My favorite bubble…

My third son, Lachlan, who is now nearly six, is more dramatic than Hollywood and Bollywood combined.  At least once a week, we are treated to a theatrical display of emotion, disappointment, anger, pain or exhaustion.  We are never in any doubt as to his feelings on any given: subject, suggestion, activity, request or meal.

The below is a perfect example:

“What’s for dinner, mum?” he asks as he approaches the kitchen bench, where our meal is on display.

“Chicken sausages and pasta,” I say cheerily.

His entire body sags like an old stick of celery, and his neck slides into the cavity of his body causing him to shrink four inches as his head lolls backwards without the support of his spine.  This is followed by an agonised wail of :

“Oooooohhhhhhh, not chicken sausages and pasta again! I HHHHHHHAAAATE chicken sausages and pasta!”

You can imagine the pain I felt the first time he did this. Tears welled in my eyes at having my mini-masterpiece torn to shreds by a then nearly five year old, whose entire gastronomique  experience culminated in dipping the buttered bread into the 100s and 1000’s container.

“No you don’t! You love chicken sausages and pasta,” I say, trying not to show my anguish.

“Ohhhrrrrgggggggrrrrrrrrrr” he says, slouching off to the table.

The next night was the same,

“What’s for dinner, mum?” he asks as he approaches the kitchen bench, where our meal is on display.

“Lasagne,” I say cheerily.

Once again, Lachlan adopts the ‘kill me now’ pose, shrinks in height and is almost too weak from disappointment to hold his body upright.

““Oooooohhhhhhh, not lasagne again!  I HHHHHHHAAAATE lasagne!”

“No you don’t! You love lasagne,” I say, trying, again, not to show my sadness.

“Ohhhrrrrgggggggrrrrrrrrrr” he says, slouching off to the table.

Night after night – for six weeks- this was his response to my description of the dinner time meal, unless it was tinned spaghetti or chicken nuggets. (Neither of which he will now eat.)

My heart break stopped after a week and grew into frustration. The frustration ended after two weeks and grew into exhaustion. The exhaustion ended after a week and turned into hysterical laughter. In fact, it got to the point where the entire family would gather around just to be entertained by Lachlan’s over the top response.

This probably makes  him sound like a horrid, whinging, whining child. He’s not. He’s actually hilariously funny, albeit a touch dramatic. I expect to see him hosting a game show one day or winning an Oscar.

This is his conversation with Jason last year. Jason had just run the bath and all the other boys were in it. Lachlan wasn’t.

Jason: “Lachy, where are you? Why aren’t you in the bath?”
Lachlan (from behind the closed toilet door): “I’m wiping my arse.”

Jason (stunned beyond belief): “I beg your pardon?”
Lachlan (slowly for Jason’s benefit, because his father is clearly stupid): “I said, I’m wi-ping my arse.”

Jason (trying not to laugh): “Oh, ok. Just…ummm…hurry up then.”

Lachlan broke his arm last year – snapped it clean in half just above the elbow during the school day. He was carried to the sick bay and an ambulance was called. There wasn’t a tear in sight, despite being in horrendous pain. His arm swelled to the point that he had to have surgery to restore circulation and pins inserted to hold the pieces of bone together while he healed. Not a tear – not even one tear during his entire recovery time. What a little champ.

I call Lachlan my ‘little bubble’ because he floats around, smiling and giggling and making people feel happy as he wafts past them.  He is a sweet, kind little boy with a sarcastic sense of humour who enjoys poking as much crap at his brothers as possible.  He had figured out which buttons to press for major reactions by the time he was two.  And as for his eccentricities? Well, every house needs a drama queen.


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