My son calls me ‘Shrek’.
It started out as impromptu roleplay after putting in some valuable (and educational) DVD time but has now evolved into something a little more substantial.
‘Daddy, you be Shrek. Tom-Tom is Donkey’ – the central casting was settled pretty early in pre-production and now, with Mummy being ‘Princess Yona’ (‘pretty Yona’ rather than ‘green Yona’ thankfully) and numerous other family members rotating the minor parts, we have a well-formed ensemble piece. We have tried to be sensitive around who gets to be ‘the Dragon’ but, inevitably, the odd grandmother has had to swallow any objection. He is nothing if not a forceful director.
Tom has become quite ‘method’ with regard to his part. He is tending to walk on all fours when the opportunity arises and demands to be patted. This has rubbed off on me. I emerged from the shower the other day with a surprisingly forceful ‘I’m an ogre!!’ (and accompanying growl) which the director decided, rather uneasily, was ‘quite scary’.
Tom now refers to our bedroom as ‘Shrek’s swamp’, much to his mother’s amusement (I’ve been wondering whether the whole Princess Fiona thing could be tipped the other way with a little prompting). Luckily he has decided that his version of Donkey likes to sleep in the racing car bed rather than on the floor of his personal ‘swamp’ although I’m fairly sure it has crossed his mind.
There’s no sign of this particular production being wrapped up just yet. I left the house before he woke this morning and got very grumpy with Nik when he discovered that ‘Shrek’ wasn’t available to ‘put his ears on’ for him. Donkey is very conservative when it comes to his routines.
So, while I’m not averse to stomping round the house burping and growling for a little while, I would like an opportunity to extend my range a little as I fear typecasting. Anyone any idea how long this might last?
I am Three!!
Following on from yesterday’s post, today (7th) is/was the long awaited 3rd birthday. Among Tom’s numerous declarations to me during a very sweet phone call this morning were:
‘I am three!’
‘Opening the Tellytubbies present!’
‘I got a big Lightning McQueen!’ (thus relegating the old ‘big Lightning’ to merely ‘middle-sized Lightning’ in the pecking order that now stretches to five. I hope he doesn’t demand to sleep with all of them).
And of course
So I was talking to my son on the phone. Tom was quite the chatterbox during the call and was responding to direct questions rather than parental prompting. And it wasn’t just with me. He wants to hold the phone like everyone else does, i.e. next to his ear rather than his coil, but with a bit of receiver holding from Nik he had quite the detailed chat with his grandparents and uncles too. Told us all a pack of lies of course, but that’s not the point.
We talked. On the phone.