Grizzlewick: So mummy, the cannon doesn’t work now.
Me: Mmm-hmmmm…
Grizzlewick: But in the old days, it used to go peow peow peow!
Me: Uh-huh….
Grizzlewick: Yes! And it used to shoot at the dardi-cars!
Me: ???!!!
Subsequent conversations have been unable to tease out the true identity of the “dardi-cars”.
My thoughts are initially that
a) he made it up entirely or
b) he means the “Dardanelles”, in which case I have to wonder why my son is being provided with a detailed history of military campaigns and ordinance.
Any advances on these thoughts?
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