So, Piper Cub and I are having lunch, he in his high-chair, me at the kitchen counter.
I settle him in with his nibblies and go back to my lunch. My mug o’tea is cold, so I pop it in the micro. Once it’s hot, I go back to the counter.
At which point Piper Cub starts speaking, in Cub dialect: “Mahhar-wah-ba-too”.
I look up. He’s still got his meal in front of him, and a sippy of milk, the two things that phrase normally is used to call attention to.
I’m trying to think what else he wants, when I realise he’s pointing.
At the microwave.
Specifically, at the microwave door that I didn’t close.
“Mahhar-wah-ba-to” he repeats, insistently.
I go over and close the microwave door, and he contentedly returns to wolfing down his lunch, order having been restored in his universe.
It could be a long 16 and a half years until he leaves home…