We went to the fair the other day. Diva was ridiculously excited before she even knew what it was. She wanted to go on all the rides that went fast, high and backwards. Instead she went in a circle on a bus, car, rocket and train. Her favourite one was the car because occasionally that one also went up and down.
She also won a small, soft, scary tiger.
You know the ones…it came from a stall where everyone was a winner no matter which duck you hooked. I strategically avoided all the ones with enormous cuddly toys and opted for one that had small gifts that would be instantly forgotten once the novelty wore off.
As soon as she saw it, she wanted it and immediately called it Tom. Not being one to miss an opportunity, I introduced the concept of alliteration through Tom the Tiger. I could tell she understood by her lack of response. Clearly she was thinking very hard about this valuable lesson.
Regardless, this misshapen, badly sewn, poorly dyed creature, made from cheap, rough fabric is most definitely a favourite. It has replaced all the lovely, beautifully made toys that usually adorn Diva’s bed and has successfully avoided being lost on several occasions. It has already visited Nursery, Nana and Grampy’s house and even came on a trip to Sainsbury’s.
A couple of nights ago Diva awoke in the night screaming the place down. I totally panicked and ran in to her room where she was sobbing uncontrollably.
Mummy: What’s the matter, sweetheart? Are you hurt?
Mummy: You mean Tom the Tiger? (You can’t waste these opportunities.)
Diva: Yes (wail). Oh, here he is under my pillow. I’m okay now.
Mummy: Okay…well, goodnight then…sweet dreams…I love you.
Diva: I love you too, Mummy…and I love Tom.
Ah…there’s nothing better for your self esteem than to be considered an equal to a misshapen carnival toy. I suppose at least it wasn’t a dead goldfish.