My 3-year-old, Mouse, has been watching Kpop demon hunters. A keen noodle aficionado whose birthday treat is the UK ramen restaurant Wagamama, Mouse will snarfle the hell out of a noodle pot anyway. But they were powerfully moved by the pop stars snarfling noodles in what Mouse believed to be a relatable way.
“Can I have some demon hunter noodles? I’ll eat them NARF NNARF NARF.”
Their sire dutifully bought some pot noodles, the kind you prepare by adding boiling water, and Mouse snarfled the whole pot up as a post-nursery snack this afternoon. As Mouse maintains their general microscopic mousiness by subsisting on tiny little nibbles of improbable things, we were pleased.
This evening, Bear, aged 9, dreamily unpacked the grocery order and discovered several instant porridge pots. “Waheyyyyyy,” they said, and several airy thoughts collided. “Eyy,” they said, percolating, “are we taking these to Wales?”
“Oh, well done, Bear.” I was impressed. Bear had successfully pieced together “yearly camping trip to place we go to, constantly” and “the expensive porridge they usually only get while camping.”
Bear, attention sharpening as they looked at this wealth, asked: “all of them? Can I have one now?”
“I guess. Not the gluten-free ones. They’re really expensive and harder to get. Actually, I only got so many because these weird ones were on super-discount.”
Bear usually has a song on the go. They sang a song about Wales Porridge as they boiled the kettle for sneaky post-dinner porridge.
“Calcifer sings a song like that,” I said vaguely, “but only in the book.”
Mouse came in and saw the proceedings. Eyes round, they hooted. “DEMON PORRIDGE,” they said.
“Well, more of a familiar,” I thought out loud.
“It’s only because we always have it,” Bear said.
“Demon HUNTER porridge,” Mouse said. “THREE MINUTES. NARF NARF NARF.”
“Oh shit,” I said. “Oh yeah. It is.”
And if you think about it, you will see exactly what they mean!
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