I've Got A Secret!

It was official - Chickie had crossed to the dark side and my neighbours had begun works to block up the chimney on their side of his wall. Whether it was his sheer volume or concerns he may actually crash through into their spare room, I didn’t know but I decided it was time to do something drastic to help guide my toddler back to the light. Typically, I had no clue whatsoever what I was meant to do but hoped my prayers alone may cause a solution to present itself.

And, they did. Like a golden angel sent by Supernanny herself, my lovely neighbour stood before me, shrouded in a Ready Brek style glow, holding out the answer to my prayers. A book.
I like books. Especially ones that promise big answers to big problems. Happy little faces beamed back at me from under big, blue words - “The Secret of Happy Children”. And what a well kept secret it had been. But now, 145 pages later, I’m in on it.

In fact, this actually happened this morning.
Mummy: “Don’t eat my cardigan please, sweetheart”
Chickie: “I’m sorry, mummy. I won’t do it again. I love you, mummy!”
Hugs, twirls and kisses followed.

Chickie then fetched his stool and began preparations for breakfast, popping the toast in the toaster, getting the butter and filling up drinks. He chatted whilst he worked, informing me that he was married to Elizabeth and Hannah from nursery and telling me how the donkeys at Tilgate Park had been his favourite (there weren’t any donkeys).

I watched him as he waited for the toast to pop up. He stood statue still, his eyes never looking away. When it finally popped, he turned to me, giggling.

I felt like Ben, Elizabeth Jim Bob, Mary Ellen, and John Boy might just skip through my door at any minute.

Coupled with the relief that Chickie seemed much happier when engaged in activity from the moment his eyes opened in the morning to the moment they shut at night, came the guilt that I kept having to refer to text books to navigate my way through something I’m sure was supposed to come much more instinctively.

Accountant was quick to encourage. “So, it was all your fault then?”
“Probably,” I accepted, now completely comfortable with being inadequate.

Whilst I cooked dinner, he gave Chickie his bath. What seemed to start as some low-level squealing soon developed into some high-energy interaction between father and son.
“Stop that splashing right now!” warned Accountant in his bestest stern voice.
“NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooo” splashed Chickie.
“If you do that once more you’re going straight to bed!”
“NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”
“One more time and you’re going to bed, do you under.......”
“.........NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooo”
“Stop......”
“...NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

I took a long sip of Martini, and pretended not to hear Accountant’s anguished cries for back-up. Picking up ‘The secret ...’ book, I placed it on the table, popping it down, next to his Shepherd’s Pie.