Fluent in Dubby Dubby

Whilst Eddie's linguistic skills come on apace, Gilby's seem to be regressing.

Since starting school, he has acquired the ability to communicate in 'Dubby dubby': a nonsense language that contains a number of incomprehensible (to me, anyway) words; many of which sound remarkably like 'dubby'.

It is also important that he insult any (male) friend with a compound image involving the word, 'poo'. A conversation at the school gates might go something like this:

Gilby: Bye bye poo-poo-head.

Friend: Bye bye nicompoop-poo.

Gilby: See you tomorrow silly-poo-face.

Friend: You too, poo-poo-pop.

And they giggle and wave at each other as they depart, no sign of any animostity between them.

I always smile, uncertainly, at the inevitably middle-class looking mum whose son is the recipient of these terms of endearment, and comment on how well they seem to be getting along. They usually tend to hurry in the opposite direction.

If I suggest quietly to Gilby that it might be a good idea not to shout so loudly or indeed add the word 'poo' to everything he says, the response is very likely to be something along the lines of "Dubby, dubby, Mummy nicompoo-poo."

Eddie, in the corner quietly scribbling on my freshly-painted dresser with his fat felt-tips, might comment, "Gilby's talking nonsense again, Mummy," and my two-year-old and I will shrug together and share a moment of collective eyes raised to heaven before I throttle him for graffiti-ing the kitchen again.

First Graffiti

"Mummy, look what I've done..." There was pride tinged with anxiety in the voice.  It's a tone I know well.   It translates roughly as, 'I'm ever so excited about the thing that's just happened, but I have the teensiest tiniest suspicion that you may not share my enthusiasm for it.'

I had asked Gertie to wait by the car for a moment as we were getting ready to leave the house this morning.  In those few seconds, what she had produced, technically, was her first piece of graffiti.  In case you can't quite make it out, it reads, 'I *heart* charlie xx *heart*.

Charlie is, like Gertie, five years old. He is one of four boyfriends, she tells me with a blush.  Graffiti and polygamy.  Can't wait for the teenage years.

No comments about the state of the car, please.  It's been very, very wet here.