Mother, Know Your Place!

Yesterday, while I was preparing lunch, Felix and Rob were playing a silly game in the kitchen. The game involved running to one side of the room, bumping into the wall with their tummies and shouting, ‘Duff!’ I was washing some things up and Rob said, ‘Mummy do it!’, so I obliged by trotting into the wall, abdomen first but Felix started to shake his head. ‘No, no no’, he said and led me by the hand back over to the sink. That told me.

There are Limits, You Know

Upon being encouraged to go upstairs for his nap today, Felix espied a little creature crawling along the hall by the kitchen and sat down next to it. ‘Bussydah!’ he exclaimed with a big smile, using the name he applies to every insect. ‘Yes, Felix! That’s called a woodlouse. It’s probably hungry and wants some lunch’, I suggested. ‘Kitchen!’ he said triumphantly and pointed the way for the hapless thing. 

He then looked up at the draining board and noticed his Thomas the Tank Engine bowl. With a worried expression he said, ‘Tommy...?’. ‘Don’t worry’, I assured him, ‘I don’t think woodlice like to eat out of Thomas bowls. He’ll leave it well alone, I’m sure’. He nodded and, with a look of satisfaction, got up and started to climb the stairs to bed.

This Weekend, on Felixvision...

• Rob’s face has been denounced as a ‘mess’ and his behaviour repeatedly regarded as ‘silly’ 

• The laptop has been upgraded to ‘robot’ status 

            Me: ‘Why is he calling it a robot?’ 

            Rob: ‘Because it has buttons.’

            Me: ‘Of course.’ 

            Felix: ‘Of course!’

• The bicydidor has been boringified to ‘bicycle’

• Felix has admitted to being ‘tifficult’ when I’m trying to change his nappy 

• Rob made the stunning observation that if his Mother drove an emergency fruit Felix would doubtlessly call it ‘Nanna’s Neenaa Nana’

...and that’s what you’ve missed during the three days in which I couldn't be arsed to write any blog entries. I’ll pull my socks up.

I Am A Geeaaynius!

Today shall be henceforth known as the day Felix exhibited the first signs of his latent artistic brilliance. Today, when indulging in one of our usual 'Mummy draw things for me as I command or risk certain death' sessions, he pointed at a spot on a blank piece of paper, said 'Pider', took up a black crayon, created his not-a-bunch-of-random-squiggles-at-all masterpiece, set down the crayon and said with clear finality, 'Pider'. This is incontrovertible proof that my son is a child prodigy and should probably be worshipped as a deity of some sort (maybe the God of Making Unreasonable Demands). Anyone who disagrees is patently a Nazi sympathiser whose favourite hobby is yak molestation while wearing a diving bell and singing 'My Old Man's a Dustman'.


(For those who don't get the title reference, please see Blackadder II, Episode IV)

Mummy, Watch Your Naughty Step!

This evening, at dinner, Felix decided to throw some of his pasta on the floor. I told him that we'd pick it up once we'd finished eating but he kept pointing at it and whining. Eventually, I said, 'Ok, if it's really bothering you then I'll pick it up and take it into the kitchen'. Upon my return, I was greeted with, 'No! It NOT funny. Going to count ten. Naughty'.

I genuinely have no idea where that came from but I'm impressed with Rob for hiding behind Felix in order to cry with laughter.

Heads Up

As I've been out all day and my laptop is not behaving itself, I will simply leave you with the following picture:

Imagine... a twenty two-month old spending most of the day...

Slamming his head into hard objects

Falling off things and banging his head

Walking into furniture and bumping his head

Smacking his face with seemingly harmless toys

Being unable to walk in a straight line for long without falling over and, yet again, injuring his cranium in some way.

But most of all, imagine....

Tears, screaming, 'Muuuuuummy!', climbing up me and hanging around my neck like a baby gibbon.

Poor chap. He has done some nice things too today. Honest.

Felexicon

Ever wanted to know how to go about understanding Felish? Well, now you can! Here is a Beginner’s Guide to commonly used words:

Doddor - Can refer specifically to his bosom companion, Norman the dog, or to any dog in general

Topper - Plane or helicopter

Peatop - Teapot

Bicydidor - Bicycle or anything that looks a bit like one

Bike car - motorbike

Pider - Spider

Doffee - coffee

Owee - yellow

Bussydah - Butterfly

Tea! - You are cordially invited to partake of afternoon (or morning, or evening, rather depends on what mood he’s in) tea with Felix. You will partake. Or else.

Further lessons in Felish will follow when he decides make further notable additions to his vocabulary.

Tickling is a Capital Offence and Heedless Bunnies Shall be Binned

I was teasing Felix by making a little toy man of his jump onto different parts of his body and tickle him. He was giggling his head of until, ‘Man tickle Felix’s tummy!’ at which point he grabbed the poor soul, stuffed him feet first into his gob and proceeded to chew his legs with a vicious, ‘Num num num!’ Harsh.

‘Sleeping Bunnies’ is a song which involves lying on the floor, pretending to be asleep and then springing up and hopping at the end, and Felix was really getting into it this afternoon. After a few rounds of this, I was getting knackered (participation is mandatory). So, I thought I’d cheat a bit by kneeling and just putting my head down low. As if this was going to fool him. ‘Night, NIGHT, bunny!’, he shouted, pointing at the floor. And so I found myself, once again, lying prone on hardwood flooring, persevering with this fascist’s paradise of a song to which some one gave a misleadingly innocuous title. I was dutifully ready for another round but I noticed that Master Lang had arisen and was doing something else. ‘Felix, you’re supposed to be sleeping! You’re a rubbish bunny’ I exclaimed. ‘Yes. Bin’, he conceded with a nod.

Bribery and Corruption

Well, I did it. I committed one of the seven deadly sins of parenting. Felix is going through a testing phase at the moment of happily walking for five minutes before standing stock-still, throwing up his arms and demanding, ‘Up!’. Now, my primary method of dealing with this is to give him a choice: ‘Felix want pushchair? Felix want to walk?’ and I repeat this slowly, face-to-face until he says ‘Yes’ to one of the choices. This usually works. This morning, it didn’t. He just kept refusing to budge and wouldn’t engage with me, so I eventually picked him up to put him in the pushchair but he clung on to me like a limpet. With my back and my patience about to give out entirely, I had a brainwave: ‘If you’re good and walk, we can go to the toy shop and you can choose a car’. Oh bugger. Not disastrous in economic terms, as I had actually planned on doing just this, but a strategic EPIC FAIL. This desperate action cannot be allowed to set a precedent. However, I do find it hard to feel too dispirited as I watch him playing a very happily involved game of, ‘Where’s nee naa car?’ with his new purchase. Go on, feel free to judge...and while you’re doing that, I’ll be over here pulling my ‘care face’.

Mmmmm, Finest 'Eau de Kennet'

We had a little outing to the Oracle today and I thought we’d take the scenic route along the ‘Reading Riviera’ (pah hah!) because Felix loves looking down into the canal for ducks. He was very excited about walking over the bridge himself, especially as the sides are made of thin wires, so he can see very clearly. Suddenly, he stopped, did a little bouncy dance, pointed at the river and shouted, ‘Juice, juice, JUICE!’. I wonder how long it will take him to see through our calling-water-’juice’-because-he-might-stop-drinking-it-otherwise subterfuge.

A Load of Rubbish

Since His Majesty awoke at 5am, he was very grumpy this morning and so every request received a roared, ‘Nooo!’. Having been especially trying during a nappy change, I asked him, ‘Felix want to go in the bin?’ and he said, ‘Yeah!’. I ventured a further, ‘Felix want to go in the bin and be taken away by the rubbish truck this morning?’ and,‘Yeah, yeah, YEAH!’ with leaps of joy was the enthusiastic response. Of course, he just sees it as yet another exciting experience in automobiling.

We Will, We Will Mock You

There’s this little game we play where I remove my glasses, we stare into each other’s eyes and then slowly butt heads before collapsing in fits of giggles. Sounds odd to the outsider but it keeps us amused. We were indulging in a spot of this today while he was sitting in his highchair and I was drawing pictures of ‘Doddor in caaaaar!’ for him. I got the giggles when our heads met and moved sideways, promptly nutting the bowl of crayons. Felix looked shocked but I laughed and said, ‘Ow! Mummy’s an idiot’ to which he nodded and said sagely, ‘Yes, Mummy is’.

Later on, we were reading the Standard Life Money magazine (his choice, obviously) when I asked, ‘Felix cuddle Mummy?’ and he answered with a lovely sing-song ‘Noooooooo’. He pushed me away and I made an ‘I’m so sad, please cuddle me face’. He pulled a mock pathetic look in return and cried, ‘Waaaaaah waaaaaah’  in a tremulous voice. I started to pretend cry and he laughed and said, ‘Mummy go waaaaah’. Seeing that I hadn’t desisted, he pointed at his tea set and suggested, ‘Tea?’ before taking my hand and pulling me off the sofa to make a cup. How very English of him.

Order! Order!

Despite a raging temperature, Felix still has enough energy to play the game where he lines cars up nose-to-tail along the sofa and shouts, ‘Wait!’ at them, before allowing them to proceed, one by one, in a civilised fashion.

‘That’s nice, Oddkid, are you playing with your cars?’
‘No. They’re stuck in a traffic jam and I’m enforcing proper conduct. When I grow up, I want to be a Traffic Policeman’. 


Even the fire engine isn't immune from this bureaucratic tyranny: ‘Wait, nee naa car! Wait!’ Never mind those poor souls burning to death in that building, order shall, nay must be maintained! Felix demands it.