Big Tum: 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”