GodMee!

Hot.

Damn Hot.

After the heatwave of the week before and thinking it couldnt get any worse; it got worse.

Melbourne's hottest day in the full 154 years of record (46.4) and a whopping 47.3 measured above our backyard in the Baghdad-end-of-Hampton.

Thats too hot.

The boy, of course, was largely oblivious, but still took a somewhat evil delight in taking his water gun and wetting all and sundry with its fine mist spray. Followed by a cry of:
"GodMee!", even though he had in fact, "Godcha"; we'll work on the 3rd person a little later.

Still, it kept everyone in our unairconditioned house cool. Well, that and watermelon, for which he now appears to have something bordering on an addiction.

The spraying and "GodMees" is all really a sign of the lateral thinking of the lad; sometimes too lateral.

He watches, listens and absorbs like a sponge., and we're constantly wondering "How did he know that?".

For instance, mum was rushing off to a big wig conference and was getting herself all dolled up and just about to waltz out the front door when she stopped and mumbled...
"Oh damn. Earrings."

And then there he was.
Standing with her jewelery box and a look on his face as if to say;
"Madame. The diamonds or the pearls?"

Then again some of the incidents are not quite as cute. Oh ok, they are cute, but, well, they're also a right pain in the arse.

For instance he has discovered opening the fridge door.

At much the same time he has discovered how to get off twist top lids.

And we all know he has a fondness for "moolk" (a.k.a milk).

Add 1+1+1 and you get a wee lad standing in the open fridge door, cap off 2 litres of Pura, chugging it down like some pint-sized milk-swigging Solo man.

Completely with Betsy the cows finest dribbling down his chin and pecs. And across the floor.

Then theres case in point #2. And #3.

As dad was sitting on the deck reading the Sunday paper, he heard a little cry of "Cake!!".

And there emerged the lad with a zip lock bag from the fridge containing the leftover slice of a rather nice carrot and walnut cake his mum was saving for Ron. (a.k.a Lateron.)

"Oh sweet fanny adams... awright... damage done... you can have it."
(NB: Yes. Bad parenting 101.)

Back to the paper dad went, and was heavily involved in some of the articles on the bushfires and climate change (of course they are linked, are you blind?) and soon realised that several minutes had passed since he last heard hide or hare from the boy.

So he went inside.

To find a wee lad with his stool up against the "hot drinks" corner of the kitchen, open jars of caro and drinking chocolate at his hands, and a face only a choco-holic mother could love; a smear of brown from ear to ear in a make up effort remarkably like the Joker from the Batman fillum.

Oh no.

And then the lad turned around fully, to reveal a shirt and pants covered with brown powder from head to toe.

Oh dear.

"Off to the bath you you lad!", and in he went.
Upon which the water promptly turned into something resembling a Rotorua mud pool.

Of course in the intervening seconds before the bath gained enough volume to enable boy immersion, Master M had gone to the check out the toilet, lifting the lid to peer inside.This put chocolate all over the seat and its surrounds, making what would have appeared to a man landing from mars, a scatological disaster area.

Thank god the queen didn't come and visit.

Granted though, the thinking has also manifest itself in added clinginess after mums recent and sudden trip away, but then supposedly thats fairly common at this age too.

The terrible twos.
"Are we there yet?"

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