Our only set of car keys, which we lost for 36 hours last week, was eventually found in an old shoebox, along with some ancient cutlery and a plastic golf ball. The shoebox was buried underneath a suitcase. The suitcase was down the back of our garden shed. We keep our garden shed locked. This is the random magic of toddlers. How? And, more mysteriously, why?
We think that she stealthily took advantage of a five minute window in which Don went to grab a screwdriver from the shed, thus opening the door. Because she has since proclaimed that the car keys were ‘very tired’, we assume that she was putting them down for a nap. Why she decided that a battered old Converse box would make a suitable cot, and knives and forks an ideal mattress, I have no idea. And why car keys need naps is way beyond any attempt at rationalisation. Again, this is the magic of toddlers.
Freya’s missing her dad, who is seven days into a 10 day stint abroad. Yesterday at dinner time, she jumped up out of her seat, ran out onto the deck, shouted ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ and waved maniacally at the sky. I watched her, bemused, for at least 20 seconds, before I got it: she had heard a plane flying overhead, and was hoping that Daddy was on board and looking out the window. So I joined her in her waving and shouting, and convinced her that she could see Daddy waving at us through a window. Ben, however, was not fooled.
