No really: I mean it. Go and read yesterday’s blog first. I’ll be waiting at the line of *** when you get back.
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Ok.
So, God has a sense of humour and he proved it to me again today.
Lily played on her mat today, kicking her wind chimes and doing something with her mouth as close to a laugh as a 9 week old baby can do. (It has not escaped my notice that we have already used up 1% of the time we may have with her before she leaves for university).
I put her in her infant carrier and sorted out washing. I talked, she listened. Then I drove her to an ENT appointment at the hospital. It is the kind of clinic where they have to have a laser display board for the waiting area, as most of the patients are hard-of-hearing. They also announce names very LOUDly. This is good for people like Dad, who like to know when they are being spoken to, but shouldn’t be patronised with laser display boards in dot matrix capital neon red.
The point of taking a person 1% of their way to university to an ENT clinic is so that their hearing can be checked. For this it is important that they are asleep. Laser display boards are irrelevant. Loud announcements are somewhat unfortunate.
She passed the hearing test and was allowed to come home. But we didn’t go home, we went on to a supermarket to exchange an outfit she had received in duplicate. In all truth, I could not believe my ears as I turned a corner in the children’s clothing district to hear a father shouting at Trafford, his son, for not following him and a mother saying it didn’t matter, you could shout all you liked, he wouldn’t do what he was told.
We smiled at Trafford, which saved having to face his parents. I started wondering how original his name was, or where the trend may develop. There is a whole naming chapter waiting to happen, I feel.
On the way out of the supermarket we returned to the well spaced parent-and-child parking zone to find Trafford shut in a car, having a tantrum, while his parents were taking a cigarette break. We got in conversation and Lily was duly admired. I commented that she was crying for England and was their little boy going through a toddler tantrum stage? Yes, he has been ever since he was a toddler. I turned and gave him a look that teachers learn. It starts with a ‘you-don’t-really-think-I-believe-the-dog-did-your-homework-and-the-cat-ate-it-did-you?’ eyebrow curve and then rolls into a grin.
Trafford blinked, stopped crying and stared at me. I’m not certain anyone else noticed. I do hope Trafford gets the care and attention he needs. He’ll need understanding and acceptance more and more the older he gets.
So, to finish this long diary entry of a post, here’s a challenge. What is the connection in the following names, and which is the odd one out?
Ethan, Linus, Rufus, Bernice, Candace, Joanna.
Answer in next blog post.
jam and giraffes 