Wolf

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Flying High

The funfair was in town a couple of weeks ago. Not the big one, that's in August, but this one was perfect for little boys that have never been in a Merry-go-round before. We went to the fair for our third honeymoon anniversary - having a large portion of fries with a 'curryworst' (fricandelle) and a desert of 'smoutebollen' (kind of a sweet doughnut but without the whole in the middle), rather than a fancy candle-light diner.

Wolf had a blast, after stuffing his cheeks with fries from daddy and smoutebollen from mummy, he tried out the mini cars and the Merry-go-round. Here you see him taking off in a plane, which he could make go up and down by pushing a button. He tries every button in his reach, but that was the best button ever!

Luckily, all that turning around and flying up and down didn't make his dinner come out. And he even got a free ride! But then it was time to head home, and surprisingly we didn't have to tear his little fingers from the cars, planes and horses to make him come with us. He's such a good boy!

Most of the time...

Biannual Man

We celebrated Wolf’s second birthday this weekend. Two years ago, a fragile quiet little baby came into our life. It’s difficult to believe how fast he grew up to be an energetic toddler that's running around the house, that's learning the wrong words as soon as you accidentally utter them and who’s favourite hobby is to order his parents and the cats around.

Saturday – his actual birthday – we gave him a puzzle, but the real party was on Sunday. We’d invited his grandparents and godparents for a big barbecue. Mummy had bought enough meat to feed a herd of tyrannosaurs for a year or two and daddy slapped them on the grill, wearing his cowboy hat that went very well with the tepee that he’d set up at the end of the garden. And Wolf and mummy had spent the entire morning blowing up balloons and hanging them in the sun. Two hours later, the same sun had exploded almost half of the balloons. By the time all the guests were there, only four balloons survived. When the strawberries with whipped cream arrived (one kilo per guest plus one litre of whipped cream), our garden was the balloons’ version of the killing fields.

But it was loads of fun! And there were loads of gifts, although faulty communication led to two couples buying the same gift. But he got bicycles (plural, yes), a huge inflatable swimming pool, a Duplo horse riding centre (times two), a bedtime story book and loads of other loot.

Wolf and his nieces had a lot of fun; the sky was filled with screams of laughter, not in the least because the neighbours’ eldest daughter celebrated her birthday on the same day in the next garden. Needless to say, our party was the best party of the whole neighbourhood.

I was very glad that Monday was a holiday here, because I really needed an hour of rest before I went on the whole day to lay new drainpipes in the bathroom.

Sharing Is For Loosers

A month ago, we took advantage of one of the first nice days to take Wolf to the playground.

He learned to climb on the slide all by himself. To celebrate this momentous occasion, he crowned himself the Supreme Head Tyrant of the Slide. Other kids were banned from the slide from that moment forth, as far as he was concerned. Sadly for him, we used our Omni-Overruling Parental Veto and spoiled his day by allowing other kids on the slide. He then made a daring bid for power over the swings.

This was also the first time that he actually touched the sand, although not with a lot of enthusiasm.

Wolf at the playground

Wolf at the playground

Life Imprisonment

When a baby is born, he is so sweet and innocent. Two years later, Wolf has done enough mischief to deserve years of confinement. We've had enough of his tantrums, of him throwing full plates of food on the ground or stepping on the cats' tails on purpose.

So yesterday, we contacted the local jail – or kindergarten school if you will – to reserve him a cell – or classroom as they call it euphemistically.

Actually, we're lucky that things went so smoothly, because in many places in the country and even in some other parts of the city, there are waiting lists. In order to be sure that their child can go to a school in the neighbourhood, parents will literally camp at the gates of the school. In other places, like Ghent, the schools took the sensible step to organise a waiting list on the internet. This way, children get access in accordance to the distance they live from a certain school. I think it's a good principle, because now parents have to inscribe their children in far away schools if they are too low on the waiting list.

But our part of the city has plenty of schools. Still, we didn’t want to take any chances, so Mrs.B went to register Wolf as soon as the gates opened.

He’ll be forced to 'wear his pants down on the benches' until he’s 18, and then (probably) some more time if he’ll pursuit a higher education. Poor boy, looking up to 20 years of time, and he can't even speak or go to the toilet yet.

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