Eggs and died foot

Just for Thimbleanna - my quilt is coming on, thank you, somewhat hindered by Cassie, whose ambition is to sleep on it. I still have quite a few circles to quilt and then I need to bind it. Will it be finished by Christmas? Certainly. (I hope.)

Now: a sequence from this afternoon.
1) Granddaughter plays with rattles and things. Notice particularly the one at the apex of the triangle of toys: a sort of drum-shaped rattle with red ends (and bells inside).

2) Grandson approaches.

3) Grandson picks up the rattle and gives it to her. "Look, [Granddaughter]," he says. "A egg. A nice egg for your breakfast."

So interesting (and, I realise, so normal) to see interaction plus imagination - imagination based, I think, on Mog (the cat created by Judith Kerr. Mog liked an egg for breakfast).

Later on he picked up the smaller of his two Thomas the Tank Engines and gave it to her. "A little Thomas for you, [Granddaughter]," he said. "You can eat it." And she had a jolly good try at doing just that.

 

He spends a lot of time making vehicles go round and round the coffee table, inching them along in sequence.

Occasionally he stops for a snack, sitting on his little chair. Milk and died foot*.

* Dried fruit