The Pride of the Patriarchs

“Mummy, mummy, is Mismantha, is Mismantha.” 

A cup of tea with Jackie and Sam junior restored some sense of balance to Sam’s day, for tea with a two year old leaves no space for reflection on the great themes of life, its ills and griefs.  For a two year old, life happens here, now, and is focussed only on one person – and that is exactly how life should be when you are two.

 ‘What a shame we have to grow up,’ thought Sam, and then remembered that being two does not bring protection from the darker side of life; the nightmares, the black tempers, the fears of hoovers, or beards, or flies, the difficulties communicating with strangers who do not speak “two”, and who have shown tendencies to pinch your name from under you. 

Happily little Sam seemed to bear no grudges there, and took Mismantha by the hand to show her nunny, his pet bunny.  They fed nunny and put fresh water in his bottle.

            “Has you got a nunny?” little Sam asked Mismantha.

            “No, but I’ve got a pussycat, a beautiful, soft pussycat, the same colour as marmalade,” she said.

            “Wa’s pussycat eat?” asked little Sam.

            Mismantha studied nunny carefully, and smiled when she glanced up and caught Jackie reading her thoughts. 

“His favourite food is cheese sauce,” she said with honesty.

Cheese sauce, proved impossible for little Sam to say.  He had several amusing and inventive attempts before settling for ‘seesaws’.

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