G and I have grown so accustomed to the microbe’s funny little verbal tics that we don’t really notice or make efforts to correct them any more – hence he goes about uttering streams of nonsense that only his parents can understand. (Visitors stare at him, bemused, when he wanders over and says “please can I have a tory?”)
Recently we had this classic in public…
“Mummy! Look! I’ve got a dick! I’m waving my dick in the guy! And daddy’s got a BIG dick!”
“Oh. Yes, Daddy has got a big STICK, hasn’t he?”
(Imagine the Cartmanesque fun as we read Julia Donaldson’s Stick Man.)
Last night was no better. As G was collecting him from nursery…
“Daddy, is that a car?” [pointing at a van]
“IS it a car, daddy?” [intent stare]
“Well, actually it’s not a car. It’s a van”
“A van! A van car! VANCAR! VANCAR! VANCAR!” (all the way down the road)
But it’s not all profanity; sometimes it’s just general strangeness. Last Friday, amid the switching-on of the Twickenham Xmas lights, the boy spotted a merry-go-round with tiny cars, trains, bikes and boats …and one lone, blue elephant. (Guess which ride we had to grab, under pain of disappointment-too-crushing-to-contemplate?)
As soon as it was the microbe’s turn G scurried in and plonked him on the elephant and we watched him ride around jubilantly, shouting “Aroooo!” at the top of his voice until it stopped. I don’t think anyone on earth, besides us, understood that “arooo” is his elephant noise. Nearby parents looked on with a mixture of bemusement and sympathy, probably wondering what sort of condition he has. (G and I consoled ourselves that at least we weren’t in charge of the next boy along, who had a face like a bulldog and spent the entire ride trying to destroy the tiny car he was riding in.)
On a different topic, I picked up a bargainacious copy of this book in Poundland last week. It might as well have been written for the Microbe, being the story of a park keeper who ends up bed-sharing with an endless succession of woodland animals. The boy currently demands this story twice a night and declares “It’s like James’s bed!” Then, when we get to the end he asks if Father Christmas will bring him a mole.
Good old Father C. The all-seeing eye! What on earth did we do without him? No naughtiness escapes his notice and, of course, he doesn’t bring moles to disobedient boys with untouched plates and uncleaned teeth, does he? He’s currently being invoked at least 5 times a day. Long may it last.
On a related note, Jimmy and I made a load more Christmas cards at the weekend…
He’s become slightly addicted to this activity and has started to embellish with a little more abstract gusto, the longer we go on…
He also cares little for seasonal relevance – so some of you will be getting frogs in santa hats and at least one of you is getting a pair of snogging pigs.