He was stood there, with a loaded weapon, ready use it on the nearest unsuspecting passer-by.
“Al”, I said slowly and carefully, with the trained patient monotone of a hostage negotiator: “Put the hairbrush down.”
He tried that defiant stare, right into my eyes. Nearby, a quaking four-legged victim stared imploringly at me. It’s not just me that will suffer, the dog’s thoughts bored, telepathically, into my soul. It’s all my little visitors. One brush with that expensive Nicky Clarke paddle-brush he’s holding, and a whole eco system is threatened with extinction.
The responsibility for the dog, and the legions he represented, weighed heavily on my spirit. I redoubled my efforts. I sharpened my tone of voice. Endeavouring to sound dangerous, I repeated my terms.
“Al, no. Put the hairbrush down. Macaulay does not need brushing, especially not with Mummy’s expensive hairbrush.”
Stasis. No movement. The stare continued to challenge. I pulled out the big guns.
“I don’t want to get cross…..”
According to the five children in my extended family, I am quite scary when I get cross. I could use this to my advantage, I reasoned, wiping my palms and regrouping forces.
It worked. Al broke that deadlocked stare, the tension eased ever so slightly, and the dog melted away like a silverfish to some impossibly dark safe cranny, spared a new hairdo for today at least.
It was time to get out. Fast.
The text had come early in the morning. “How are you feeling? ” enquired my sister. The last few days have been grim as I worked under the oppressive umbrella of a fluey cold. Yesterday I fled home at lunchtime and crashed out, hoping it would pass, but this morning it was back again.
I texted “Still grim”. Not once did I stop to ask why she had enquired.
It had something to do with the three inches of snow which are lying on the streets of our new town. My sister teaches within the illustrious walls of Windsor Castle, half an hour’s drive on a good day. Today, though, all bets were off. A journey through snow to the castle town could take three hours.
Asking Big Al to stay strapped in, through traffic queues, for three hours, is like politely requesting a hornet-infested lion to sandwich himself, and them, obediently into an elevator.
So I took pain killers and felt better: and then Felix, Maddie and I kitted ourselves out in wellies, coats, hats, scarves and mittens, and headed out to Al’s place.
I dropped the other four children off at school, but somehow it didn’t seem any quieter once they had gone. If anything, the sound and fury had gained substance imperceptibly.
We watched a little ‘Horrid Henry’ on the television, but with the hairbrush-dog controversy it became clear this boy needed outside exercise.
Wrapping children for the outside snowy air takes time. It is much more exacting and time-consuming than wrapping presents. Al has layer upon layer of outside clothing. Ten minutes after the first jumper went on, we were just about ready to roll.
And out we stepped, into the most perfect snow one could imagine: powdery and ethereal, it flew up in clouds when you kicked it; it crumped satisfyingly when you put your feet down into it. Al was enchanted. He spent the walk between my sister’s house and mine looking down, tracking the virgin snow and planting definite footprints right in the middle.
The cheery little bundle of three-year-old pottered along beside me, happily talking about nothing in particular, occasionally silencing to listen to the crump of his boots in the snow.
And in just a few short minutes we had arrived at my house, where there were new challenges for me to meet.
We opened The Big Toy Box to see what might be of use inside. Al selected a helicopter, a train and a small red dragon. I said, Al, I’m going to clean the kitchen.
About a minute later he appeared at the kitchen door. I had cleaned three out of a possible 77 things on the kitchen surface.
He held his hands folded behind his back like a town clerk. He announced with authority: “Auntie Kate, I have finished my toys.”
It had a ring of finality about it.
I scanned the kitchen wildly, looking for inspiration. We sat down to a drink and a biscuit, and then we decided to cook pasta for dinner. Al had his own saucepan. It was full of dry, and expendable, pasta. He upended the kitchen drawer looking for just the right implement with which to stir: that was good for about 15 minutes, although there were utensils in every conceivable area of the kitchen floor when he had finished.
He found a wild spaghetti junction-style straw and sucked happily for the duration of three glasses of squash. Subsequently we enjoyed two trips to the toilet in quick succession.
We made pasta with tomato sauce for him, and pesto sauce for me, and spent twenty minutes sitting eating it, in which the sole topic of conversation concerned the apparently enthralling difference between his red pasta, and my green pasta.
We have learnt several life lessons, namely: one does not make a bridge with one’s legs and push cats forcibly through; one does not drive toy fire engines at Kit Kat.
When one wants another biscuit, the least productive method to gain it is to fix the grown-up-in-charge with a demonic stare and intone the word ‘Give’ with menace; and when one drops dry pasta on the floor it is of no consequence, because dogs like to crunch it.
I could go on. But my patterns of logical thought are being drowned out by the sound of Macaulay the dog dining on far more dry linguine than is strictly good for him.
As I write, it is 1:48. I have plans to fill this day, but now they are turning in the direction of Boot Camp. We will don our wellies and our gloves. We will get out there in the fresh, freezing air. We will build snowmen, far away from the cat and the pasta and the jaffa cakes.
As for that ethereal fluey other world-ness: right now, it is a positive boon.
Kate Shrewsday 
Have you checked out the auto-generated ‘possibly related’ posts?
They are very strange…
Well’ thanks, Jan, I’ve just had a look and that was entertaining! Mercifully, all Al was wielding was a hairbrush…although Mac looked inordinately worried.
I’m quite worn out just reading about it. McCauley will have very interesting poop, I think …
But what has me quite intrigued is the teacher inside the castle walls, I thought the children there were all grown up and gadding about getting engaged and stuff?
There’s a whole school there, Cindy, attached to the choir which sings in St George’s chapel. A lot-of-money-a-term school. The royal kiddies do go there, though. Think Edward and Sophie’s little one is in Year One.
(I shudder to think of that poop.)
You have such a way of making the ordinary circumstances of life into literary works of art. What a lot of material Big Al gives you to write about. i think he’ll sleep well tonight after all the adventures with Auntie Kate.
Thanks so much, Zoe. A whole day of material was almost more than I could manage :-D. Lovely boy, but he never slows down…
“…one does not make a bridge with one’s legs…” Now that has all kinds of possibilities for a poem. The theme: to discuss what kind of bridge, for what purpose, and why or why not. I had to look up “enquire” Don’t recall seeing that spelling in American English. For a moment I thought it might be a difference like that ensure/insure thing but see it is just a variant spelling. From an American point of view one of the most alarming variants in spelling was when Prime Minister Chamberlain thought you could spell “s-u-r-r-e-n-d-e-r” as “p-e-a-c-e-.”
Carl, there are about three elements in that wonderful comment which could be used as an essay question, followed by: Discuss. I have a feeling that if we ever ended up at the same table in a restaurant we would be the ones still deep in discussion while the waiters and waitresses stood by, looking pointedly at their watches and tutting under their breath (if such a thing is possible).
I shall ask Al to dictate a poem about the bridge, I’m sure he will enlighten us; I must consult with my sub-editor over ‘enquire’, because I am lazy and fleet-footed and I often write without thinking, relying on my good friends to correct where necessary; and Chamberlain, well. ain’t that the truth.
Lovely to hear from you this morning.
I think there is a divide between UK/USA about enquire and inquire, enquiry and inquiry.
Churchill once said we are two nations divided by a common language
Kate’s Dad
Kate – if you like Agatha Christie, try ‘A Murder is Announced!
I will say no more, for fear of ‘spoilers’, but you will see the relevance once you have read it….
Curiouser and curiouser! Thanks Jan 🙂 I will do just that…
happy sigh. got my kate-fix for the day;.
small boys do need to expend a lot of energy, don’t they.
hope you froze out the flueycold
It is history, Sidey, thanks so much 🙂
But my material has gone back to nursery today….
Don’t you love wordpress’ softly falling snow? It may be the only flakes I see before Christmas so they are making me a little too happy.
Anyway, I’m glad you saved the poor puppy from the hairbrush of doom. I hope you’re feeling better soon.
I think they’re lovely, Kristine: for us they match outside rather too well. The dog is loving the snow, but I fear the hairbrush incident only represents a reprieve….it’s time for the doggy beautician to visit soon….
I adore the falling snow – how did you do that??? Quite god-like to manifest those moving flakes.
Seriously, now, the line that got me was a quote from Big Al: “Auntie Kate, I have finished my toys.” I can just see the imperious expectation of new varieties of entertainment being brought forth from your endless bag of tricks.
You are clearly a force of nature, Kate, who inspires me!!! Thank you for that.
LOL No mystery about the snow, Deborah, you too can play God and have it on your blog! On your dashboard go to Appearances, then extras, and tick something like “i’d like falling snow on my blog.” I was pretty inspired by that thanksgiving celebration you gave – to have something for everyone in one house, so that everyone was occupied all of the time – I simply don’t know how you did it. I’ll send Big Al for next Thanksgiving….
What fun you are to read, Kate! I must admit some trepidation when reading about the wielded hairbrush! Since hairbrushes can be used as weapons of punishment that do not include hairdressing, I nervously waited to see if poor pups would be on the wrong end of a beating! What on earth had he done to deserve such treatment? Happy to see that all Al wanted to do was beautify him! 😀
Toddlers are such fantastic, exhausting charges! I’m enjoying Zoë now while she’ still a babe, but I know the days are coming when I will have to strap on the running shoes to be a proper Granny!
We had our first small snow here on Nov. 5, but more next week is being talked about. I’d love a white Christmas! BTW, ditto to Carl’s comments, although I for one American, am familiar with “enquire” like “colour,” “labour,” and other such oddities among the English! 😀 Good old NC – what dictionary did he use? I suspect it wasn’t the OED but some Deutsche Wörterbuch!
Cheers! Feel better!
It was a hairy moment, Paula, I don’t mind telling you 🙂 Lovely to hear from you again! And top marks for being up with English spelling, it is indeed very odd.
Good luck with those running shoes. You’re going to need them….
Loved the flow and the snow!
Especially enjoyed: “and the dog melted away like a silverfish to some impossibly dark safe cranny”
Thanks! If you knew him, Nancy, you’d realise those words wrote themselves 😀
Ah, three year olds. I remember that quite well. Quite a few years ago.
You write wonderfully of Big Al and of course you reminded me of the exhaustion and enjoyment of looking after that age group.
Scout (now 14) didn’t have the terrible twos. He had the troublesome threes. That’s when his tantrums kicked in, along with the questions. And how many questions?
One day I asked him, in fun,
“Why do you ask so many questions?” To which he replied,
“Coz I’m three.”
Of course. Silly me.
(PS am I the only one in the world that thinks the snowflakes are a little like one of the auras that precedes a migraine? I’ve turned them off on my blog!)
(PPS I hope your cold flu thingy goes away quickly. I have just finished two weeks of feeling under the weather grotty, so you have all my sympathy)
It was an exhausting time when I had two go through that phase, I’m not sure it is an era I would care to repeat. I love your son’s riposte, clever boy. I’m feeling much better now, fighting fit against these temperatures. Minus five outside! Siberian! Can’t imagine Oxford is much better…
Erk. Migraines. One mention is enough for me. I’m off to uncheck the box.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to spoil your snowflake fun. Don’t turn them off just for me!!! (Embarrassed now)
Don’t be 🙂 Here at Shrewsday mansions we take migraines very seriously indeed, for obvious reasons…plenty of snow on this site already anyway. And I plan much more…
Of course, Kate, you picked up Big Al after School opened. Before that he had already practised on your Mum.
I, of course, got out of that particular set of negotiations by “having to walk the dogs in the snow.”
I reckon I got the best deal, and anyway June is far better than me with the likes of Big Al!
Love Dad
He takes a certain kind of steely resolve, doesn’t he, Dad? Walking the dogs was a tough assignment though…
You know, Kate, I love reading you always, but, when I sense a post is about Big Al, I hunker down and really pay attention. I love this child, though I doubt I would have the energy to tend to him and I really do see a series of books. You know. Big Al and the Hairbrush. Big Al and the Pasta. Big Al and Auntie Kate. Go for it.
He is utterly adorable, Penny, without any doubt. It’s just gathering this material is so very high energy 😀
A day here and there is a great treat though….
Do you have Brio track?
Sounds like a boy who could construct a marvellous railway.
All our brio track went to my sister’s house long ago….he can indeed achieve miracles with it…
Rolling in snow would have been wonderful today. I’m fluey achy, and found myself burning up while out shopping with my daughter. Silly me: I’ve been feeling low for a few days now, and know better than to go out on those first days. Fortunately we were on our way to the car when the burning up happened, so I didn’t have people staring at my bright red cheeks. It took a couple of panadol and an ice pack on the back of the neck to cool me down – now you know why I would love to roll in the snow, though it’s only just into the very low eighties here. It gave my daughter a laugh anyway.
Coping with Big Al while suffering with flu deserves a medal.
Thanks Liz 🙂 Huge sympathies…my cold is all but gone now, thank goodness, but I did do my share of snow rolling when Al was around…
You really had me going there with the first sentence – what could I do but read on? And, of course, it was totally worth it. Loved the story, every word.
Glad to hear it, Gospelwriter 🙂 Thanks …thought that might hook a few readers in….
Love it, Kate 😀 Thanks for great entertainment, gorgeous pic and timeous warning for our four-and-a half year old grand-daughter who’s coming to stay this wee…eek!!
Oooh, good luck with that one, Naomi. I’m sure you will have a wonderful time 🙂