Silver Lining

One of our clothes dryers has seen better days. We bought it when we were first married, over five years ago, and it has now started leaving unsightly rust marks on the patio, so I turned it on its side to stop the marks until we can get it to the tip. As I was enjoying (finally) being able to hang out a load of whites outside, I noticed some gross-little-insect-egg-looking-things on one of the ends of the out-of-action-line. And did nothing more about it (I have had to  make peace with gross bugs and the like since moving up north). When I finished the washing, BigMan wasn’t ready to come back inside so I came back inside and left him playing and chatting away happily…

“Trying to eat it! Trying to eat it Mummy! Yum-my! Trying to eat it!”

[CUE: run outside to see what it is he’s trying to eat!]

“YUCK! Don’t eat that BigMan!”

[insert Mummy gagging and retching here]

“It’s a gate. Shutting the gate Mummy. Baaaaaa, I’m a sheep. Baaaaaaa sheep, any wool? I’m stuck, gate closed. Open gate. I’m opening gate Mummy. Closing the gate, gate stuck, gate shut. Open gate, close the gate. I stuck.”

Open...shut...open...shut...open...shut...

“Are you a sheep, BigMan?”

“NO thank you, Mummy! Not today! I'm a PIGGY! Oink, oink! This little piggy wee,wee,wee,wee. Oink Oink! This little piggy, wee, wee, wee, wee. Oink Oink! Shut the gate. Gate stuck. Open the gate..."

The cutest sheep 'little piggy' I know!

At this stage I went back inside to check that LittleLady was still ok. In that time, a new direction of conversation began…

“Grandad! See Grandad. Ring, ring, ring, ring, talk to Grandad on the phone. Talk to Grandad on ‘puter Mummy? Talk to Grandad. Beach, Mummy. Go to beach with Grandad, Mummy. Waves, spil-ash! Spil-ash! Big waves! Wearing Chesty Bonds. Wearing Chesty Bonds like Grandad, Mummy. Mummy, I BIG AND STRONG! BIG AND STROOOONG, Mummy! I a big man, Mummy.”

My big, strong man!

Here ends my [small] excerpt of the stream of consciousness wisdom that I have been blessed with in the past ten minutes.

At least there are no gross-little-insect-egg-looking-things left on the clothes horse. And thank goodness Grandad can't get away with a Chesty Bonds and training pants!