Talking to Boy #1 this evening, I learnt that people are all different shapes. Some are fat, some are not. Some are tall, some are not. And some, who are reeeeeeeaaaaally old, get square tummies. Though not before you're 30, of course.
Well, that's a relief.
Changing Boy #2's nappy at lunchtime (it's a pull-up, I tell you, a pull-up! So not really a nappy at all. Not by my standards, anyway...) we heard the roar of a petrol engine outside. "That's. Loud." he informed me, wide eyed. "I know, Boy #2. What do you think it is? I think it's a motorbike." He looked at me disparagingly. "Not. motorbike. Mama. Silly. Ferrari. Red."
I may have mentioned before that my younger son is something of a petrol head. He loves cars, and is never happier than when sitting in the driving seat of one. But his devotion goes further than that; he is even perfectly happy walking down the street pronouncing on the relative 'coolness' of the parked cars he passes - and, just occassionally and rather embarrassingly, trying the doors to see if they're locked... Obviously, since we drive a Skoda (generally agreed upon to be anything but cool), this does skew his criteria somewhat. I mean, a chap couldn't possibly admit to driving a not cool car, could he? So he strides along stating "Cool car (Ferrari). Not Cool Car (Volvo 4 x4 - my work here is done...). Cool Car (Peugot van). Cool car (Aston Martin). Not Cool Car (Renault Clio). Cool Car (Skoda)."
That's my boy... What? Whaaaat?? Want to make something of it, Frog in the Field?
Always check, before taking off your younger son's 'virtually not nappies' pull-ups at bathtime, that there is no nice little suprise waiting to be scattered across the bathroom floor, racing to the corners of the room like marbles, for you to hunt down whilst wondering which deity you wronged today for it to end like this. (Boy #2 clearly needs more liquid in his diet).
Helpful hints; that's what I'm here for...