One day, when I was pregnant with Justababy, I took Boy out with me to look for baby stuff. Well, first we stopped at Bunnings so he could go nuts in the play ground while I drank a coffee. On the way out I picked up some gardening gloves for him. He was right chuffed. They were too big, but he insisted on wearing them anyway.
So, there I was, browsing the baby shop, when I bumped into my son, his hands held upright to keep the gloves on - like a surgeon attempting to preserve sterility. He threw himself to the ground and began inspecting the underside of a cot, declaring: I looking for creepy crawlies. There's lots of them all over the place.
Boy recently spent a few nights with his grandparents. When we got there, his grandma asked him if he'd like to stay with her.
Oh yes, he said, then I won't get yelled at.
At least he knows better than to tell her about the beatings.
I mentioned previously Boy's passion for television. He has added to his repertoire with a mafia standover technique.
Mummy, can I watch TV? I promise I won’t erupt you...
Translation: Hey, that’s a nice baby you’ve got there. It would be such a shame if someone were to wake it up. You turn on the TV... I can guarantee that won’t happen.
Mummy, make the numbers. I wanna call the police. My car got broken
This is what the police lady says: Please check the number before trying again.
The other day Boy called our local medical centre. He was blabbering away as usual – something about wanting some “Big, tiny, long, smooth wood. You know the one, it’s white. Do you have it? Ok. Yes, I need some of that big, tiny, long, smooth wood. Ok?” – when Granma suddenly realised there was actually someone on the line. Whoops.
But it’s ok, because a few days later he got a hold of the phone again and called The Fat Controller (aka Granma, or in this case, her assistant, Grandad) and asked for some more wood – “You know, the long, smooth, white stuff”.