I haven’t written a post in a while, mostly because I’ve been too busy laughing at all the things the boys are saying now that they can talk. Since they’ve been able to converse, things have simultaneously become a great deal easier and harder. Easier because now I know that they desperately need that blue truck before they can possibly exist for another second; and harder because they desperately need that blue truck before they can possibly exist for another second and either a). I have no idea where it is or b). there’s only one of that truck and of course I should have bought two.
The first time I was wowed by the words coming out of the mouths of my babes was about Christmas time when we were staying at mum and dads and the boys would have been about 19 months old. I asked Paddy if he would like to eat some of his lunch and he replied ‘I’d prefer to ride my bike’. And things have got progressively funnier.
Last week I was having a dress fitting for my bridesmaid’s dress for a friend’s wedding later in the year. Paddy said to me ‘take that off mum, it’s too small for you’. With kids like that, who needs enemies? And just for the record, the dress WASN’T too small.
Sometimes I spy on them while they’re playing with each other and I have to say it’s a bit heartwarming. Despite the fact that I often tell them to ‘take a deep breath’, ‘use your words’, ‘be careful’ and the mot ubiquitous, ‘hang on a minute’, when they play together, they are actually really sweet. They often hold up two toys and say to the other ‘which one would you like?’ And they often are the first on the scene with a pat on the back and an ‘are you ok?’ when something catastrophic happens- like running out of witches hats when one is planning an epic road work scene.
I fear that I’m in danger of people thinking I’m quite out of touch with reality, because the boys I have at home are so very different to the boys I have when out in public. They don’t really say much at swimming, but when we get in the car on the way home, they tell me how much fun they had and Bede will often tell me how he swam like a boat. At home, they sing and talk and talk and talk. But when I take them to a singing session, they grab my legs and try to crawl into my skin and shake their heads ferociously when I ask them if they want to join in. But they’re all talk (and song) on the way home. They even get an old tennis racquet out and put on a concert complete with pats on the back and rounds of applause.
They especially love talking to Tex the Wonderdog and the goats and sheep and alpaca and they get quite miffed when Queenie the cat simply refuses to let them pat her let alone respond to their questions of what she’d like for breakfast. I like to think that despite my haphazard parenting style which can best be described as ‘benevolent neglect’, seems to be working out ok if my little conversationalists are anything to go by.