Zzzzzz

"Car."
"Yes, a car - well done. It's a blue car, isn't it?"
"Car. Car."
"Yes! Lots of cars."
"Car."
"Yes, another car."
"Car."
"Yes."
"Car."
"Indeed."
"Car."
"Well, it's a van really. But car's fine."
"Nee-nah!"
"Yes. No - wait - what? A fire engine? I didn't see... oh! It's a bus. What does a bus say?"
"Di-di."
"Yes, it does! It says ding-ding. You're a clever boy - well done!"
"Car."
"Yup. Car."
"Car. Di-di."
"Yes, and yes. A car and a bus. You have excellent spotting skills."
"Car. Bee!"
"Yes! the car went beep beep at you, didn't it?! I think that was because you waved at it."
"Car."

And so on, and so on.

There's a rumour that, having taught Baby B what a bus says while putting him to bed last Thursday, I've become Di-di in the household's listing of absent family members. I think this may be true, because while he wouldn't say it today (unless presented with an actual bus), when L asked him who Di-di was, B turned and pointed at me. "Grandma Jill" being a bit of a mouthful for a nineteen month old toddler, I'll very happily take Di-di.

I captured this bee (which jiggles its hand up and down and goes "Zzzzz") at the other B's favourite park, which is the one where he's allowed to run about and throw food to the birds. Today we discovered that there's a little café there, seemingly run by Swedish people, which sells expensive but excellent takeaway coffee, and Swedish cardamom buns. R and I decided to share a cardamom bun (in the interest of our waistlines and family solvency), but in the end most of it went into B - who for some reason I can't explain seems now to be finding rice cakes rather less appetising than he used to.

After stuffing pieces of cardamom bun into his mouth with both hands for several minutes, as fast as I was prepared to hand them over, he was dismayed - and frankly incredulous - to hear that he was now in possession of the last piece. I handed over the bag though, and after  he'd turned it upside down and shaken it he accepted that I was telling the truth. He then spent the rest of the journey home pulling minuscule morsels off this last piece, and delicately eating them one at a time, in a way that reminded me very much of his mother when she was about a decade older than he is now. As R pointed out, it's lucky that he didn't achieve his apparent goal of splitting the cardamom bun atom, or Glamorganshire might well have exploded.