The latter gulps his drink down, finishing with the deafening burp that has become an unfortunate post-meal custom in recent times.
Cue great hilarity, at least from The B and The G.
To toddlers, it seems, there's little funnier than belching, the louder the better.
Sometimes it can be amusing, I admit, but on this occasion I decline to join in the laughter, instead seizing the opportunity to start a discussion about manners and the reasons for trying to burp, if one has to, in as quiet a fashion as possible.
It's no surprise that the social niceties involved in said discussion are lost on The B and The G.
The G just looks bemused, The B as though he's going to start crying.
His face crumples.
I decide this is perhaps one for another time.
Instead, a game of hide-and-seek baby, using The G's favourite doll, me secreting it somewhere around the house, them locating it. The game starts well, although its initial promise fades around the point when The G realises that it isn't the same if, as she demands, she does both the hiding and the seeking.
"Why?" she asks, the first time I've heard it from her, not the last time, I'm sure.
"That's what I say," says The B, looking a little aggrieved, his catchphrase stolen.
Mondays are our laziest morning, nothing in particular to get dressed for. Pyjamas are often still being worn at 10am, The B and The G in disagreement as always as to who should put their clothes on first.
"The B first," says The G.
"The G first," says The B.
Stalemate ensues, a snack-based bribe required to break the impasse.
Then it's out: first to the library, then the sorting office to collect the replacement for The B's meal-reward treat, delivered broken last week.
Back home, he plays with the contents, The G with the bubble wrap it came in, I make lunch.
"I love cheese on toast," The B declares, demolishing the lot in record time before delivering another sizeable burp.
He looks up, a little shame-faced.
"It wasn't as loud as the last one," he says in defensive fashion.
It's a start.