We're babysitting this evening. Charlie's girlfriend is sleeping over and we're all sitting on the sofa eating popcorn and watching Ice Age. Turns out that Ice Age poses a lot of questions that my son has never thought of.
"What's that ice?"
"Why is that squirrel flying?"
"Why did that turtle do a poo?"
"Why are the tigers chasing that lady?"
"Where's the nut?"
"Where's the squirrel?
"Where's the baby's Mummy and Daddy?"
"Where's the baby?"
"Where's the squirrel?"
"What is that tiger doing?"
"Where's the baby's Mummy and Daddy"
"Why is it snowing?"
"Are those the bad tigers?"
"Is the Daddy still looking for the baby?"
"Is that elephant crying?"
It's actually quite a worrying film for a three year old... and for a 45 year old for that matter. I'm knackered and it's only halfway through.
"What are those pictures in that cave?"
Meanwhile, Charlie sits in silence, eating his popcorn.
I love my son.