Tricky and Smeagol in Conversation.

(Tricky playing nicely on mattress with armful of stuffed toys. Mother spies him and hearing delightful chatter thinks it might be nice to write down what he says and does.)

It goes...

Which way it goes?

(Leaps to his feet and waves fetchingly. Mother smiles at gobsmacking cuteness. Assured career as actor in the hugh jackman style)

That way it goes. 

On top of hill. 

(Heaps doona into hill shaped lump. Mother impressed at improvisation skills and also potential engineering career.)

Go top of hill. 

You push this one here.

(Picks up Snoopy, abruptly bites his face and then flings him away. Mother deeply shocked.)

Which way did that go?

Hmmm...

(Tenderly retrieves Snoopy. Mother relieved.)

...doggy.

(Flings Snoopy away again. Mother concerned)

Which way did that go?

Off a bed?

Why did we throw it off bed?

We didn't throw it.

(Much effort as he tries to wedge himself in corner between mattress and wall and arrange stuffed toys around him. Mother feels faint hope, perhaps he will be a social worker.)

This one here... (selects small sad looking toy.)

(Throws it)

...is having long long...

(retrieves toy, returns to position, throws toy. Mother trying not to make eyecontact. Wondering if she stopped breastfeeding too early.)

It falls off again.

But we did...too...much.

(Sits Snoopy tenderly in his lap as he speaks. Throws him away. Gets up to retrieve him. Back to first position. Throw. Repeat. Mother sees dreams of child joining Medicine Sans Frontiers as music therapist go up in smoke)

Throw it too much.

(Puts pyjama pants on knees.

Sits Snoopy on knees.

Bites Snoopy's face. Gives it a considerable gnawing with accompanying noises.

Throws Snoopy.

Retrieves Snoopy.

Mother creeps out of room, muttering my precioussss and clutching at notebook.)