Good Evening Negative Soundbyters! It is a bright, sunny eve and I am on my new, artificially turfed lawn sucking on a brewskie and listening to Chris Country on the radio….um…ja…I wish. Once again these finely crafted words come to you from a place that is not exactly germ free. My favourite malt has now been replaced by a concoction of various cough mixtures, throat lozenges, nasal spray and sinus tablets. My face aches, my throat hurts and my lungs are congested. Basically I am dying; or it feels that way anyway!
Mrs H on the other hand is as spritely as ever. We have a theory that because she still gives Rafey a boob quota every morning, the antibodies her body generates protects her from these little, green gremlins. I have looked down at my own nipples, then at Rafey’s two piranha teeth and I have decided against trying to generate antibodies of my own!
There is one significant upside to ill-health in the Hodson household; Mrs H has just presented me with a piece of her homemade chocolate cake that would have Mary Berry rethinking her take on this classic. It is as light as a feather but with enough velvety depth to keep the taste buds dancing in anticipation of the next bite. It is art; Mrs H’s canvas just happens to be edible (for which I am very thankful)!
Rafe is taking my sickly aura in his stride – as in he doesn’t really give a shit. He’s very definitely of the view that as long as I am still standing, then he should be allowed to stand as well. Baby logic; nothing like keeping things simple.
It is amazing to think that in just under two months he will be celebrating his first birthday. Mrs H is already mobilising. I have been told to stand down until further notice. My instructions could come at any time though so best I kick this cold stat. Match fitness for this sort of occasion is crucial and with kids/babies running/crawling amok I am going to need every wit God gave me to come out unscathed!
Talking of key events, I note that The Donald and Little Rocket Man held their summit in Singapore. The Donald seemed more comfortable in the presence of a man whose family has murdered, tortured and imprisoned many hundreds of thousands of his own countrymen than dealing productively with his allies at the G7 conference.
I still maintain that I am more likely to start producing breast milk than Kim giving up his rockets, but these days who knows? Donald John Trump is the most powerful man on earth. Therefore everything – including a Nobel Peace Prize – is up for grabs. Mandela, Dalai Lama, Martin Luther King, Donald Trump. (Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue…!)
And on that Twittery note, let’s move on.
Big Love to All
Hoddy X
Curiosity.
Rafe is curious – about EVERYTHING. He had a long, hard look at my chest hair the other morning (It’s no Magnum PI-style carpet, more a few wispy tendrils with heaven forbid – the odd grey one!). Post inspection, the gadget arm shot out and these delicate fingers picked at one quite deliberately. This was all leading up to the taste test, but thankfully my grey stood firm and he quickly lost interest.
As I have related in previous posts, he loves scooching around in his walker having a crack at each drawer or cupboard as he passes by. Successfully gaining access is only part of the fun; it’s what’s inside that gets him most excited, especially if it’s the spice rack. It’s as if he’s seen something that you haven’t, such is the level of concentration and focus when peering into the depths of the cupboard beneath the sink. He is exploring.
New shapes or objects – that’s a good half an hour of parental downtime right there. Mrs H put an assortment of kitchen utensils and other implements into a basket and put that in front of Rafe. Now bearing in mind he is surrounded by a sea of plastic toys that squeak-and-squawk, yet the blue saucers could not have got any wider when he was presented with a treasure trove of new things to touch – and eat. The gadget arms started flapping about, the gummy smile kept on getting wider and then it was time to dip into the basket.
The care with which he examined the whisk – well, quo dos to the manufacturer; it managed to keep a ten month old occupied for close on 10 minutes. To Rafe this was an artefact, a find, an archaeological triumph, but being a baby with a lot to get through, it was soon discarded and the spatula was next under the microscope.
I watch out for my son, but I also observe him. I think a lot about his innocence and the soft and gentle way he interacts with the world (unless you get in the way of his mealtimes!). It’s that interaction that I find fascinating at times; to him everything is new and exciting – and even if it’s not meant to be opened or stuck in his mouth he will give it a good try. He does not dwell on things; once he’s confirmed that it is not edible generally that means it is time to move on. He does not get stuck.
My hope is that he maintains that momentum – and curiosity – into later life. Society still seems bent on channelling children through a funnel and diluting their creative instincts with structure and curricula, but I have a feeling that Rafe won’t fit - and that’s not due to Mrs H’s chocolate cake!
(And before I get a jab in the ribs and Rafe gets too excited, he will still be expected to go to school!!)
OUT.
Pic of the Week
A lovely old farmhouse window.
