Letter to my grandson (xii)

Most every day that I see you, you seem to have mastered something new. Increasingly, it’s new words that you are increasing your mastery of the world around you. Your cousin, has come to visit and Nana Di gave you both the little box of milk with a straw and a little hole that the straw goes into. I watched you both thread the straw into the hole and begin to drink the milk. For some reason, I was astounded, such a very fine motor skill and to such little boys. I’m obviously getting out of touch.

Last week, there was an interesting example of the way you go about this business of mastery. You love hiding behind the washing when it is hung on the line, prompting us to call out “Where is Winton. I can’t see Winton.” You run out from behind washing, clearly enjoying the sensation that it provides as you run through it and in surprising your grandparents.

You’ve changed the rules on that and now run full tilt across the courtyard into the washing.

Clothesline copy

Usually, the washing slows you down as you fall into the garden but, on this occasion, you crashed, full tilt and mouth first, into a large earthenware pot.  You know when a small child is hurt. There is normally a five second delay between the accident and the first  bellow of pain. You were clearly hurt.  Kisses and cuddles followed.

You have a remarkable pattern of recovery. You don’t do it gradually. Suddenly, you’re better and wriggling out of the arms of your comforter and back out into the courtyard.

And then, remarkably, you charged across the courtyard and straight into the same towel but, this time, slowing  yourself before you hit the earthenware pot. You retraced your steps and charged again. Same result. Satisfied, you came inside to play with your rubbish truck.

Not yet two years old, you have also mastered books.  Once, you were happy for an adult to read to you.

But, in your typically independent way, those days seem to be slipping away.

12718001_1754374008129856_550028411820345731_n

1918375_1754374088129848_6115719420169791757_n

I fear that once you have learnt to read, stories on Grandpa Tim’s knee will be few and far between.  I’m already preparing your first reader made up of list of your first words so I will only have myself to blame.

You also seem to be developing a great talent for art, well at least I think so.

You are also a master of the art of happiness, one of things of makes you joy to have around. Your mum is particularly good at capturing your happy moments.

And chocolate, you are very good at chocolate.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s