Priorities

Cutlery is no longer the mystery it once was; F ate her porridge ambidexterously today, a spoon in each hand. "Cha cha cha cha cha," she said said later, heading towards me over the carpet. In one hand, she had a toy plastic knife, and she was stabbing it up and down like a psycho in a shower.

Rather than disturbing, I thought it was cute. In itself, this is a little disturbing, I suppose, in that if she really was a pyscho in a shower I would still be tipping my head to one side and saying awww by way of explaining her behaviour to the police.

It was cute to me because I'm fairly fluent in Freyish. I knew she was saying 'chop chop chop' because that's what you do with knives. To vegetables. Not Daddy, we've had that chat. "Are you allowed to do that?" is a coded sentence intended to supply the answer "no". It's currently 80% effective. Although she's started throwing the tv remote away from herself when we come into the room, as though she was never anything to do with it in the first place.

Godfather B was here over last weekend. Having someone else in the house makes you rather more aware of how peculiar you get as a parent. To me, F's cat, bird, dog and elephant noises are easily distinguished*. To the passing stranger, they all sound kind of like 'eep'. From an external perspective, I could admit it looks slightly odd to spend lots of time in playparks putting large handfuls of woodchips into the springs under the seesaw. F has always done this. I hope one day to learn why. I tried it myself today, I must admit it does pass the time.

Catching up with friends J and A yesterday, we both agreed parenting deforms the mind. I say catching up, I really mean exchanging fourteen or fifteen disjointed sentences over the course of about three hours, usually as we rushed past each other at the playpark en route to hurling ourselves in the way of some incoming disaster or other. I brought coffee and baked goods, and got more sand in me than either.

But that's sort of normal, is the point. Breaking off half way through a sentence to run across a patio and knock a cigarette butt out of baby's tiny hands is perfectly acceptable behaviour, if a little abrupt. Most people can accept that. To me, there's no difference between that and breaking off the same, resumed sentence five minutes later to attend to F's question of "gna gna da blah blah da" instead of whoever I'm with.

Not understanding what she's asking doesn't matter. From my skewed perspective, it's just more important.

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F has learnt a new game today, one I remember from Giles Brandreth's book 'I'm a hearty, harmless sort really! Why don't people like me more?'

Rolling on the Floor

For 2+ players

You Will Need:
A floor
A blanket

Place the blanket square on the floor. The leader shouts 'Roll roll roll roll roll roll roll roll!" and lies on the blanket, rocking and rolling back and forwards. Everyone else must join in laughing hysterically, or the leader earns a free massive tantrum. The winner is the first person to break something they'd forgotten was in their pockets, e.g. a phone or their keys. Play continues indefinitely. What fun!

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It's nearly the holidays. Bring it.



*Which reminds me of a family joke, much beloved of my dad when we were kids. What's the difference between a weasel and a stoat? A weasel is weasily distinguished, whilst a stoat is stoatally different.