Daddy time

This is just a quick post as I really need to head to bed, but I’ve been meaning to share these little stories for awhile.

Alby and Mark are becoming best-buddies.  Despite Mark’s manic schedule he’s been able to factor in quite a bit of quality time with Alby over the past few months.  From “tent time” (burying Alby under a duvet), to rugby practice, games of tennis (almost as lethal as Alby golf), football in the garden, singing together (Alby’s rendition of Jingle Bells will appear as a video shortly) and plenty of train and game cars the two are becoming their own little double act.

Whilst this all sounds very warming and admirable please don’t be fooled.  Mark allowing me my first lie in for months led to me coming downstairs to their new verse for “Wheels on the bus”: the mummies on the bus go nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag… Two months on and he is still singing this verse around the house complete with wagging finger action. 

The love continues with ages.  As Alby’s understanding of numbers is slowly growing we’ve been able to teach him “Alby is two” and “Percy is three”.  Mark has added to this with “Mummy is old girl”.  Thankfully there is some justice in the world – Daddy is “old boy” too.

Finally, Mark was teaching Alby about different names the other day.  Sadly he hadn’t appreciated that whilst Alby is generally an average child, as his nursery report informed us he is bordering on the 30-50 month age range when it comes to self-awareness.  Mark’s lesson has backfired with Alby now routinely shouting for “Mark” or asking ”Mummy-erranda” to do something for him.  Apparently we are meant to be very impressed that he understands that his parents have an identity beyond “mum” and “dad” and for the most part we are, but that’s not to say it isn’t a little unnerving to hear him call us by our first names.  I know there are a lot of very liberal parents who go for that from day one but we aren’t like that!

Ah well, as I will be telling all of my relatives over the Christmas period – be careful what you say to him.  Trouble Monkey is sharper than he lets on and has a memory like you wouldn’t believe!  What’s worse he’s got his daddy’s smile and butter-wouldn’t melt dimples.  Like I’ve always said: Trouble Monkey.