Kid A
He’s cool, there’s no other way of putting it – damned cool. Of course, he may drive you mad at times, refusing to cooperate on matters of domestic importance, but he’s generally reasonable and he falls in with requests once he sees they’re grounded on solid foundations.
He’s nearly 2½! He’ll be in Ireland for his half-birthday in a couple of weeks. We’ll be sure to celebrate with a session down the pub. He’ll drink so much milk it’ll be coming out of his ears and he won’t remember a thing the next day. That’s how we celebrate things in Ireland. None of this Kaffee und Kuchen business.
He can never get enough milk though. He’s on the cows’ milk at this stage. They’re still among his favorite animals and who could blame him? Wonderful creatures. I reckon they’re one of the reasons he’s so keen to go back to Ireland – them and all the puddles he’ll be able to bash sticks into.
I only booked the flights because he was talking about it so much, of going on a plane, the cows, my parents, Helen and Noddy. He still remembers their time throwing stones in the well and he’s looking forward to a repeat of the good old days, even if he won’t remember the good old days when he’s experiencing new good old days. These are all good old days.
He expects Noddy will be there, though I’ve told him he’s far away, in Australia.
“Kangaroo!” he says. He’s right, too. Australia is full of kangaroos.
He got hungry, so I asked if he wanted a hot dog. He nodded.
“Warm,” he said after biting into it.
“You’re right! It is warm. Not hot at all, is it? And it’s not a dog, either, is it?”
“No.”
Yeah, he’s no fool. On the way back he pointed out my office building from the train. I couldn’t believe it. I think I pointed it out once before, yonks ago, and the S-Bahn doesn’t exactly hang around when it whizzes by.
“Es wartet auf uns,” he said, paused a second, then, “The train’s waiting for us.”
Of course the train fucked off, but we got the next one.
“Shit,” he says if he drops something. He’s on the verge of saying “shite” and “Jaysus.” For now he only says “Jayz,” which works fine too. No rush, all in it’s own good time. Sometimes, at inopportune moments, he’ll say “fuck,” but only at inopportune moments. Hopefully he says it in the Kita, shakes things up a bit.
Other hobbies include running around laughing hysterically, kicking, jumping into, onto and off of things, screaming, breaking things, splashing, watering plants and general gardening, puzzles, cars, reading, singing, eating, drinking and pooing. He still isn’t pooing in a toilet and doesn’t seem to be in any hurry about it either. Sure you may as well make the most of having your arse wiped while you can.
“Meine Papa,” he says, clinging to my leg.
I bite my tongue and am thankful he thinks I’m a better dad than the other kids’. Terrible, really, when you need that reassurance.
He’s a little man already, a person, a character, a chancer and a messer. He jokes around, messes with your head. He’s good at telling when you’re messing with him, too. I do it all the time. You’d think the poor fella’s head’d be wrecked but he seems to enjoy it all the more.
He’s cool, as I said before. Damned cool. He always makes the best of things, and he brings out the best in things, too.
Comments
Post a Comment