It is a feat of not inconsiderable valiance to host my four-year old nephew not once, but twice in a day.
I woke, knowing I had the morning to toil: because three-foot maelstrom, Big Al, was off with his mother to buy new shoes in Windsor.
But come 12:30 the door would fly open on its hinges, and Al and his entourage would surely explode into my house expecting steak pie for dinner.
The morning was a flurry of supermarket-dashing, casserole-bunging, pastry-fashioning and greens-chopping. It passed in a blur. All I knew was that by the time Big Al came in, everything had to be locked down tight.
Because curiosity is Big Al’s raison d’etre right now.
Investigative is his middle name. He leaves no stone unturned in the quest for truth at any cost. Woodward and Bernstein would be proud of him. I have already tweeted the Washington Post to reserve him a reporter’s job in fourteen or so years.
Take the dog’s water bowl. How heavy is it, questions Al? What would happen if the water were not, say, in the dog’s bowl but free to roam the kitchen floor?
A short time after this investigation, Al appeared by my side. “Auntie Kate”, he announced triumphantly, “My trousers are wet.”
With nursery D minus 60 minutes and counting it was not an illustrious portent. “Al,” I ventured “is that just water?”
Yes, he assured me with the assured tones of a top-drawer lawyer, it was only water. Calm down, woman.
We hied us verily unto the tumble drier.
Al escaped to the top floor minus his trousers, where he carried out a thorough inquiry into Felix’s Lego. You know how boys hate to dismantle their constructions? Al disposed of Felix’s reservations with the subtlety of a centurion tank.
Felix walked into the kitchen a short while later with a face like a Victorian undertaker. All he was missing was the tall hat with black ribbons and the hearse. “Mum, my Lego is broken,” he intoned mournfully.
I always find mirroring is the best policy at these times. Just do what your devastated son is doing and he will expect no more: he knows you are incompetent at building lego. He knows there are no answers to calamity. I assumed a tragically mournful expression and said, “Felix, I have no words.”
He accepted the brief tribute and paced slowly and with a measure of theatre out of the kitchen.
Al arrived, having point-blank refused every pair of shoes in the shoe-shop, still wearing his old shoes. He was set to trial a new place at our meal. His high chair defunct, he sat at the small yellow table on which our younger family members take their meals, situated next to ours.
It was the perfect place to carry out several pressing experiments. Would dogs eat carrots if one dropped them on the floor? Might they prefer steak?
Eating was not the top priority today. There was far too much else to administer. Not even the lure of pudding could persuade him that greens should be eaten.
Investigations at Al’s house have reached new heights. It seems he has developed a penchant for sugar. Sweet and crunchy.
But there have been many barriers to his research.
The sugar lives in a closed cupboard about five feet off the floor. How to access it?
In the room next to Al’s kitchen there is a playroom. In the playroom are large trunk-sized activity boxes.
Heroically, like some pint-sized Atlas, he opens the door to the playroom, and drags out an activity box. It lifts him about half way towards the working surface. Not far enough yet.
Undeterred, he returns for the second one and – it is fabled – loads it on top of the first one to reach the required level. Precariously he scales the small box-mountain. A stance on the working surface means he can reach the sugar, and access a handy spoon from the drawer to eat it with. Perfect.
Except that his parents have made it perfectly clear this is one investigation of which he should steer very clear.
It doesn’t stop him trying. Today I listened as his mother related how she caught him red-handed, on all fours on the kitchen surface. He froze: a good policy. And his mother, who has a very effective cross face indeed, said something along the lines of “And just what is going on here?”
There was a short pause, while Al weighed up the situation. No way out, and not much chance of a reprieve.
“I’m a bit scared,” he confided.
I wonder if the explanation would have worked with Woodward and Bernstein?
Kate Shrewsday 
Cute story –
Al’s good at those, Trudie 🙂
Was MummyAl able to hold on to that cross face when greeted with that response?
I’m equally impressed with your ‘Felix, I have no words’. I think I need to work on mirroring drama 🙂
It really works for him, Speccy, it’s saved me loads of grief since I worked out it was a good strategy 😀 And he’s just about too young to spot the irony in Mummy’s eyes. MummyAl has had a lot of practice in keeping a straight face, as you may imagine 😀
MummyAl has begun to perfect the art of keeping the straight face…I’ve had enough practice now!
Plenty more to come….
Love it. ‘I’m a bit scared’ !
That truly investigative nature of three – eight years year olds is so wonderful.
Have I told of the time Techie experimented on the waterproof properties of various fabrics at school? First year of primary school science lesson. He came out soaked and the teacher followed behind.
“He decided to investigate the waterproof properties of his trouser pockets.” I think she expected me to be cross. I couldn’t help laughing.
LOL Now that’s what I call an enquiring mind, Pseu 😀
I was just inagining Deep Throat on all fours saying :I’m a bit scared”!
That made my day (after the rugby was such a disaster!)
I know! Phil was watching the game with gritted teeth…ho hum….
You and Big Al have me laughing out loud, Auntie Kate.
You wait till Kezzie finds her feet, Penny. Oh, the blogging material!
Hmm,Kate, always surprises me how quickly a child can seem so grownup one second, by pondering and solving so many mysteries of life, and when caught red- (or sugar) handed they can turn instantly into angels needing help, thereby surpassing the ire and exasperating question as to ‘what the devil are you doing?’ … Big Al sounds so ready for further adventures… I hope ‘cos I love the read… xPenx
He’s in this for the long haul, Pen 😀 The thing is, there is so much I don’t put in. He’s a laugh a minute.
Wonderful story, Kate. I’m forwarding this one to my daughter and daughter-in-law with children between ages of 3 and 6…”Mirroring drama” will be so helpful, along with straight faces!
Thanks.
Hi Deborah! Hope the post helps. Course, I think I’m so clever and then Felix and Al come up with some new angle which puts me back to square one again…
“I wonder if the explanation would have worked with Woodward and Bernstein?” – The question I’m investigating is, did it work with Mummy? 🙂
Nope. She ‘s a tough nut. Mummy is. She needs to be, with Big Al living in the house.
The moment I first read about him, Big Al instantly became my favorite character. I think it might become necessary to write a proper book about him and Felix at some point–one of those things you can read to children that are really written for their parents. His disarming response in this episode reminded me of when I caught my own son–just a year or two ahead of Big Al in age–under the covers way after bedtime with the proverbial flashlight and book: “I wasn’t reading,” he said, “I was just passing my eyes over the words and comprehending them.” God save us.
Ha! What a bright spark, Barbara! It would have taken a strong soul to keep a straight face with that one-liner….
excellent!
😀
Brilliant as usual, kate.
Although we know Big Al very well, we never tire of the latest escapade.
Love Dad
He’s never dull, Dad.
This reminds me of the Bill Cosby video, Himself . . . in which the 3 year old climbs precariously up to the top of the refrigerator to where the cookies have been stashed.
Caught red-handed, she holds the cookie out to dad, “I got this cookie for you.”
Kids are ingenious, persistent, and sneaky! 😆
They are, Nancy: and they spare nothing to get their goal. I love the Cosby anecdote.
They certainly keep you on your toes at that age. Maybe I’ll recount a few memories at some point. Maybe I need to make sure that my blog isn’t read by certain ‘growed up’ people first, though, LOL
I look forward to that, Nuvofelt!
I don’t blame Big Al one bit. I used to scale creaking mountains of piled up things to get at my Mom’s jell-o packets. The only thing that beat bleached sugar was pink or purple. Sounds like something Big Al might love, too.
Something tells me that if you and Al were ever to meet it would be an explosive, if happy combination, Andra 😀
BabyMibs at the tender age of three, would happily pile up books, boxes etc to get to what he wanted…seems to have grown out of it a little now, but his ingenuity never ceases to amaze me!
It isn’t any wonder parents go greyer quicker!
It isn’t, Mibs 🙂 Heading them off before they get to the trouble – it’s a full-time job…
The very thought of eating sugar sets my own teeth on edge – which is not a particularly good thing, as my teeth have become quite fragile of late. Anyway, Al reminds me of an old “Peanuts” cartoon, in which Lucy walks by Linus, with a bowl and spoon in hand, crunching and munching away. Linus asks her, “What are you eating?” Lucy answers, “Sugar lumps with honey.” Linus runs from the room hand over his mouth, headed for the loo. Lucy shouts out to him as he goes, “They’re good with cinnamon, too!”
‘Nuf said?
*dashes off to the loo*
LOL! Big Al’s going to love you when he is old enough to write his memoirs, Aunty Kate
I’ll be able to help him mightily with his earliest years, BB…
awwww. ‘a bit scared’!!! i wonder if i have all that ahead of me – may have to perfect my cross face…
Worth doing early, Meli. I have feeling people called Felix are unstoppably ingenious.
oml, this was fabulous to read after a long day, thank you. “my Lego is broken”…poor Felix. As for Al…life shall never be dull around that boy ~
It sure won’t, Angela. He’s a story a minute.