My Life...Poetry in Motion...(Not)

You know sometimes my everyday domestic life is littered with so many hilarious moments that I am too busy laughing and living to record them all.  This has been one of those weeks.  I don't know what it is, but there is something so hilarious about 2 1/2 year old Dumpie these days that I wish I could freeze him in time and keep him this age forever - if only as a guaranteed source of constant humour.

I made the mistake of getting angry one day and saying, "Mama has had a bad day...such a BAD day...urghhh!"  Both boys looked solemnly up at me and Dumpie said in a quiet whisper, "You bad day Mama?  Ahhh..."  That of course broke the spell and I burst out laughing - bad mood disintegrated by the utterance of a toddler.  Ever since, Dumpie has been preoccupied with having a daily recap with me about the kind of day I've had, 'bad' or 'good'.  He usually asks me late afternoon, and purses his lips when he does so, tilting his head as if to establish a warm intimacy and get me to reveal my true feelings.  

Another thing Dumpie likes to do is keep a daily track record of his own behaviour.  You have to admire the little chap, for nine times out of ten when I query, "Have you been a good chicken or a bad chicken today Dumps?" he thinks for a moment then (usually) blurts out, "Naughty Shishken" and grins. He's not wrong.

The other day was definitely a naughty day.  My lovely sister-in-law in Canada had just given birth to a baby girl and I had bought a beautiful card to send her.  That evening the husband asked (in slightly disgusted fashion, leading me to believe that he might actually assume that I'M responsible for such behaviour), "Is there any reason there are cards and magazines on the roof of the kitchen?"  

Incredulous, I ran upstairs to the third floor, peered over the balcony, and sure enough, there on the shingles lay a magazine and...the pretty card I'd bought to send my sister-in-law (sigh).   I won't even get into the overturned pots of soil on our terrace, the jugs of water gleefully tossed over the side of the bath, the oven mysteriously turned on at random points throughout the day, the bits of food hidden (and forgotten about) in nooks and crannies throughout the house, and the beautiful picture books missing several important pages.  That boy is a one man wrecking machine.

I think I shall leave it here for now.  It's Friday night, I'm absolutely shattered, and I have a gorgeous glass of St. Emillion winking at me from on the table.  I've also got a DVD I've not had time to watch yet ("Slumdog Millionaire") and some lovely homemade pizza's waiting to be popped in the oven.  

In the words of the fictional character 'Alan Partridge', "It don't get better dan dis".  No my friends, it certainly doesn't.  Trust me.