Sad choices

It is All Hallows Eve! For modern children this means pumpkins and treats and dressing up at every opportunity.  (When I was a microbe I’m pretty sure it was just apple bobbing…  I am clearly very very old indeed.)

On Saturday we have a Halloween-themed party to go to and the microbe will be channeling Count Dracula in a super-spivvy outfit that we have lined up for him. G and I will be accompanying him as a sort of half-baked Grim Reaper and a skeleton-gimp. Don’t blame me. G’s costume really is described on Amazon as “wicked skinz gimp bodysuit”.  Be sure to brace yourselves for those pics, won’t you.

In the meantime we did indeed carve some pumpkins and they gave us excellent service right up until Halloween morning, at which point they gave up the ghost and went bad. I probably ought to have kept them outside in the cold rather than festering in a centrally heated room but, in the week of stormageddon, the idea of an innocent by-passer being assaulted by a comedy flying pumpkin was enough to deter me.

Here they are enjoying their salad days…

pumpkins1 pumpkins2 pumpkins3

In true method-acting style, the microbe got into the Dracula character last week by having a gnaw on his bosom-buddy, Sam, at nursery. Sad choice-tastic! James declared that Sam pushed him over and made him cry. Who will ever know what came first? Suffice to say their little bro’mance is rife with ‘sad choices’, especially during the grizzle-hour immediately before pick-up. And yet, through tooth and claw, they remain as inseparable as ever. They are a strange and forgiving lot, toddlers.

In other news, the microbe’s on-going antipathy to calories has even begun to haunt his nightmares.  The other day I caught him wailing in his sleep “I don’t want a Fruuuuuube!

Nursery has started a helpful scheme of rewarding our malnourished waif with a sticker every time he eats a meal. It doesn’t seem to work for every meal, but he has nevertheless become marginally heavier in the last week or two.  Long may it last!

Now I’m attempting to discourage his charming new hobby of bellowing at me like a fishwife, from one end of the flat to another. He likes to climb into his chair in the kitchen and yell


and then (when I turn up) utter a plaintive whimper of

“I want some caaike!”

Tackling one thing at a time, I have asked him to drop the estuary twang and at least learn to bellow properly. This has resulted in a modified and ridiculous yell of


(One might almost interpret it as sarcastic, if one were to suspect him of being his father’s son.)

On that note, I shall slope off and wish you all a happy witching hour.  Here is something extremely creepy from Jim-Jam’s big book of children’s poetry, to sweeten your dreams…

The Man Who Wasn’t There
by Brian Lee

Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away

I’ve seen his shapeless shadow-coat
Beneath the stairway, hanging about;
And outside, muffled in a cloak
The same colour as the dark;

I’ve seen him in a black, black suit
Shaking under the broken light;
I’ve seen him swim across the floor
and disappear beneath the door

And once, I almost heard his breath
Behind me, running up the path:
Inside, he leant against the wall,
And turned… and was no one at all.

Yesterday upon the stair
I meet a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today,
I wish, I wish he’d go away.

About Susan Flockhart

Bonsai lady-geek and blogger. I can hardly recall what I used to blog about pre-microbes, but these days I generally ramble about motherhood, nonsense and whatever's going on the world of tiny people
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