Friday, April 14, 2006

Moab's catch and release programme.

I've noticed that the children of old friends seem to find it easy to get along together themselves. I suspect it is partly the ease of the relationship of the adults creating a peaceful vibe and partly that interaction-style is somewhat hereditary and so the likelihood of the children finding it easy and natural to be with each other goes up with their parents being people who find that.

After spending a few hours with the children of two old friends of Sean's while he played board games our children fell deeply asleep in the car. Hazel woke up upon transferral to the house but Iris appeared to be down for the night. I started imagining an evening of pleasant conversation or companionable DVD watching, but in an excess of friendly yet competitive zeal Sean drove back out to the same gathering leaving me to put Hazel to bed.

Usually I help Iris to bed (hence the lists of her bed-fellows and such) while Sean does Hazel. Tonight I enjoyed reading a couple of chapters of Prince Caspian to Hazel but I was rather glad to hasten out of her room and off to the loo when she finally went to sleep. Just as I was triumphantly txting Sean of my parenting success the cat hurried past with squeaking prey.

Moab has a catch and release programme; he likes to catch prey outside and release them inside for all-weather comfortable hunting. Usually he releases them under Hazel's bed but tonight, by the time I'd finished and got to it, the mouse was under the rocking horse in the hall. Trying to catch it I accidentally herded it into his waiting jaws, whereupon he rushed into the playroom and let it go.

Two children, 4 and 2. They have numerous friends, five cousins, four grandparents, two parents, two godparents, two aunts, two uncles and one sister each. They've had 12 Christmasses and birthdays put together. There is an awful lot of cover in the playroom.

Last I saw that mouse it ran under the bookcase, eschewing a nod to Beatrix Potter by vandalising the dolls' houses. Who knows where it is now, Moab doesn't. He was looking the other way even then and is now making sure that if the local cats call a Clean Bottom Competition at 1am he's in with a chance. Moab, shouldn't you be finding your mouse? What if they call a Mouse Show?


Blogger Martha said...

I was talking to some friends on Thursday night about that very thing. They have a son 12 days younger than Finn, and moved back from the UK when the boys were 18 months. It was like the kids had been waiting for each other, they were instantly bosom buddies. Amazing.

6:53 AM  
Anonymous house monkey said...

Why is he called Moab?

8:54 PM  

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