Dragged Godzilla out of bed so they could all go off to guitar lessons whilst I went to a fundraising morning tea.
Went through the usual debacle of attempting to determing what he actually wanted for breakky, whilst he bounced around answering everything but “what do you want for breakky?”
Located a spare loaf of bread in the freezer, where Godzilla determined he would, in fact, like a peanut butter sandwich, chopped into little triangles wif a lid on top. Frozen. Fine by me, I’m not eating it.
I set about the preparation as he helped himself to an orange juice garnished with grated cheese (“Mmmmmm. Yummy!”) and a slice of bread from the loaf, which be promptly licked (“Look, Mummy. Is ice cream bread!”).
Morning complete, lunch consumed and it was clearly afternoon snack time. I heard the microwave go (“Aaargggggghhh! Do NOT touch the microwave without me!) and he had a nice warm bit of ham on bread. He sat at the table, very nicely, to consume it.
Until I walked past and he said “I don’ really like dis one, Mummy.” I took a look. Ah, that’ll do it – the ham was not only warmed, but smeared with peanut butter. Apparently, and according to Godzilla, cats like these sorts of meals, so they were give a nice treat. Which they ingnored.
Dinner was nachos in front of the TV, while Grumpy was at work.
“I hate dese nachos” he informs me as he wanders into the kitchen. Seconds later there is a sickening thud and a scream. Not the standard “you’re not doing what I want” type scream, but a real “I’m really hurt” kind of scream. I leap up to find Godzilla, screaming, holding his chin.
He has a nice bruise forming underneath, blood in his mouth and no co-operation in the interrogation process.
“What happened? Where you trying to climb onto the bench?”
“No. I banged my chin.”
“I know, but how.”
“I banged into the bench.”
“But how did you bang there? Were you trying to climb onto the bench?” It was all I could think of – how else do you get a bruise there if you’re walking calmly around the kitchen and not getting into any mischief?
“NNNOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” he screams at me.
“Well how did you do it?”
“The bench just tried to push me off.”
Damn that bench, its been giving us trouble like that for years!
Iced chin, gave lots of cuddles, checked his mouth and he was fine. Went to bed happy.
(Finally established he had, in fact, attempted to jump onto bench, with his hands, to get a lolly and slipped! And, I couldn’t help it, I had to add “Doesn’t Mummy tell you not to jump onto the bench like that?”)