Just when you thought it was safe to put Oscar and the boy back in the same room together, there was an "incident at the pass" yesterday evening!
It was bath time and in order to get the boy to do anything now you have to prise him away from the TV. So we switched it off and called him for his bath.
We've been exposing the boy to old skool children's telly programmes so he was watching The Clangers. For those of you who don't remember The Clangers they were small pink, knitted, aliens looking creatures with long snouts and they lived on a planet far far away and whistled to each other. There was a Soup Dragon and an Iron Chicken and they ate blue string pudding.
I know it sounds like a 60's acid trip, up there with The Magic Roundabout, but believe me it was very good. If good means weird. Hubby and I loved it as kids though and the boy seems to be the same.
"Clangers, Clangers" he protested
"After your bath darling" one of us said. I don't remember who because what followed was a barrage of shouting, screaming and crying.
And that was just Hubby!
The boy lost it and in his frustration gave out the most vicious, hateful kick at Oscar our cat, I've ever seen him do.
Oscar might be an old moggy but he's no slouch still and he ducked in time but the sheer vitriol on the boys face was pure bloody evil.
I have never heard Hubby so cross and so clearly disappointed in his son.
Bath time was a solemn affair with no toys, no bubbles and no laughter.
The boy kept trying to engage with us and make us laugh again but, certainly for Hubby, he'd gone too far this time.
There was no TV after his bath and all the stories were either cat based or about being kind to animals. A subtly clearly lost on the boy who just drank his milk and played as normal.
He had obviously forgotten all about it in his gnat like attention span and the incident had past in his mind.
Or so I thought!
Today Nanny P and Granddad Atu arrived at lunchtime to take the boy out for the afternoon. The first thing he said to them was,
"Oscar. Kick. Dada say no, no"
I'm not sure he was remorseful. I think he was probably just relaying it as a piece of news to his grandparents, but it had obviously struck a chord with him and been playing on his mind.
I had been trying to explain to him that he was lucky that Oscar was such a docile cat and didn't bite or scratch back. I didn't use the word docile of course. I'm not daft. He can't count to 10 yet without missing out all the odd numbers (thank you Thomas the bloody Tank Engine and your "they're 2, they're 4, they're 6, they're 8, song) so I was hardly going to hit him with a word like docile.
One of my biggest problems with the boy is getting him to listen to me. When I'm trying to tell him something important he either, changes the subject, sings, laughs or runs away.
I just didn't think we were getting through to him but hey, maybe we are.
Never underestimate a two year old boy and what is sinking in while they are seemingly transfixed on trains, fire engines, space rockets and cars.
They are storing it all away, just ready to embarrass you at the most inopportune moment.
I just hope some of the language I use when I'm driving or when Daddy's watching football isn't sinking in as well....
It all sinks in and age makes no difference. My younger son, who is now 32, was heard to say at the age of 17 by my wife (referring to a young lady in his form at school who was wearing a low cut t-shirt) "You don't get many of those to the pound"!
ReplyDeleteMy wife immediately confronted me and said he had obviously learned it from me because Tim had always been taught in metric measurements!