I will tell you about my proudest achievement as a Grandma so far. Have I taught 18 month old Elijah to say 1, 2, 3? No, although I've tried. Have I taught him to say 'Grandma'? No, although I've tried. Have I taught him to eat all of his vegetables? No chance. You'd think that spending all week persuading 11 year olds to write 'would have' instead of 'would of' and to put capital letters on names would give me plenty of practice in working miracles, but, no, the toddler-broccoli challenge will have to be left to greater mortals.
What I have taught him is, when we're looking out of his living room window at passing cars, to bang on the glass like a mad thing and yell, 'OY! YOU!'
Practice makes perfect. So, the last few times I've stayed at his house, I've run him through the 'Oy! You!' routine again, just to make sure he doesn't forget. And then, yesterday, when I spoke to him on the phone, the one thing that made him remember who I was just by my voice was when I said, 'Oy! You!' to him and he started giggling.
We have a unique link now, Elijah and I, bonded together by a special routine that involves insulting local drivers, making their innocent way down a Surrey street, only to be yelled at by a middle-aged woman and a toddler, jabbing at the windows and screeching.
At some point, I will try to teach him to say 'please' and 'thank you' or to use his knife and fork correctly.
|Next, Fran decided to take Elijah for a drive to show him how best to behave behind the wheel.|