"Hello Bumblebee..."

Dumpie is currently lying in the sun-drenched dining room floor beside me, carrying on an imaginary conversation with a bumblebee.  From what I can gather, they are discussing whether or not to get Mama to open the giant bag of 'Nannies' Grandma (aka 'Mum-Mum') got him yesterday.

"  'Ello Bumblebee...me have Nannies.  You like Nannies?  Me get Mama open Nannies?  You 'ungry?"  

(For some strange reason my son has gone all Cockney lately, much to the amusement of our relatives here in Canada...)

There is the now familiar scent of bodily waste drifting up from the nappie region and it is with much shame and despair that I must confess that 'Potty training' has gone the way of the Routemaster buses in London....it's bloody obsolete.

Yep.  You heard me correctly.  Whether due to the intense last few weeks with Grandpa in intensive care or the fact that Dumpie has clearly inherited his father and my ultra-hardcore-insanely-stubborn genes...it's hard to say.  Whatever the case, he appears to have such an aversion to the potty at present that you would think we were trying to lead him to the electric chair like a solemn Tom Hanks in "The Green Mile" - not a cheaply manufactured chunk of useless red plastic.  (sigh)

After several weeks of rain (ah, an 'English summer' in Toronto, how quaint) the weather now seems to be righting itself as evidenced this morning when I was awoken by (who else?) Dumpie right in my face demanding breakfast of his mother who was slowly being roasted alive by the intense sun pouring through the all-glass walls of the condo here high on the 36th floor. (If I had been wearing any sort of lotion I would have likely basted myself and started to smell quite fragrant I imagine.)

So here I sit, contemplating another day, missing my eldest who is in Mississauga (a suburb of Toronto) with his paternal grandparents, about to embark on a swimming lesson.  I'm sipping a disgusting, 'too milky' coffee (I'll have to make sure that my Will clearly outlines the necessity of being buried with my Italian stovetop espresso maker and sufficient 'Illy' to last me well into eternity...) and now have to play a game of hide-and-weep with Dumps...wherein I follow my nose to locate the source of the now putridly pungent diarrhoea-tinged air.  

To ensure I don't fail in my task, there is the faint chant of 'Diarrhoea...diarrhoea...diarrhoea' coming from the other side of the condo.  New favourite word methinks?  Oh great...