Shoes on the other foot now

The boy becomes a man.

Or at least gets around in a bathrobe in the morning, that we like to call his "Heff". (As in Hugh Hefner - who else.)

"Where's Heff Michael?" "Put on you your Heff..."
You get the picture. And its kinda cute, in a wobbly (young) person in a dressing gown kinda way.

He's also had his first ever haircut (mum saved some locks) and now has a slight Gallagher brothers from Oasis look to him. Apparently he breezed through it like an old hand.

And clearly we're feeding him too much. Cos he's grown - heaps. Which we don't discover by accurate measurements from the back of the bathroom door, but rather, by which drawer he can now reach/demolish the contents of.

He's been able to get into the spices one for a while (as mentioned last post) but now he can reach to the back and has the ability to work out how to open things; lets just say we never realised how many bay leaves are in a full packet till we had to pick up seemingly hundreds of then from all round the kitchen. (Mike helped pickup, granted...).

The other worry is his a) love of keys, and b) newfound ability to reach into the key drawer.
We suspect we have battles coming, if not a decided lack of mobility when we find all the car keys are missing. (Maybe he's just trying to reduce greenhouse gases.) Watch this space - we may be in need of lifts.

He's also decided that you can search and destroy so much more if you climb up on stuff.
Now this is a worry.
Whereas his playtable used to be for, well, play, it (and other various step like devices) appear to now be used as a ladder to all things illicit. Mikes stairway to heaven, if you like (only we hope its not literally to heaven of course...).

But his best climbing effort thus far was actually done sans table.

See, he loves a good soak as much as the next bloke, so for some time whenever he saw a full tub or mum/dad in the shower, he'd grab the edge of the bath and lift his little leg as though he was trying to climb in.

Only now... well, his leg had grown long enough that it got high enough, and his arm pushing was strong enough (err... and maybe his head now weighs enough), that he went up, over and toppled in.
Fully clothed.
Into mums shower.
And landed at her feet.

Shocked the bejeesus outta himself. (Not to mention mum.)

Damn growth spurt.

Damn climbing.

He's also perfecting the art of this walking caper, and hence can now go backwards, forwards and even pirouette (which he did several times, with a few added "stand up/sit downs", when mum put on Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, First Movement; as you do). And all this can now be done with hard soled shoes.

Which is pretty impressive, especially given that it was only on the 20th time dad put Mike's boots on that mum looked over his shoulder and said:
"You need to lift up the tongue to get his feet in.."
"What tongue? Ohhhhhh... that...."
(i.e., seems Mike's poor feet have been forced to share his boots with a crunched up tongue that dad didnt know existed - surely a modern take on foot binding...)
"Wondered why they were so bloody hard to get on him..." mumbled dad.

Which wasn't the only podiatric related mishap from the Y-chromosome donor, who also discovered he'd put the left shoe on the right foot, and vice versa. (Don't tell the council nurse/mum.)

The culmination of the walking came at Cape Shanck, when Mike decided he'd had enough of the afternoon tea by the side of the walking trail/his parents, and headed off. For about 20 metres before stopping, turning, and waving goodbye. Then another metre forward. Stop, turn, wave goodbye. Then another metre, stop, turn... you get the picture.

Eventually enough goodbyes had been said and he was off. For a good few hundred metres (with parents hiding just behind to see where he'd get to/stop him walking off the nearby cliffs). He'd 'ave surely crossed the Peninsula if not for the approaching dark.

Maybe he's more Mawson than Hefner?
(Jeez, we hope so.)

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