In existence

We took the Boy Wonder to Croome this morning, where he met my friend Richard, ate yet more ice cream, and discovered both the children's playground and the woodland activity area. The former is currently a little disappointing because the management has wisely declared both metal slides off-limit, due to the potential they offer for skin burns during the ongoing heatwave; but the latter (which I've walked through during autumn fungus hunts, while managing to be only vaguely aware of its play potential) proved to be a huge success. B was invited to take part in a fantasy restaurant game that was being devised by a pair of siblings who were both a little older than him, and though he was uncertain about this at first, he soon warmed to it, and they were very sweet and generous in the way they included him. It was only after they left with their parents that we were able to coax him away.

As we were walking back to the car, a vehicle turned into the car park that was a particularly virulent shade of chartreuse. "Wow!" I said. "That's... bright!" Following my gaze, the Boy Wonder stopped dead in his tracks and threw his hands in the air. "A yellow car??" he exclaimed. "In existence???"   R, walking slightly ahead of us, turned round and flashed me a grin of pure delight, and I realised that another family catchphrase had just been born.

Back at home B helped with various tasks in the garden - watering, deadheading (and occasionally, accidentally, liveheading), and such, and then we retreated to the relative cool of the snug and watched The Super Mario Bros. film - which he now knows well enough to be able to jump up and down and shriek in excitement several seconds before the good bits actually happen. After the film finished there was a bit of an upset, when B discovered a forgotten chocolate biscuit on a plate on the kitchen table, and before I had time to react managed to apply the melted coating to his face, his clothing and most of the nearest fixtures and fittings. Hearing me snap, R leapt into action and repaired the situation with a liberal application of wet wipes, but the Boy was outraged.

After taking a minute to regroup, I apologised, while explaining why I'd been so cross. Unimpressed, he gazed at me icily, and announced, "But. You had no business shouting at me, when what I did was An Accident." I managed to choke back the retort that holding a slimy biscuit flat against his face and trying to suck the melted chocolate off it displayed a level of intent that precluded any use of the word "accident", and merely said, "You're right. I shouldn't have shouted. But I've said I'm sorry, so can we have a hug and make friends?" Unmoved, he gave me the Paddington Hard Stare, and said, "No. Because I am still Very Angry." "Fair enough," I said (shooting a warning glance at R, who by this point was almost bent double). "Just let me know when we're OK again."

It took a while, and dinner, and R allowing him to try out the special brush attachment for the garden hose that you use to clean the car wheels, but by bedtime (three stories tonight, and no negotiation required), everything was fine.