Watching him. Lost in his huge world of imagination, there is nothing I like more. I came out of the shower the other day to find him hiding under his baby blanket in his room with
all of his toys, apparently the Wobbly Man was on the loose. Sometimes it's a Giant Ogre. Or a naughty robber after Gaw-Gaw. Or squirrels that steal honey and throw nuts at him. Other times he is a breakdancer running from the police. (Thanks to naughty Daddy, letting him watch movies that are for grown ups...) Or a knight on a mission to fight off the dragon. Or a mechanic trying to fix the fire engine so it can go and fight a fire. Sometimes he speaks with an American accent, and it makes me laugh as I remember Phil teasing me about speaking with an American accent while I played. Imagination, it's endless and amazing.
Some days it is just Lego that he wants to play with, all day long. Hoardes of reformed robbers (he is quite specific, he tells me,
'Mummy, they're not bad eggs anymore, they are good now') piling into a truck to go to the park. Or police and firemen rescuing cats from trees.
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| (Note the lack of visor...) |
And there is a complicated game we play in my studio. Toby is a chicken called Goldie, sitting on a pile of (polystyrene craft) eggs. I have to pretend to be the visitor to a farm with his friend Lily, and stroke him while he clucks, and look at the eggs. I think that one is based heavily on our trip to Tasmania!
And my favourite game, partly because I get to lie in bed while we do it, is the space rocket game. We put on our helmets and blast off, wondering at the milky way, dodging black holes and asteroids, and stopping off at the space station to buy some fast space food. Toby likes to go as far as Jupiter. Fun days.
