It’s like in that Omen movie when the lady discovers her cherubic son is Spawned of Evil.
He continues to smile and sing innocently <cue sinister music>, there are still lots of birds we feed our breakfast brioche and ciabatta to, all around us people smile and say “how are you?” (amazing, can’t get over it!) but – there is sinister music playing. So you know something terrible has happened.
We spend the day at Tim Burton’s exhibition before beginning the drive to the ski lodge. Some of the pictures are a little gruesome (the Sweeney ones) which suits my mood just fine. Try having a 31 month-old with the kind of personality to punish you because he waited too long last night for his bedtime stories. (When I finally arrived on the scene, he was so huffy and he wouldn’t let me read to or cuddle him.)
This carries on all night and into the next morning. Kings demands an apology. No deal. We pretend to leave the room with the porter who’s got our luggage.
<rustle> He’s helping himself to biscuits on the bed.
We watch him til reception calls to say the car is ready. He never caves.
His father gives him another stern talking-to. So then he stands outside the Tim Burton exhibit building refusing to go in. It’s freaking freezing.
A curious, smiling Aussie auntie comes up, then pronounces “you cannot let him get away with it.” Erm, yes we know. ”He’s going to get a lot worse as he grows”. Erm, yes we know. (But love how chatty people on the street are here – try stopping someone power walking in Causeway Bay Hong Kong: You have to make it clear in the first 2 seconds using whatever body language at your disposal that you are not selling anything, you just need directions.)
And so it keeps on. In the Indian restaurant, he gets mad because I reach over to cut a piece of fish masala he’s struggling with into two pieces. He wanted to do it “by self!” This is grounds to not eat dinner.
N-ot because of talent, we call him Rockstar.
Ruined not a few of our pictures with that face, too.
All around us, sympathetic looks, indulgent smiles. This place is unbelieveable. I believe in Hong Kong the locals hide their misbehaving children in their giant YSL Muse bags. Either that or they simply don’t have any. Local hongkies assure me they have their fair share of brats, but I can’t recall offhand seeing any. It makes me really self-conscious back home when my son is having a diva moment.
And still more evil…
As luck would have it, Talent100 calls me (remember Mummy’s got Talent?). It’s for a commercial to be someone’s pretend mum (there might be a husband too). Kings says of course I can do it, but his friends are going to laugh at him. I think Rockstar needs a little competition. And I don’t mean in the talent department. Too bad we’re in Melbourne for 2 weeks…
