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Tuesday 30 March 2010

Once upon a time, there was a little ginger terrorist called Cuinn

... and one sunny Tuesday morning, he was being particularly terrorist-like, and had been squealing in a very high pitch since almost the moment he got out of bed about two hours earlier, when suddenly everything went quiet.

What Bliss! thought his mother, who was being driven not-so-quietly batshit by the incessant squealing, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Except, of course, the little ginger terrorist's mother, being wise to the level of mischief that can be and most often is undertaken in such quiet, thought she had best check as to what was keeping the little ginger terrorist so quiet, as that would be good parenting.

Imagine the mother's surprise to find the little ginger terrorist sitting on the floor with the electric fly-swat, studying it intently. Never mind thought the mother, as she watched the little ginger terrorist co-ordinate turning the electric fly-swat live, jam his finger through the safety guard, give himself an electric shock complete with a spark of blue light and jump a foot in the air with surprise, he'll never be able to work it. And then, Oh, thought the little ginger terrorist's mother. Bugger.

And yet, the thing was, the little ginger terrorist was so lovely and quiet that his mother did wonder for the space of two further electric shocks whether she might just pretend ... But no, the little ginger terrorist's mother knew she really did have to take the electric fly-swat off him, and so she did.

And he bellowed, and bellowed and bellowed about the electric fly-swat being removed from his possession because apparently electric shocks are especially awesome, until his mother deposited this little ginger terrorist in his cot for a nap, and he slept happily ever after for a good couple of hours. Hopefully. And his mother got to enjoy some lovely blissful quiet again and have a cup of tea, all with a good conscience because this time the quiet didn't come from the little ginger terrorist giving himself electric shocks.

The end.

(Honestly. I wonder what kind of protein they keep the embryos in in those early days. Ye gads)

Tuesday 23 March 2010

It should take longer to collect pictures of this much mischief





(He got up there - from floor to couch, to arm of couch all by himself. Whatever the grossness is on the windowsill is is whatever he had in his mouch that he spat out. Kids are gross)

The kid from Spain flew an aeroplane, but my kid likes to hide in boxes ...



The only bugger is that the box has been providing so much entertainment for several days, that I can't put the blimming thing out in the recycling - it's sitting in the hallway. Still, a deliciously happy kidlet makes it rather worth it, having the house in chaos.

I have no idea why it was important to wear these on his head for about an hour one morning last week. It just was.

And here we have an excellent reason not to turn your back on the kid when he's happily playing with a mustard jar in the door of the fridge.



Oddly, Jack thinks bean sprouts are awesome.

Friday 12 March 2010

Lolly scramble (of sorts) anyone?

As if the dogs weren't getting porky enough with what's fired over the side of the highchair, dropped around the house, spat out, and just generally nicked, the child has worked out how to get the lid off the dog bicky bin and feed the little beggars extras - and, of course, being in control of a lolly scramble means he can get muuuch closer to the dogs than they otherwise, wisely, will let him.

Of course, on the bright side, these photos were taken after he was removed from the main part of the kitchen after getting into a (child-proofed, supposedly) cupboard and cheerfully smashing a bunch of plates Greek styles. Bless. Good times.