Caspian and I were in a cafe. He was singing to himself when a man at the check-out spoke to him. Hiding behind me, he mumbled something in response.
‘Are you a mummy’s boy?’ The man said.
‘Mummy is not a boy! Mummy is Gulara!’ he protested.
He finds everything he sees. For example,
‘I found flowers!’ he delights looking out into the garden.
‘I found a house!’ he shouts pointing at the house across the road from us.
‘I found a lake!’ he says in the local park.
‘I found a helicopter!’ he points at the sky.
Likewise, whatever or whoever he doesn’t see, he lost.
‘Mummy, I lost you!’ He says when he can’t find me in the bedroom.
‘Caspian and daddy,’ he says pointing at his photo where he’s 6 months old.
‘Yes, baby Caspian and daddy.’
‘It’s not a baby! It’s Cas-pi-an!’
‘I ran out of ump’ he says crouching on the walk. ‘Carry me!’
In a cafe:
‘Which cake would you like.’
‘That one,’ he points at an evil looking quadruple chocolate cake.
‘No, that’s too sickly.’
‘I want that sickly!’ he shouts pointing at a doughnut.
Caspian’s dad kisses him on his cheek.
‘Yak! I don’t like your germs,’ he wipes his face. ‘I like mummy’s germs. They suit me.’
I took him to a church service recently. A nice vicar made some announcements: weddings, meetings and last but not least the 83rd birthday of a man sitting in the back row. The whole congregation sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to the man. Caspian joined in, his eyes lighting up with excitement. When we stopped singing he said:
‘Where’s the cake?’
He loves finding snails in the garden.
‘Look, Caspian, a snail is coming towards you.’
‘He’s not coming.’
‘You are right, he’s crawling.’
‘He’s not crawling. He’s sliming.’