So H Bomb ran off to his bedroom - peering over his shoulder a couple of times, he pushed his door ajar....conspicuous by his silence he was doing either of 2 things - as it always is - a) a poo or b) something he knows he shouldn't. Despite the lack of odour, I could tell immediately by the look on his face that he was being naughty. On closer inspection he had a couple of 1 euro coins in his hand, one of which he was moving towards his mouth with a churlish glint in his eye.
Choking/innumerable germs and a variety of other hazards seared through my mind. Plus, quite where he found the schrapnel, I'll never know. Even the most meticulous and fastidious parent would miss a trick with this little Houdini.
'Ah ah ahh (because I somehow think making this noise akin to Anne from Little Britain is better than using the simple word NO) give that to mummy now, you must be CAREFUL (another phrase I am worried I overuse to the point of pointlessness) they are yucky and dirty and ....... Oh don't cry Henry, don't cry darling, here put them in your pocket but they MUST stay there and you can spend them in the shop later if you are a good boy'. Well we are on holiday so who wants too many boundaries and too much crying and what's wrong with a little bribe every 3 minutes.
Whilst I am off with little brother, collecting some washing, the 2 elder males in our family pop to the shop to get some croissants where a transaction must have taken place. 20 minutes later in walk daddy and Henry pleased as punch with the paper bag laden with stodge and our 'tour (ok, toliday) wallet'.
Daddy slips off somewhere, similarly conspicuous by his absence for the aforementioned reasons. Henry trots over to me on the sofa swinging his bag of coins and notes and happily yelling 'money, money, money'. Thank goodness we're remote and in a foreign country. 'Money, money, money', he proceeds to empty the coins out. 'CAREFUL'. He starts stuffing them in his pockets, both trouser pockets are full to the point of splitting at the seam and he then melts down as 3 coins drop on the floor. 'Money, moooonneeeyyy, m, ma, money! Myyyyyyyyyyyyy money!!' And I mean inconsolable, fish-on-the-end-of-a-hook-flapping-in-desperation inconsolable. Clearly he was waiting to spend that nugget I saved from his gnashers and didn't get the chance on the croissant trip - daddy hadn't read the memo I stuck in my brain.
I can't even regale the extent of how ridiculous this tirade of yelling and flinging was but it gave me flashbacks of the first 2 an a half hours I bothered to watch of Wolf of Wall Street (A possessed Leo Di Caprio without the strippers and cocaine). Money can make you bonkers.
So we are now very casual about how we convey the concept of money and wary of bestowing its powers and most importantly discussing every breath our toddler takes out of earshot of the other adult. Hmm likely.
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