Vienna again

08:04:2003
And it's time for more stories about the kids (yawn...)
Now a story about –-m. For a long time now, --m has been mildly obsessed with one particular book low down in our bookshelf. It is a biography of Trotsky (in German) by someone called Dimitri Wolkogonow. When he’s not perpetrating one crime or another, --m heads for the Trotsky book, takes its cover off (it’s a hardback, quite thick) and hauls it around the place- usually leaving it under the toilet or somewhere. This morning I got an insight into his apparent fascination with one of the founding fathers of the Russian Revolution. ----I had gone for a shower, and -–m, in a delicate state after two days of sleep deprivation (I’ll explain later) was distraught at having the bathroom door closed in his face.
I really didn’t have the energy at that point to go and fetch him from in front of the bathroom door where he had taken up position and was wailing for his mum. Eventually though I decided that enough was enough and went to help him out. I then discovered he was using the Trotsky book as a step to try and reach the door handle so he could get into the bathroom. So it wasn’t the intellectual value of the book that appealed to him but its intrinsic size and thickness. If there’s a lesson to be learned here then I should have learned it a long time ago. Of course he didn’t give a crap if the book was about Trotsky, Stalin or flower arranging. His as-yet uncluttered brain had seen it as a tool for aiding his life, and at this point in his life all that mattered to him was getting into the bathroom to be reunited with his mum.
Seeing as he still couldn’t reach the door handle even with Trotsky’s help, I opened the door and went in there with him so he could see ----I in the shower cubicle. He then attempted to put his hand down the toilet (again). I was going to write something about ---y at this point but right now she’s lying on the sofa complaining that she’s ‘a lot bored’ and wants me to play with her. So if ---y is reading this in years to come and is miffed that there isn’t a piece written about her then she can take comfort in the fact that I am about to play a magnetic fishing game with her 4-year-old self.



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