|Waiting for the tram|
Last summer the grandspoilers took the mini-beasts on a day trip to our local metropolis, Montpellier. Later that evening in a mother-daughter chat...
Me: So, you went to Montpellier today?
Matilda: It's not your Pellier it's Papi Mike's Pellier.
Obviously the kind of amusing anecdote that I will be boring her with when she's 27 and definitely blogworthy (we don't have high standards around these blogparts) but somehow I never got round to it.
Yesterday the grandspoilers took us all to Montpellier to see the Christmas decorations. The previous morning in a mother-daughter chat...
Me: Papi and Nana are taking us to Montpellier tomorrow.
Matilda: Are we going to your Pellier or Papi Mike's Pellier?
I think it is due to the same impeccable logic that Owen calls Matilda, Tilda.
Anyway, a grand day was had by all.
And in other fun with words news, I realised recently that when Owen refers to his "bummy" he is not in fact talking about his bottom, which he very correctly calls a bottom, but his tummy. As in "Hurt my bottom, hurt my bummy, need do poo".
|Wearing his "Princess gloves"|
|Wearing his pyjamas|