Out of the mouths of babes

My New York sister and family announced they were to visit. Only problem is that I’d booked a holiday (sorry, vacation) before I knew they were coming. I managed to claw back a day by postponing my trip and so spend it with my nephew Nathan (nearly 9) and niece Zoë (“I’m three and three quarters”). I hadn’t seen them for eighteen months and on the last occasion, my niece wasn’t even talking.

So I booked a show. The Gruffalo is a story with which I was utterly unfamiliar, it having been conceived at a time when I was well past keeping abreast with current children’s stories. In a nutshell, a mouse gets lost in a wood and scares off various creatures who want to eat it with tales of a monster called the Gruffalo which we all know doesn’t exist – or does it??

And so on the 27th December, my sister dropped the children and me at the tube station and we took the lovely Northern Line from Hampstead to Leicester Square. They were almost self-combusting with excitement and spent the entire journey pointing out to me the differences between our tube system and New York’s subway. I think the general consensus was that we win with our upholstered seats, electronic signage in a more sensible place and announcements in an English accent. They were incredibly sweet, opting to share a seat although there were plenty of empty ones available.

We arrived just the half an hour early and the wait for curtain-up was punctured by the time-honoured question: “when will it start?” Zoë sat, still and mesmerised (aside from jigging along to a couple of songs) on my lap throughout whilst Nathan gleefully responded to all prompts for audience participation, turning to me on each occasion we were told “but there’s no such thing as the Gruffalo” with a knowing “hmmm, we’ll see about that”.

After the show, we made our way to Pizza Express where a toilet stop was in order. It was in the toilet that we had the only tears of the day. The Dyson hand dryer terrified Zoë and I can’t say I blame her. Have you heard the noise those things make? A kiss and a cuddle soon sorted that out and we ordered our meal without too much fuss. As we waited, she suddenly took my hand in hers, kissed it and said: “I love you so much.” My heart, already melted, positively dissolved.

They ate beautifully and we chatted amiably throughout about their friends at school. “Do you have any cardboard?” asked Nathan. I said that as I didn’t have any small children at home, I tended to throw all of my cardboard away. “It’s not only people with children who have cardboard you know” he gently chided me. I had to agree. He wanted it (he said) to make a scale model of a London underground train. An ambitious project for a nine year old in a Pizza Express I felt. Zoë then regaled me with a story of one of her friends who had cut her head open during a fall at school. “You have to be very careful ‘cos if you fall and cut your neck” she added, “that is when you will die”. It was hard to argue the point. “I’ll just put on some lipstick before we leave” I said. “You already have lipstick on” she responded. “Yes,” said I, “I know, but I need to refresh it.” “Oh dear”, said she with some concern, “has it dried out?” An impressive knowledge of make-up in one so young I thought. I put some clear lip-gloss on her too and she was very pleased with that.

We walked back to Leicester Square marvelling at the London taxis. It was cold and I was tempted to treat them to a taxi ride but on balance, I felt that the tube had that little bit more to offer.

Arriving back at Hampstead, I opted to walk home although it really was freezing by now. Parts of the streets were still frozen from our recent snowy cold snap and she insisted on walking on the ice wherever it availed itself. “I’m not picking you up if you fall over” I said. “Don’t worry,” said my nephew quietly to me, “I will”. “You must be the best big brother in the whole world,” I said to him. “Well, she’s a really nice sister too … sometimes” he replied.

Five sixths of the way home, having walked a long way quite happily, she told me that she really wanted to be inside because “…when you take your gloves off” (get the mildly accusing tone), “you'll feel how cold my hands are”. I felt pretty guilty.

Back at my place, they wanted to see around. “I’m just going downstairs,” said she, “that is also your apartment – downstairs?” she asked. I showed them around. “This is my bedroom,” I said. “Wow, this is really cool,” said the three and three quarter year old. But she was really more interested in the big, fluffy toy dog in my 22 year old’s bedroom.

“Are you sure you don’t have any cardboard?” asked Nathan with a bit of a long face. What a terrible Auntie I am, I thought.

I pacified them with a small packet of white chocolate buttons each and found a suitable cartoon channel so that we could all blob out and warm up, which we did.

I think my day out with these two children whom, due purely to distance, I really hardly know, proved my theory that children are usually much better behaved with virtual strangers than they are when they’re parents are around. We had a luvverly day.