Once we’d finally persuaded the Boy Wonder into his shoes and got him down to the park, and R was preparing to give him the required Big Launch on the swings, I said, “Is it OK if I leave you and Granddad swinging, and go off to look for a bee?” “You can look for a dragonfly if you like,” replied the Boy, who was very taken on our last visit by a film I showed him on my phone, of a dragonfly larva jet-propelling itself around a water-filled box by squirting water out of its bum. “Too early for dragonflies,” I said, “and too cold. But if I’m lucky I might find a bee over there on the flowers.”
The Boy kindly agreed to me absenting myself, but two minutes later he turned up at the shrub border to help me with the bee hunt. “If you’re OK doing this together,” said R, “I’m going off in search of coffee.” We were OK, but there were no bees, and the ground was very swampy, so as soon as I saw R coming back with a takeaway cup carrier I suggested to B that we should go and meet him. “Did you get me a babyccino?” said B. “I did,” said R. “And has it got marshmellows in it?” “I don’t know,” said R. “We’ll have to go to a table, and then you can open it and see.”
The last time we bought him a babyccino with marshmallows, the Boy simply plunged a hand into the cup, scooped the whole mess out and applied it to his face like a cleansing mask, but he’s older now (by at least three weeks) and today he tackled it rather more conservatively. After delicately picking a few sweets off the top and popping them in his mouth he tried picking up the cup and drinking them, but when this didn’t work he turned to me and said, “I need a spoon.” “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I don’t have one with me.” “Well, go to the café,” said the Petit Prince, “and get me one.” “No,” I said. “The café people are not going to let me take one of their spoons into the park.” B’s frown deepened, and to head off a revolt I suggested that he should carefully drink the milk from around the marshmallows, and then once the cup was empty he’d be able to tip out the rest of the sweets quite easily, either into the cup lid or straight into his mouth. After a couple of seconds thought he decided to try this, and to (probably) both of our surprise, it worked.
The Boy was still drinking his remaining marshmallows, cup on face à la Jimmy Durante, and a pink, white and brown handlebar moustache becoming visible at its edges, when another little boy bounced up and began talking to him in great excitement. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and B always gazes at the incomer with an absolute lack of recognition, as if to say Who are you, and why are you speaking to me? that reminds me a little of my own reaction when people in bird hides say “Don’t I know you?” But in the end we managed to establish that in fact they did know each other, and after the marshmellows were finished they went off and had a riotous half hour playing with a tennis ball in the bandstand. Sadly it appears that M might have inherited his ball skills as well as his social skills from me, but I’m sure other people in the family will be able to help him improve them – today R and I were just happy that he was having fun.
