mickey story chapter fourteen

I have a small friend called Mickey. He is cheeky and often single minded about certain topics.  I have not written about him in a while, but he continues to amaze and amuse me with his mind.  I cannot wait to see what he does with his life. It will be a surprise.

This is a story from last week as retold to me by his mother last night.

Mickey's great grandad passed away a week ago.  And while they were at the after funeral afternoon tea a kind auntie decided to amuse all the small boys gallooting around the sombre gathering by taking them outside to look for lorikeet feathers.  Lorikeets and other native birds were very plentiful at the house, and the auntie thought this would be a pleasant activity for young boys.

Unfortunately, even though there were several eagle eyed young lads searching the underbrush, no lorikeet feathers were found.  However, the kind auntie found a dead lorikeet resting peacefully under a tree.  Cradling it gently in a serviette she gave a short speech about how the lorikeet was resting peacefully now, probably mindful of the several family members and funeral guests inside the house.  She asked the boys what she should do with it, thinking they may have a short backyard bird buriel.

Mickey, task focused and eyes on the job, replied 'Pluck its feathers'.

He saw a mother-lode of lorikeet feathers.  The auntie did not know quite what to say.

As I said, Mickey can be single-minded.

not just one lorikeet feather here...

mickey story chapter thirteen

You may think I have forgotten about Mickey.  My small but charming friend who is nearly seven years old (Children! You turn your back and they grow like weeds).  I have recently had a cup of tea with Mickey's mother, and she has filled me in on some more Mickey escapades.  I feel my role in these conversations is to be calm and listen incredulously.  And supply tea with sugar.  And cake.  Much cake.  Not that we support our emotions with food........

She informed me about a recent event in the life of Mickey.

Mickey's mother was having a holiday up the coast with the children, so they were sleeping in one room with some of them on the floor.  She was just dozing off when she heard a squirt squirt noise coming from Mickey's side of the room.  Thinking he was just getting a quick sip from his water bottle she turned over and tried to ignore it, chasing the deep deep place of sleep.

The squirting continued, and she opened her eyes to blurrily make out Mickey grinning in her face.  Recognizing the wild look in his eye she quickly looked for the source of the squirting.  It was not the placed drinking from the water bottle she had imagined, but the squirt squirt noise of tomato sauce being squeezed all over her bed.

Tomato sauce.

Like he was setting up a scene for CSI.  She almost expected him to do a  chalk outline and set up police tape.

Mickey your brain goes in directions we cannot even begin to start to guess.

mickey stories: chapter twelve

I have a small friend called Mickey.  Well, he is getting taller all the time.  He has an inventive and curious mind that cannot leave something well enough alone, like a terrier with a rat or a mother wanting to find out what happened at school.

Mickey was outside for a while one day, long enough for his mother to wonder what he was doing.  When he walked past the window with a hammer she felt the need for investigation.

Mickey had discovered the terracotta pipe that lead across the footpath into the storm water drain.  Parts of it were exposed.  He decided he needed to smash the pipe with a hammer to SMITHEREENS.

"Why? Why?" his mother asked as she was wrestling the hammer off him.

Eyes gleaming with the promise of excitement he exclaimed:
"To see the fountain!'

Mickey is right.  Under all of us, lurking beneath the surface of the earth, are fountains just waiting and hoping to be released.

Maybe Mickey is the first fountain freedom fighter I have met.

Fountains - for too long you have been repressed in pipes

mickey stories: chapter eleven

I had a writer's conference today - with Mickey's mother.  Accompanied by a cheese toastie (yum there is really nothing wrong and all good about a cheese toastie - it has uni days and melted hot goodness all through it - it was lunchtime cheese and does not count as a snack - please see previous post regarding the 2011 no snacks policy) she reminded me of some of Mickey's past exploits.

This is a true story from when Micky was about three.

Mickey's mother was in the back yard talking to her guests that had come over for a playdate, and she heard a noise in the background.  A kind of 'shhh shhhh shhhh' noise - rhythmic and squirting.  Not seeing Mickey anywhere she finally decided to check if he was inside.  She came across the toilet door closed as the 'shhhh shhhh shhh' noise got louder.  When she opened the door to the toilet a cloud of gas pours out and settles around her feet like her own personal dance studio smoke machine.

Mickey had been in the toilet for a long time spraying the bottle of air freshener.  When he emerged he was also smoking everywhere from his clothes, and coughing from the fumes.

Mickey's mother had to let the house air out quite a lot.

And Mickey possibly still has a faint whiff of fake pine scent.

The end.

mickey stories; chapter ten

I have a small friend called Mickey.  In another time on this planet, say for example, the time of Mark Twain and his roustabout boys on the river, Mickey would have fitted right in - fishin' and trickin' other kids and runnin' around with bare feet.

But Mickey lives in Brisbane in 2011.  With all the expectations of the high-falutin' digital age upon him.

This story is from when Mickey was about four and he had a fierce sense of protectiveness.

Mickey's mum came down to the car one morning to find the front seat of the car smeared and covered in a mixture of food colouring, oil, blueberries and other things from the fridge.  When captured and questioned about what had happened in the car Mickey replied in his defensive statement,
"It was so burglers didn't steal our car".

Good thinkin' Huckleberry.

mickey stories; chapter eight

I have a small friend called Mickey.  This year he has started grade one.  He has completed one week.  Only twelve years minus one week of formal schooling to go.  I wonder how his teachers will remember him?

Today's Mickey memories are more little snapshots of his life rather than a whole story.

1.  Mickey sticky taped a live gecko to his wall.  When questioned why he answered 'so it will stay and be my friend and not run away like the others do'.  I think the other geckos were the quick smart ones and the sticky-taped gecko was the one who was a bit distracted - 'what are you saying guys?  There's a kid doing WHAT?  Where is he? Look - a moth ! yummmm....ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh'

2. Mickey's mum was coating pork cubes in flour for dinner ready for frying.  Mickey wandered into the kitchen and saw the plate of neatly dusted tasty cubes sitting on the bench, got super excited, and ran out to his sister yelling joyfully 'We are having TURKISH DELIGHT FOR DINNER!!!'

3. Mickey's mum found a whole lotta holes in the trampoline.  When interrogated Mickey confessed that he had been out jumping on the trampoline with a steak knife slashing holes in the mat.  And he then proceeded to demonstrate how he leapt around with a knife.  On a trampoline.  Slashing holes.  With a knife.

In time I plan to give Mickey's mother an Australia Day medal for bravery and courage under extreme duress.

But for now I count her as an awesome friend.  And a generous one for letting me share about Mickey for posterity.

mickey stories; chapter seven

I have been a bit slack about the Mickey stories over Christmas.  But I have had a chat/pick her brains/voyouristic drain of ideas meeting with Mickey's mother, and I have plenty of new source material to share.

Mickey is a small friend of mine, and his life needs to be written in black and white.  He is very inventive and his brain works in interesting neural firing patterns.

This is the story of Mickey and the 'fireworks'.

Mickey's mother was outside doing some gardening one day when Mickey was about three when he ran out to her and exclaimed 'Mum I can make fireworks!'.  More than a little concerned about this, his mother went inside to find out what 'fireworks' meant.  Micky had found a box of matches and was sticking them into the powerpoints - causing sparks.  He had prised off the powerpoint protector thingies.  Shrieking slightly Mickey's mother whipped the matches off him and made an appointment with Kidsafe house in Brisbane.

When they visited Kidsafe house Mickey's mother explained the situation, and looked to the staff there to help her with making her house a safer place for Mickey.  The staff at Kidsafe house watched silently as Mickey went through the Kidsafe house - undoing every closed door, exposing every powerpoint and opening every childproof gate.

Then they looked at Mickey's mother and said, sadly. "I'm sorry, there is nothing we can do."

Here's hoping Mickey can use his powers for good.

mickey stories; chapter six

I have small friend called Mickey.  I write about him because he is interesting and a bit cheeky.  And because his life needs to be documented.  Possibly for the authorities.

This story is from last year when he was four as recounted by his slightly horrified mother.  Please keep in mind he is not a malicious or destructive person, just a curious one.

Mickey was put to bed at his normal bedtime one night.  Later, as his mother was going in to bed she popped her head into his room to check all was okay and kiss her cherubic boy goodnight.  What she saw was.....
Mickey surrounded by a pile of white fluff.  "Look Mum" he exclaimed, "a cloud!"  She worked out that he had taken a picture frame off the wall, smashed it, got a big shard of glass, and then proceeded to shred his pillow to make a cloud on his bed where he was sitting amongst bits of glass and destroyed pillow.

Mickey's mum, possibly in a much calmer voice than I would use, instructed Mickey to stay still while she cleaned up the glass around him.  Then I think she stayed with him until he was safely asleep and unable to think of more scenery to construct in his room.

Mickey still has toys and a bed in his room.

But I have not seen any more pictures there.

The end.

mickey stories; chapter five

I have a small friend called Mickey.  Not his real name.  But his real current age is five.

He is a thinker and a problem-solver.  Just way out of the box.

This story is about his care and concern for a cat, and happened about a month ago.

Mickey's neighbours acquired a kitten.  They were uni students, and didn't really know how to take care of a cat, or care to take care of a cat, so the cat would often appear at Mickey's house looking for food and affection.  Mickey got to know the cat and become concerned for it.

One afternoon Mickey's mum found Mickey washing his hands very thoroughly in the bathroom, and smelling a lot like tuna.  His clothes reeked of tuna, his hair reeked of tuna and his hands stank of tuna.  She found out that Micky had taken a tin of tuna from their cupboard, opened it, taken it down the street to the neighbour's house, and thrown an open can of tuna through the window to the uni students so they could feed the cat.  Then he had come back home and tried to wash away the evidence.

His concern for the cat was touching.

I am not sure how the uni students reacted to the tuna window bomb.

The end.

mickey stories; chapter four

I have a small friend called Mickey.  He is very inventive and cheeky.  I have taken it upon myself to write up the stories of Mickey's life as they need to be told and remembered.

He is currently five years old but this story is from when he was two.

Mickey was in the bathroom at home for a very long time, being busy at something.  His mother assumed it was just some long business, but after about fifteen minutes she came to check what he was doing.

Remember he was only two at the time - so the literacy skills are pretty high.

Fortunately his mum remembered to take a photo of his handiwork - and this is what he had done.

"HI" back at you Mickey.

The end.

mickey stories; chapter three

I have a small friend called Mickey.

Not his real name.

He is inventive, cheeky and we will all be amazed at what he does when he grows up.  I have taken the role of Mickey-chronicler as his mother is taking the hard road of Mickey-raising.

This year I attended his sister's birthday party with my two girls.  It was a great party, with cake and games and shrieking.  There were seven adults present, and four children - the three girls and Mickey.  The time came for the cake.  It was carried ceremoniously to the loungeroom, upon which the candles were lit.  We all sang happy birthday, hip hoorayed, and congratulated the birthday girl.  We turned to Mickey to ask if he would like a piece of cake.

He was gone.

In the time it takes to sing 'happy birthday' he had taken the matches from the candle lighting, scooted under the house, and was lighting them to see what would happen.  And there were fourteen pairs of adult eyes there.

He is a ninja.

The end.

mickey stories; chapter two

I have a small friend called Mickey.  Well, let's call him that to protect his privacy.

He has a cheeky smile and is very inventive.

This is a true story as recounted by his mother from when he was a toddler.

Mickey's mum had been getting lots of migraine type headaches, so she was advised by the doctor to lie down quietly on the couch with her eyes closed and a cool washer on her forehead when she felt symptoms coming on.  One afternoon, after Mickey-wrangling for most of the day,she felt a headache coming, so she lay on the couch, leaving Mickey quietly playing with some toys.
A little while later she came to suddenly when she smelt smoke, looked around, and saw no Mickey.
She rushed to the open front window and saw a naked Mickey bottom winking down the street.  Smoke was coming from the oven.
As far as she can tell, Mickey put a tea towel in the oven, turned all the knobs as far as they could go, climbed up onto the kitchen bench, opened the front window, undressed, waited for the postman to come, and, when he rounded the corner, leapt out of the window to chase the postman down the street while the teatowel burned.

I asked here what she looked after first - the child or the fire.

She said she put out the fire, then chased the child.

Her headache did not subside.

The end.

mickey stories; chapter one

I have a young friend.  Let's call him
Mickey.
To protect the innocent.

He is an inventive person with a cheeky smile.  He always wants to see how things work.

I feel compelled to document parts of his life as his mother will not believe she lived through it when he is older.  And as she is currently Mickey-wrangling I can take the role of Mickey-chronicler.

Here is a true story.

One day Mickey's mum was hanging out the washing.  A normal, everyday task that needs to be done.  Mickey was about two and a half.  She heard him inside laughing and talking to himself, with some occasional splashing.  'Great' she thought 'he is amusing himself'.  She continued pegging up the undies and socks.
Until she heard screaming from Mickey.
Running inside she found him inside the top loading washing machine as it started the agitation cycle.  To get rid of dirt and blood and stains.
He had climbed into the washing machine and pushed some buttons until water started coming out.  He happily splashed in the running filling water until the machine decided it was ready to agitate the load, upon which Mickey discovered it was more than a paddling pool.
Mickey was hauled quickly out of the machine
shaken
but not deterred.

More Mickey stories to come.

The end.