When R and I arrived in Cardiff this morning and turned into the road where we always park, the Boy Wonder and his mother were waiting at the end of it, and when he saw who was getting out of the car he began literally jumping up and down, and hooting with excited laughter – a joyous welcome that set the tone for the day. L explained that they were out having breakfast together when she’d seen on the tracking link we’d sent her that we were about to arrive, and she’d thought it would be nice if they walked round the corner to meet us.
“What did you have for breakfast?” she asked him. “Can you remember?”
“No,” he replied. “I can’t.”
“Almond croissant,” she whispered, and he turned to me and announced, “Armund cwassont,” with great authority and satisfaction.
“How lovely,” I said. “I love an almond croissant.” “Plus,” said L to me, “he ate half my sausage.”
“And I had SOSSIDGES!!” roared the Boy.
Back in the house L went off to a Zoom meeting, and after surveying the playroom, which looked as though it had been hit by a toy-seeking missile, I suggested that we should play the Tidying Up Game. B loves tidying almost as much as he loves untidying, so he was happy to spend the rest of the morning on this task, stopping every now and then to actually play with something we’d unearthed from the tottering heap of chaos.
At lunch time I checked the contents of the fridge, and asked if he’d like some chicken curry with rice. “No fankyou,” was the immediate and firm response, which left me a bit discombobulated because I couldn’t see much else that looked to be applicable to small boys. “Are you sure?” I said. “Yes,” he replied, “I am.” And then, peering into the fridge himself, à la Tigger: “Wass that? Oh. Wass that one? I want that…” and so on. After a few minutes of this, L appeared. “Do you want chicken curry and rice for lunch?” she said. “Yes PLEASE!” said the Boy – clearly relieved that someone had turned up who knew what Tiggers liked.
After lunch we went to the park, B insisting on walking, and helping to push the pushchair – which was variously a lorry, a rubbish truck and a mower. All of these fascinating machines were instantly forgotten however, when we turned a corner and found a couple of workmen digging up a section of the opposite pavement with a small mechanical digger. After we’d stood and watched them for a couple of minutes, R and I began to try to coax him onwards. “No,” he said. “I don’t want to go to the park. I am going to stay here.” And promptly sat down on the pavement. Luckily the workmen went off for their break soon afterwards, or we might have been there all afternoon.
At the playground the Boy spent an hour swinging (at least according to R, who should know because he did all the pushing), and for quite a bit of that time he had us all singing Show Me the Way To Go Home in loud 3-part harmony – and occasionally in rounds as well, as R and I tried and failed to keep pace with B’s timing. I feel that we should probably apologise to anyone who’d been hoping for a quiet session on the swings this afternoon.
I took this photo after he’d finished swinging and was trying to decide what to do next, and I’m posting it for R, who’s always charmed when he adopts this stance. I’m charmed too, mainly by the Boy himself because he was lovely today, but also by his resemblance here to the other small blonde boy of my heart, who c. 1997 also wore long, baggy shorts and a backwards baseball cap. There’s a family photo I’d like to create, the next time I can get the two of them together.
