6th MAY 2017
2 YEARS OLD EWAN'S BLOG
STUCK IN A PATCHWORK OF THOUGHTS
Hi Ewan here. A bit of a patchwork writing cobbled together for this week’s blog. The week has been that sort of week. Normally one event stands out and I just have to blog it. Not this week. Just bits.
I like having both my Grandads about, Grandad David and the other crazy guy. The reason I like them is because I feel a little more secure with a guy around. People say I am sexist, well the females of the family do, Mum, Mamma, Gran, Auntie Nan-nan, Auntie Parvene, Auntie Debs. I’ll stop there or the whole blog will be listing females.
But I am not sexist, its just a little insecurities that I was born with and passed on to me in my genes.
Crazy Grandad is good to have around for different reasons to Grandad David. You see Crazy Grandad gets into trouble and scrapes all the time ending up on the naughty step more than me, so he takes the attention away from my mischief and relieves me of that constant pressure I get from adults to be a good boy. It was part of the deal I had with Mum and Dad, if they wanted me born I needed to live my life to the full. None of this being perfect crap.
With Crazy Grandad, also I always, always, always get my own way unless I do not share or hit Brother Rory. But he needs it. If he’s got a toy and I want to play with it he needs a good smack to make him realise. That’s the laws of the jungle, otherwise he’d never let me play with his stuff.
“Stuck” is one of the staple words of my limited vocabulary. It was one of the first 10 words I learnt to say:
1. Dada 2. Mummee 3.RoRo 4.Mamma 5.Bot-bot 6.Choo choo 7.Bear 8.Stuck 9.Bye 10.Bye (Note 9&10 are two different words. As someone leaves you say “Bye” and then a totally different “Bye”.
Stuck is a very important word to me. I shout it out constantly when I am “STUCK” and need assistance to be extricated from somewhere or something. I get “STUCK” in my car seat all the time. I shout out throughout the journey “STUCK” but no one ever gets me out until we get there.
My Brother Rory, says at such times “You are supposed to be “STUCK”. It’s your car seat.”
But no one is ever supposed to be “STUCK” and certainly not on purpose. It is against my human rights. My Mum knows about human rights laws she studied them at University. There’s a special section about being “Stuck”.
I get “STUCK” everywhere: not just the car seat, but in my pushchair, in my baby chair, between the armchair and the settee, between the TV and the wall, when trying to access the cables at the rear of the TV, in my cot, under my cot, in my wooden toy box, in the swing and on the slide at the park. I could go on but it would fill the internet.
“STUCK” is so famous they even wrote a book about it. Well, Oliver Jeffers has done. The trouble is he doesn’t understand what real “STUCK” is all about. His book is not what I call “STUCK”. It all apparently began when Floyd got his kite stuck in a tree. He throws lots of things up to make it unstuck but they all get stuck in the tree.
That’s not “STUCK” like real “STUCK”. “STUCK” is when things restrict you and your life. Mum and Dad cause me to be “STUCK” big time.
Some people get “STUCK” if they are thinking out problems or working out complicated maths problems. My dad never ever gets “STUCK” on maths problems. I never get “STUCK” working out complicated maths problems either. I just don’t work out complicated maths problems. Then guess what? You don’t get “STUCK”.
One place where I do get “STUCK” big time is in the toy cupboard trying to get out my biggest toys or in Dad’s garden shed when I try to get out his lawn mower or Brother Rory’s bike.
I feel “STUCK” in this blog now. So I’m going to quit moaning and move on.
We had a lot of time with Grandad and Mamma last weekend. My Dad went away to sort out the reindeer for Santa for three nights. I think it’s whilst Santa has a few days break. Dad said it was a Stag weekend and my Brother Rory knows all there is to know about animals and he says Stags are male reindeers.
We do lots of interesting things at Mamma and Grandad’s. We do at home but Mamma and Grandad take it to a different level. No rules rules.
Grandad took Brother Rory on a Snail Hunt. A Snail Hunt is the same as a Bear Hunt but slower and not so terrifying and dangerous. Snails don’t sneeze so you can’t catch cold from them. We found one and Brother Rory said it was a girl. Brother Rory is so clever. Not even Grandad, who knows everything and if he doesn’t makes it up, knew whether the snail was a boy or a girl.
He asked Brother Rory how he knew the snail was a girl. Brother Rory told him, if they like flowers they are a girl if they don’t they are a boy. Rory’s snail liked flowers so it was a girl and he named her Ella.
I have heard you can eat snails. I am always hungry and so I kept trying to eat Brother Rory’s snail but he kept stopping me.
After having three very intense days with Mamma and Grandad we were banned from seeing them for awhile. Mum said Grandad had a sickness bug he caught from Cousin George, Cousin Freya and Auntie Nan-Nan. Mum and Dad didn’t want me to catch it.
I’ve seen Grandad with a sickness bug and it’s not a pretty sight. “I’m sick of this Council, I’m sick of these road works, I’m sick of the weather, I’m sick of poor TV programmes, I’m sick of politicians.” He says. Yes, when he gets it he gets it very bad. I suppose it is best Mum and Dad kept me away.
I am permitted to do more than 500 words in my blog this week because I’m having next week off to give all the space over to Cousin George, you see he is one year old so he has many special features. It is a big day when you get your first birthday. You feel you’ve waited a lifetime for it. You think it’s not coming. I remember mine well and that was more than half my life ago.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY COUSIN GEORGE!
I’ll be with you to celebrate and down a couple of Bot-bots together. Have a great day and I hope you get lots of wrapping paper and big empty boxes to play with.
Bye Bye, Ewan.
When I was a lad at school around 13 years old, our Maths teacher used to call me Wol. At the end of the year as we were moving up a class I plucked up courage to ask why he called me Wol. He told meit was thename of the deslexic owl in Winnie the Pooh. With my Harry Potter glasses he said I looked like the Wise Old Owl in the Winnie the Pooh stories.
Being the vain person I am I took it as a compliment
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