Easy as...

In the car today the kids were singing ABC... more or less.

Boy: ... Now I know my ABC...
Girl: ...next time I won't sing with you!

Girl's version is very cute, and she includes at least three "b"s.
My personal favourite is the mutant-hybrid letter: Gubble-eks

Boy tried to correct her, of course.
Duh-bul-yoo!

Another backseat conversation:

Boy: What was the story about?
Girl: Uh... I don't know.
Boy: Do you mean you forgot?
Girl: Uh...yeah. I forgot.
Boy: Well you can't say I don't know if you forgot. They don't mean the same thing, you know. So, did you forget what the story was about?
Girl: Uh... I don't know.

Flap my wings and fly away

This morning, Boy was perched on the wrought iron frame at the end of our bed. I've asked him not to do this on many occasions. He tells me to just calm down. Stop nagging.

So, anyway, this morning he did the thing I've been warning him might happen - he toppled over backward and fell straight on to his back. I rushed round to him, barely restraining my Itoldyouso.

But he knew what I was thinking.

I..I..I'm ok, he managed to stammer, trying to hold back the tears.
I picked him up, carried him to the bed and cuddled him.
He cried a little, but kept talking:

I put my arms out to flap, but I was too close to the ground so I couldn't put them out again. So I couldn't fly.
But I glided a bit. Did you see me? Actually, I fell really slowly, because my shirt filled up like a parachute.

I said: it looked to me like you fell straight on to your back.

No, I landed like an airplane.

On your landing gear?

Yes... well, no... On my feet. See, I put my feet down like this.

I laughed. Couldn't help it.

Anyway, he's fine.

Quantum leap

Boy has made an amazing discovery! Little footprints in the sandpit. It's going to take a lot science to figure this one out.

They're definitely not our cat's - too small, no claw marks.

They must belong to a wild cat. Yes, definitely a cat, not a dog. (Though they do look a little like the painted dog prints at the zoo.)

A wild, nocturnal cat.

Possibly a wild, nocturnal *blind* cat. It's possible. Hard to say at this point.

And it howls! Yes, he hears it every night.

It snores and sleeps in the day time.

It's black. (We mustn't forget to write that.)

The adult of this as-yet unnamed discovery has a footprint the size of a car. So this must be a baby.

It's from Africa, but it escaped to here, Perth.

Once he figures out this mystery, he's going to write books and sell them to everyone in the whole, wide world.

Love my Boy

Boy and I seem to be involved in some sort of parent-child tussle to see who is the boss. It's not a battle I want to indulge in, nor do I see the need in any case. But Boy, apparently, wants this. He complains constantly and incessantly about my dictatorial ways. He threatens to annoy me just as much as I annoy him. He critiques my decision making skills and tells me he hates me. He goes on and on and on and on. It's tiresome. I let it wash over me. I let him make as many decisions for himself as he sensibly can. I point out the flaws in his crazy schemes - now, really, there are still a great many things you need help with Boy. Do you think you can live alone just yet? When you're bigger.

He wants to escape - to live in space or under the ocean. He wants the house to take off, driven by the pure willpower of a 5 year old, to take him to new and exciting lands. He's constantly building vehicles of escape, but none of them ever work. And he's is frustrated and angry. And sometimes he throws himself at me, fists and spittle flying.

And he wants to be the boss of me. Do as I say! I don't care what you say. I don't care what you want.

Today, he was yelling at me to freeze.

No, I said. I don't want to.

You have to FREEZE!

No. I'm not going to do something just because you tell me to. I need a good reason.

You have to freeze because.... I want to give you a cuddle.

So I froze. And he came to me and cuddled me and said: I love you mummy.

I'll do what I want!

Look mummy, I've told you FIVE times now, so you've got it, right? I don't want you interfering with my cooking practice.

Yeah. I got it. Do you understand my problem with this?

I think I do...

It's because I'm worried you'll waste food making something that even you won't eat and make a big mess that you'll refuse to clean up.

No. The problem is that I don't care...

Yeah. I got that.

The silver screen

Recuperating from a nasty dose of gastro, Boy occupied himself this afternoon with plans to build a TV. (Having completed the truck that is his latest attempt at achieving space travel.)

Unfortunately, I wasn't much help with figuring out how to make one, and he didn't get much further than dumping toys out of one of his plastic tubs. Then daddy got home...

Here, we see the timeless classic that is Crazy Penguin and Draggy the Dragon Battling to the Death.

Well, actually, not to the death....

".. and then, they got married."

Fair's fair

It's a fairly typical scene: Girl hits Boy. Boy hits Girl. Girl and Boy live happily ever after...

Girl: Boy hurt me!
Daddy: Let me see. Now Boy, that wasn't nice.
Boy: But she hurt me, too.
Daddy: What did she do to you?
Boy: The same thing I did to her....
Mummy: Girl's only little still, she doesn't really understand. Can you think of anything else you could do, next time Girl hurts you?
Boy: .... hurt her back?
Mummy: I mean aside from hurting her back. Something else.
Boy: ... jump on her? [snigger]
Girl: I jump on Boy!