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More mini-me 29, November 2010

Posted by babychaos in baby stuff, General Wittering, Mini Me, toddlers.
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Small fry is in bed, ready to go to sleep. Catus Maximus comes in, meowing. I pick him up and he begins to purr.

Junior knows about purring, it has alarmed him before. The first incident went like this.

“That is a noise.” mini-me had said, a look of worried incomprehension on his face.

“That is purring.” I had told him and explained that it meant our cat was content. He digested this news in silence for a while.

“OK.” he’d said.

So there we were, Junior all ready for bed, me about to kiss him goodnight and Catus Max purring in my arms.

“That is Chewie!” says the small man. “He is purring.”

“Yes, that’s right.” I say. “You remember about purring don’t you.”


“Good stuff.”

A long, long thoughtful pause.

“He is alright? He is not broken?”

“No, he is not broken. He is happy.”


He comes out with this kinf of thing all the time and I can’t help thinking I should write more of it down.


More Mini Me 26, October 2010

Posted by babychaos in General Wittering, Life and living, Mini Me, Mom, Mum.
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Mini me likes to “brush” my hair with a spoon and the handle of a pastry cutter (the wheel has long since disappeared).

“Table clap…” he was shouting yesterday as he did the brushing thing and then pretended to take something off the spoon and put it in his “kettle” (a stainless steel pot removed from one of his legal cupboards, we’re into ‘silver’ at the moment).

“Are you making tea?” I ask.

“Yes, table clap tea.”

“What’s table clap?”

“Table clap.” he says again, with a seraphic but very mischievious grin. Then the penny drops.

“Cradle cap?” I ask.

“Yes. Muggy’s cradle cap.”

“You’re making cradle cap tea?”



New swear word (or at least he thinks it is) learned after mother stands up fast, banging her head on the corner of a cupboard door as she goes and shouts the beginnings of an obscenity which she manages to change to “clangy bell” before he’s properly heard.

Junior now shouts “clangy bell” at every opportunity because he thinks it might be naughty. Never mind, it’s better than the original.

He’s been out in the rain in his pushchair with his dad. He’s fine but Mr Tiger who goes everywhere with him at the moment, is somewhat soggy.

“Poor Mr Tiger’s soaked. Shall I put him in the tumble dryer for a minute or two?” I ask and Mini-me says.

“No thank you, Muggy. He will get dizzy.”

Sorry I’ve been so absent… I’m launching a book. It should be sorted by the end of the week though. Boy will I be happy when it’s done.

Understanding Todlerspeak… 5, May 2010

Posted by babychaos in baby stuff, General Wittering, Light Fluff, Mini Me, Mom, Mum.
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Small man is beginning to talk, at length. He’s not great at intelligible sentences, although that doesn’t stop him chatting away… There are some words he can say clearly but the thing I’m enjoying at the moment is the things he says, which aren’t clear and which, by din’t of repetition, I’ve learned to understand… I’ve decided to list them here as and when I think of them.

  1. Gurdering gan – watering can
  2. Ga-gang, ga-gang – railway
  3. Ga-gang – train
  4. At aie – tractor
  5. Erdle-egan – home again
  6. Gerky Gerky – faster faster (imitating a toy car that says ‘faster faster’ and shouted, with glee, every time I overtake anything in the real one)
  7. Buggie – dummy (soother)
  8. Muggie – me, his mummy.
  9. Gigam – balloon
  10. Girdle-gan – aeroplane

He has learned what numbers are but not the actual word “numbers” so he will see one written down and shout “four, six… eleven” because he knows there’s a corrolation. If you count to three he will shout along with you “six, six, seven”… it’s brilliant.

He has learned sounds, so a clock is “bong, bong, bong, BONG!” Big Ben style, animals are the sound they make (plus the odd hand signal to make the difference between animals with similar er… calls).

The Chaos Fairies Have Moved In 29, January 2010

Posted by babychaos in General Wittering, Small Scale Disasters.
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We decided to take junior out today.  It’s ‘warmer’ than it has been so we optimistically headed off to the zoological gardens.  We arrived and did very well for an hour or so until glove-spurning junior’s hands were so cold that he started to scream… it was also his lunch time so we headed for the café.  It was freezing outside but we discovered that people eating in are not allowed to bring their own lunch (fair enough) even for children (not quite so fair if the child is very small). Still, since we’d packed Mr Small’s lunch it seemed pointless to buy one, especially one designed for older children which he was unlikely to eat.

It was too cold to eat at one of the outside tables and when junior ran into a corner, started to cry and refused to come out, we gave up and headed back to the car to feed him his lunch there.  I had brought a free sample bottle of baby milk with me instead of the usual carton.  The freebie had a screw top and I thought I could put the usual two thirds into his sippy cup and then put the lid on.  Great I wouldn’t have to worry about trying to hold the milk container upright to stop it spilling all over the spouse-mobile, I thought. How wrong I was.

During the journey the screw-top proved to be leakier than a carton with one corner snipped off.  Milk dribbled out and ran down the plush leather seat of the spouse-mobile.  Since the spouse-mobile is sporty and more of a 2+2 than a 4 there was no room for my knees and so I was sitting with my legs apart.  Naturally, this resulted in the milk collecting, unnoticed in a pool at my crotch.

We got out at the shops and I found I had a large wet patch exactly where the pee would be if I’d wet myself or – should I have a requirement for such things – overestimated the absorbency of my tena-lady.  I managed to find a loo, remove my knickers (which left me feeling pleasantly draughty and a lot less soggy) and dry the worst of the milk off my naughty bits – not to mention the trousers.

After all that, the bloody shop was pretty much devoid of stock so we went home.

When we arrived home, I couldn’t find my keys in my bag.  I searched the spouse-mobile, searched everywhere I’d been in the house.  I decided I would have to ring the hotel where I’d been to the loo and get somebody to see if I’d left them there… or jump in the car and go back to the car park to see if I’d dropped them.  Luckily before I went I decided to take one last look in my bag.

Yeh, where else would they have been?  If I could have back half the time I’ve spent looking for my keys I would still be cash poor but oh so time rich.

A Peck of dirt… 21, July 2009

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Hmm… Junior is now hunting and eating tumble-pubes (polite name: dust bunnies). Meanwhile Chewbacca he cat is shedding for his life.

Where is this combination made?

Possibly not heaven.

BTW.  Did you know a peck is actually something huge, like a ton!