When the caller ID on my work phone displays our home number, I know one of two things has happened. Either M’laddo has done something astonishingly ill conceived (the word “naughty” is currently taboo in our household as it apparently encourages conformity to type- tell a nipper they’re naughty and they’ll behave in a naughty fashion), or the little fella wants to talk to me.
This makes answering the phone a bit tricky as I could have a two year old on the end of it or wifey at her wits end. I often go with the neutral, “Hello?” and wait to see whether I get an adult or a toddler reply.
I think it’s funny that M’laddo knows what a telephone is for and moreover he can demand that his mummy calls me on it so he can have a chat. And when he’s got the phone to focus on, I get a proper conversation out of him as he’s not distracted by the myriad of other things around us. This caused a bit of a problem last night as he wanted to talk to Nanna before he went to bed. We phoned her and they had a little natter but as a result of this, M’laddo insisted on taking Wifey’s old Sony Ericsson mobile to bed with him so he could be in contact with people.
I discovered this to be an unfortunate thing at around 6am, when the hysterical sobbing started. I assumed it was due to the loss of two bun-bun, who often falls out of the bed, but no, this was a whole different kettle of fish. M’laddo was clutching his mobile phone and in clear distress because the battery had fallen off the back of the phone. The little so and so had been clutching it tightly all night and was distraught that the thing had fallen to bits (well it is old. Perhaps I should superglue it back on?).
Needless to say this obviously coincided with the first prolonged period of wee lass silence all night. Funny how they time it isn’t it? Must be some sort of rota.