The letter W

We’ve said it before and no doubt we’ll say it again.

The boy never fails to amaze.

See the lad has discovered that being under 3 feet tall has certain disadvantages.
Namely, you’re a short ass.
But he’s also discovered that there are these things called chairs. Which add a foot and bit to your height as well as generally being light enough that you can push them from one end of the house to another.

So that's what he does.

As parents we thought we were so very smart getting a new buffet/hutch thingy and putting the phones and interweb/modemy stuff up on top, well out of reach.

Well that's lasted about 6 months cos boy and aforementioned chair now mean that the world is his oyster – or at least anything below 4’6” is. When all is quiet all through the house and nothing is stirring, not even a (laptop) mouse, the silence is inevitably broken by...

“...crrrr crrr...”
(The scratching/sliding of a chair being pushed down the corridor.)
“...errr errr...”
(A boy climbing onto chair and buffet/hutch thingy”
“...beep beep...”
Of Brazil being phoned.

And if you’re really lucky...
“...eeelllloooo?”

You have to give him brownie points though – its not like he's seen mum and dad move chairs round and stand on them.
This is totally self-thought logic.

But then again, he is clearly smarter than his dad.

Hustled away to the local council corporal punishment centre to have his gummint prescribed shots (18 months old = chicken pox) he, of course, had to wait in a queue.

This involved taking a number and being shoo’d off to play on the fancy plastic gym equipment. One particular slidey thing had a bizarre “box” behind it that made no sense to dad so he just lifted Mike up and over, and let him down the slide.

Mike looked at dad like he was an idiot.
Walked round the back.
And opened the little door to get in.

Mike’s brain: 1.
Dads brain: 0.

The shots, by the way, were remarkable.

Mike was carried to the nurse by dad, mum pre-wincing and looking away.
Nurse told dad to “Hold on tight – here we go”.
Dad steeled himself for screams and “Why Dad Why?” pleads.
The nurse plunged the needle seemingly 6 inches into the lads tricep, squeezed, yanked it out and...

Mike turned. Looked at his arm. Brushed it like he was fly swatting. Then glanced over to dad as if to say...
“Now where are those sultana’s I saw you put in your pocket you sneaky devil?”

Frankly, you get more whinging from a mozzie bite.
On dad.

Eighteen months also means a trip to the council nurse.
Unfortunately this one must have read the blog.

“He’s thin - you feeding him enough?”
“Errr... yes” says mum.
“Cows milk as well?”
“Errr... yes” says mum.
“Whats that bruise from?”
“Errr... I dunno...” says mum
“He in child care?”
Errr... yes” says mum
“Whats his Visa Card number...”
(“I didnt expect the 'effing Spanish Inquisition...” says mum)

So, the vitals:
Length: 82.8 cm (slightly above 50^th percentile)
Weight: 11.3kg (slightly below 50^th percentile)
Teeth: 8/8
Nads: dropped (“Ohhh... I hardly needed to look to see that did I?!” said council nurse – you little hussy..)

Finally; new words.
Currently in favour are:
Carr (Car - which he now wants to sit in and drive himself)
Bawwl (bottle - ie drink)
Burr (bird)
Moo (moon!)
Keee (Kiss; usually requested right before being put to bed - possible delaying tactic!)
Toesss (Toast; though on a recent trip to the beach he seemed to think a light coloured starfish was also "Toesss" - and tried to eat it.)
And today's blog has been brought to you by the letter “W”:
Or more particular, the word - “Willy”

(The boy plays with it almost as much as he says it.)

We're also somewhat concerned with his love of bad 80's techno rap. (See video.)

As we say.
Never ceases to amaze.

A horse is a horse - or... a dog.

This may get a little dull but, hey, it does amaze us.

Yet again we're constantly being astounded by what Master M is learning every day.
And what he has yet to learn but is determined to do so the hard way.

A family trip down the coast and the house where mum and dad were married revealed a paddock of horses behind the block.

Which, apparently, are dogs.

Or "DGGGS!" as the boy proudly exclaimed.

Well, it makes sense. They have four legs and a long tail and tendency to eat out of your palm if you let them. (Which the boy almost did.)
On the other hand they also spray wee like a skunk and sleep standing up. But they're finer details to be noticed later.

For now they're "DGGGS!"
Big ones.

As usual the boy also took a shine to the water, and not having had a swim lesson for a few weeks (being school hols and all that) was somewhat desperate to leap into the somewhat chilly extremes extremes of Bass Strait.

Now much as mum and dad tried to keep him out, and much that the lads the perfect snack size for Jaws, it was decided to slap on the mini wetty and let him have a go.
The face upon first cold wave was a sight to behold.
But that wasnt going to stop him, with the final result being... his first surf.

Yup, chucked onto dads board and released on a shin high (for him) wave to slide across the shallows.
Which he wanted to do again. And again.
Till one time the fins touched bottom, he slewed to the right, mum grabbed him, ...and dad wailed as he realised that the slewing was also removing a fin and its plugs and depositing them in the sand never to be seen again.

Oh well, nothing a $100 worth of board repair couldn't fix. ("Geez - pinching my gear and wrecking it already - I was kinda hoping we'd make it to the teens before that started".)

But all these learning experiences and leaps forward in communication (surely it has to be the worlds most heart-melting moment when you're carrying your son to bed and he looks up into your eyes and says "kiss?" - leans up and plants one on you???), theres also the semi-learnt experiences.

Such as "how long are my legs"?

See the boy has very wisely learned that to get down from a step, you should go down backwards. This works equally well for chairs and couches. But herein lies the rub... it doesn't work so well when the height you're lowering yourself from is taller than you are.

Then you just plummet like a stone.

The boy though, hasn't quite worked this out, and hence we've found him backing off precipitous heights and even dropping off stuff (e.g., decks on the back of the holiday house) like some demented reverse-gear shuffling lemming.

(Maybe a future in abseiling?)

Still all this learning and language appears to have also taught him some habits we can see can only end in tears.
Namely ours.

Case in point.

Mum slaves over a hot stove preparing a nice little din-dins - tortellini; an old Mike fave - as the lad appeared to be starvin' Marvin. She pops him in his high chair, presents Master his meal and...
He tosses it on the floor.

Luvverly.

Mum pops him out of the high chair.
He marches across to the pantry, goes the raid, and produces a jar of Heinz finest baby food.
Marches back to mum, mouth open.
Hands her the jar, mouth open and leaning forward and almost eating said jar, glass and all.
She hands the open jar and a spoon back, and he proceeds to feed himself till he cant get the last bits and hands it back insisting she scrape out the last morsel.

Oh dear.
This could get messy.