Bless my two-year old – his new favourite phrase is “I want to help”. Unfortunately, his help almost always complicates matters. He’s determined to help me feed his little brother. However feeding the wiggly one requires dogged determination, patience and dexterity, all of which are in short supply in his older brother. Steering of the spoon by Mum is not tolerated as my fiercely independent son must do it by himself. As you can imagine, the usual outcome of this ‘giving of help’ is three slightly frazzled participants lightly coated in puree. Not helpful. He has also offered his assistance with nail clipping, scrambled egg making and bottle-feeding of calves. It’s hard to gently decline these offers without worrying that it’ll quash the generous spirit within.
His offers to help with less injurious tasks are, of course, gratefully accepted even though a quick trip to the Spar can become a very protracted affair when a toddler is pushing the trolley (not to mention a tad dangerous for the unsuspecting inattentive shopper!) He’s very good at feeding chickens, putting the hazards on (one times flat battery) and pushing ATM buttons, some times even in the correct order.
Nevertheless I treasure these offers. They’re part of a two-year old him that won’t exist very long. And I’ll miss them.
L'amour de Mere 