Saturday, 23 March 2013

World According to Gilby: The Little People

Gilby has very definite ideas about the way the world works.  His logic is unquestionable, with that cock-sure confidence and arms-outstretched earnestness only a three-year-old can pull off.

This morning, he patiently explains to me how his toy microphone works.

'So you see, Mummy, you just sing in to it, like this...and the little people inside join in with you to make it louder.'

I can't really criticise, since I remember as a child knowing, with absolute certainty, that the television only operated when the little people inside were awake.

If only these little people weren't confined inside their little gadgets.  There are plenty of other things I could get them to do around the house...

Sunday, 10 March 2013

Call it a Duck

Eddie's been...less keen...than either Gertie or Gilby to walk and talk.  The walking is down to his hyper-mobility and we'll get there in the end with the help of the physio and ingenious playing that involves having to get on his feet to reach stuff.  But with his speech there's mostly a lot of Bill and Ben going on:  Babbly conversations of nothing much in particular that have the intonation and variation of real dialogue.  But he does now have his first ten words, representative of the importance of things in his world:

Dog
Duck
Daddy
Banana
Car
Look
Mummy
That
Sock
Shark

Yes, I'm a bit bemused by that last one.  'Shark' is usually said in the bath, accompanied by a scary sort of a roar. What's going on in that little head, I'm not entirely sure.


But, though the list looks varied, most thing are 'ducks'.  In fact, 'if in doubt, call it a duck', seems to be his maxim. This applies to most animals (that aren't dogs or sharks) including our chickens in the garden abd the cat. And when we are out and about there are ducks that moo and ducks that say 'baa', apparently. It's one of the most common species in the animal kingdom, the duck.

But frankly, with two older and more communicative siblings, usually pointing and a cry of anguish gets what he wants.  Who needs words?  It was fine for Bill and Ben.  Though come to think of it, even those flower pots could walk...

Sunday, 3 March 2013

Baggy Trousers

The world's 'most prolific' streaker, Mark Roberts, with 519 streaks under his...er, well not his belt, I suppose...retired last month, much to the reported relief of his children.

This is lucky in that it leaves a gap in the market for my son.  Still four months away from his fourth birthday, he is showing early signs of a vocation.  In truth, he finds any excuse to drop his trousers.  In public is best, preferably a restaurant, or somewhere equally embarassing (for his mother);  since he appears to feel no embarrassment whatsoever, but gains some kind of genuine pleasure from this exhibitionism.  And people laugh.  Which he loves. 

He usually claims that his trousers are too big.  I have resorted to adjusting every pair to the tightest setting, so that he has to breathe in to get them done up in the morning.  Nevertheless, at some point during the day, they will be round his ankles, and he'll have a mischievous look on his face, arms outstretched to absolve himself from blame. (Yes, a little bit like Mark Roberts in the picture...)

It's been going on for a couple of years.  Ever since his release from the imprisonment of nappies, I suppose, and the freedom of potty training with its inbuilt excuse to whip his pants off without prompting. His audiences are confined to Pizza Hut and the local pub at the moment, but when he makes a name for himself at Wimbledon, or Wembley, in a few years time, you heard it here first.