The two of them left the door together to the nearby playground. It had been a ritual every weekend when we visiting my father-in-law. Daddy’s more fun; Horatio preferred his company to mine.
It was a bit surprising to see him burst through the door after about 40 minutes, without his father in tow. Something wasn’t right; he didn’t just run all the way home by himself, did he (it happened twice before, once he came home from my mum’s, once from our neighbour’s, both incidents were by himself and both the host had no idea he was gone and went into the state of panic)?
“Where are Daddy and your bike?”
“In the park.” He looked a bit grudge.
“What happened? Did you just come home by your self again?” I picked up the wiggling Ambrosia. Ambrosia launched herself towards the old cat litter box again. The long abandon box had been there since my in-law’s cat died earlier this year. For some memory reason he couldn’t bring himself to put it away. Ambrosia found it was rather fascinating; stealing every opportunity wanting to play whatever it was in there.
“He’s naughty!” Now he’s accusing him.
I was about to question him a bit more when Steven appeared at the door. It turned out Horatio had been asking his father to do all sorts of things and complained loudly and rudely when it’s not exactly his expectation. He had been acting like that all morning. Steven was furious.
He demanded Horatio go into ‘Time Out’ immediately. Horatio bickered something like: “I DON’T BLOODY CARE!” back and headed toward our car (it worked as a time out area when we were outside). He had been smarted enough now to know every time if he didn’t go into the appointed time out place himself, the result would be catastrophic.
He thought everything would be backed to normal after he emerged from our family vehicle. But out of his shocking horror, Steven refused to talk to him or even looking at him. He panicked. Looked like Daddy was really pissed this time.
“Mummy, I said sorry.” Horatio gave me his Bambie look, asking me to do the talking for him. I am afraid that’s not going to work, darling. I wasn’t the one who got piss off.
He was too scared to apologise to Steven, too worry if his apology wasn’t accepted.
Horatio spend the entire journey home kept flashing the little look at his father, eventually he fell asleep. When he woke up, he came into the lounge, trying to see if Steven had forgiven him. Nop. No such luck. He started using the usual weeping and whining technique. His Daddy stood up and left the room. He cried for a while, noticed no on paying any attention, he stopped and turned on his DVD player, started watching Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were Rabbit.
He had watched that movie a million times. Don’t reckon his mind was on it at all. I could see his little scone ticking away, trying to figure out the next move.
When I put the newly baked bekkie on the plate, he requested a piece. After that, he asked for another, put it onto his plate, and walked towards our room.
Looks like he’s going to make the apology attempt himself.
He stopped at the door, turned around and beckoned me over.
“I am scared,” He begged: “Can you come with me, mummy?”
I promised him I would stand at the door. He went in, stood by the bed for 10 long minutes, put the plate down, picked the plate up, finally lost the nerve and retreated.
To be honest, he looked very cute like that. Finally I gave in, suggesting perhaps he could write an apology note. He started practicing the alphabet since he was three. So far he only managed writing his own name. An hand written apology note definitely would impress his Daddy.
Horatio asked me to show him some alphabet he didn’t normally write (ie, something that wasn’t in his name), practice a few go. He almost gave up a few times, but picked up the pen again after I reminded him Daddy might not want to talk to him ever again (yeah, right).
Finally, he came up with a satisfactory ‘masterpiece’. He put it on the plate with the bekkie and walked into our room again.
“Don’t leave me, mummy.” He whispered.
I promised him I would stay at the door.
He put the plate down, poked his father with his finger, handed over the note and finally said: “I’m sorry, daddy.”
They hugged.
Oh well, drama’s finished.
“Did he write this himself?” Steven asked me after a while.
“Yep.” I nodded.
He didn’t say anything. Like I expected, he seemed mighty impressed.
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