All the small ones tell tall tales
Walking home and squashing snails.
Baggy Trousers – Madness (1980)
It is such a great age for both of us. For Dani he is at that age where he can now communicate in various ways. He can express himself well enough and ask questions – including that favourite most repeated one; “Why?”
For me it is even better. I can spin the biggest most ridiculous made-up stories and he will more or less buy into them. Hook line and sinker. Providing I do it convincingly enough. (For proof of this look out for the next post about superheroes.)
I wonder how much longer that is going to last? When will he realise that his daft old man is telling him completely ridiculous porkies? He is already getting wise to me.
He seems to know when I am deliberately taking the piss. Not a complex tale of nonsense but a quick and deliberate thing – like just being incredibly childish. Here’s an example.
If I say something to attract his attention – especially in an animated way or displaying a certain degree of urgency – even if he is engrossed in a game he will eventually respond. Then when I just tell him “Ah. Nothing” he immediately grins. He gets it. He knows that I am messing about. After a short pause he will then do the same thing back to me.
“Daddy. Daddy. DAAAADDY!”
Or to be more accurate; “nussin”. All done with a huge grin on his face.
For the moment though I still have a full poetic licence to conjure up intricate and stupid tales. The lad is even trying to tell his own tall tales. And I love it.