As ignorant as the super-toddler appears to be, they are always listening.
Even when they have the attention of others, and are having every single want and whim catered for, they are still listening.
I was reminded of this fact yesterday.
We were having diner with Max’s grandparents, which usually means I can have a bit of a relax, while I watch them mess about.
Last night was my chance to take in some of the breath-taking spectacle that is Euro 2008.
I like football, and I’ve always followed the mighty reds. But I have become increasingly frustrated, much as many others, with the whole image of football and those that play it.
I mean, they are groomed and glazed before the game, the bigger the game the more care taken.
So when one too many of the marvellous talents on display threw themselves to the ground, like an extra from Platoon, I took out my frustration verbally.
“Bloody, ponsy footballers.” I enthused.
This was repeated about three seconds later by my offspring.
Then again, and again.
Now why do they listen to calm, well thought out, instruction, so reluctantly? Don’t answer that, I think I know why that is.
But it’s not just juicy language, it is dialogue not meant for others’ ears.
My friend’s child recently dropped his mother in some tepid water with the in-laws.
When his daddy explained her absence at a recent family meal, as a simple case of double-booking, oh-so-clever child popped up with;
“No daddy, she’s at home. She said she couldn’t be done with the drama.”
Bless. Or should that be, condemn.