We had friends of ours round at the weekend, along with their son who is eleven months younger than our four year old. The boys played brilliantly together, chatting and role-playing and generally making a mess. Who knew that superheroes were so slovenly?
Between us adults, we did our best to catch up with each other’s live since we last met, but four adults are easily drowned out by a gaggle of little children. I doubt we actually finished any of the conversations that were started …
“So how’s your house sale going, Ted?”
“Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad … ahh, you’re looking now, can I have your car keys?”
“Sure … So have you got any holidays planned this year?”
“In July we … whoops, try not to stand on the baby … Did you see the football last night?”
I’m still not 100% certain whether they are moving or they’ve already moved. Maybe that’s why they didn’t say thanks for the Christmas Card?
Catching up aside though, it was great to get the families together. It was especially useful for our friends, who received the sudden realization that their child isn’t a complete weirdo.
I remember that same point on our parental journey.
When he was three and at pre-school, our son was invited to go on a school trip to Sundown Adventure Land – a theme park designed specifically for under 10s. Each child had to go with an adult, so I jumped at the chance to book a day off work and tag along. Any excuse for a ride on the teacups!
The morning arrived, and me and the boy treated ourselves to a bacon sandwich at Woodys. While we were eating them, he turned to me and said:
“Dad … I’m going to poo on your head …”
“Whaaat?!? Stop that silly talk or we won’t be going anywhere.”
This wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned fecal matter. It was always totally out of context, just randomly slipped into conversation. Poo this, poo that, poo the other. We thought he had some form of tourettes.
Anyway, my bluffed threat worked, and we walked up to the school, boarded the bus filled with 3 year olds and their parents, and were instantly greeted with a cacophony of:
“YOU’RE SO POO-EY!!!”
“YOU’VE GOT POO ON YOUR FACE!!”
“YOU’RE A POO SANDWICH!!”
And (apart from the adults) everyone was rolling around laughing their heads off. Like a poo sandwich could be the best thing ever invented in the history of 3 year olds!
I smiled all the way to that theme park, happy in the knowledge that my child was the same as everybody else’s: naturally obsessed with toilets.
And he still says it one year later. Every day. Which is the point where my drowned out friends realised that their 3 year old son wouldn’t be needing that trip to the psychiatrist after all.
The new one he’s since introduced at the age of 4 is “chop your head off”. Every day, non-stop.
I was wondering if this was perhaps my own fault, letting him watch Star Wars too young? … Until I picked him up from Infant School recently that is, and I must have been threatened with decapitation by twenty different kids. The little … poos.