Mischief, mysteries, and suchlike madness

There's no doubt about it. I have given birth to a goonda. The fact hit home last weekend when our friends and their 5 year old daughter stayed with us. We went out shopping, and the way Moppet bossed over E, one would think that she was the one who was twice as big and 3 times older. It helped that E is a lovely, sweet natured child who was happy to play along with Moppet's crazy ideas.

Like they would go running down the mall hand-in-hand, yelling some sort of war cry, leaving a scattered bunch of startled shoppers in their wake. Or they would conspire near supermarket aisles, and attempt to knock down powder tins with one swipe, like dominos. Dash into a store and throw around some giant plastic balls that were piled in a corner. And of course, they went completely mad at Toys-R-Us.

I don't think E has done as much mischief in the last year as she managed to accomplish with Moppet in that one hour. She was giggling uncontrollably throughout, although her natural well-behaved self did assert itself at the supermarket and Toys-R-Us, where she followed Moppet, putting back everything she swiped from the shelves.


For the first time, I found myself questioning my wish for 2 or more kids. More kids, like this one? With this one as the gang leader?! Heaven help me!

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These days, I am called to Moppet's bedside 3 or 4 times a night, usually with a piteous cry for 'Maaaama', or a croak for 'waaaater'. These are simply dealt with. A pat and a firm 'go back to sleep' is mostly enough for the first cry, and a sip of water takes care of the second.

Sometimes it's other people who are called. Her best friends Ishta (Ishita) and Bin (Ben) are often sent midnight summons, and since her grandpa arrived, Daadu has also been requested on a couple of occasions. Telling her they're still asleep and she should go back to sleep too usually works.

There are also some extraordinary calls - Bucket! Apple! Boat! Bubble! - what on earth is going on inside that little head of hers?

But that's not the mystery here. The real mystery is how her Papa has managed to NEVER be the one getting called at night. What I wouldn't give to be able to turn over in bed, poke him and say - She's calling YOU!

Sigh! In my dreams, maybe.

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Apparently Moppet has a fetish for hair. I'd noticed that she liked to play with her friend Ishita's pony tail (much to Ishita's annoyance), but I thought it was more about playing with her than with her hair. Then this little Japanese boy about Moppet's age, owner of a most luxuriant head of soft silky hair moved into our building. For the last few days Moppet has been vigorously chasing him around the park, trying to stroke his hair, causing much merriment among the rest of the park population.

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My dutiful DIL phase continues. Actually, my FIL is a sweetheart and is really no trouble to look after, but he does like to talk. A LOT. And unlike his son who gets away with rude remarks like, 'Yeah, I've heard that a dozen times already' or 'Ok, ok, get to the point now', I have to resort to gentler tactics such as 'Ah I remember you mentioned that before', or 'So you were actually tellling me about...' Not half as effective I'm afraid.

But in all, we're having fun. Every afternoon, we explore some new side street in Bangkok together, and have even managed to locate a South Indian restaurant not too far from our apartment. FIL has given his seal of approval: Prices are not alright but it tastes ok like.