Hurrah for the sun

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Sometimes i wonder if perhaps my blog focuses too much on the down sides of parenthood, that i talk too much about the frustrating aspects of my children. But then i think ‘hey they provide the material, if they want to be painted in a more positive light then perhaps they should stop being such little @#*&!’s.’

I jest of course (a bit) and there are days when i really don’t have a jot to complain about. The suns recent show stopping performances have been leaving everybody in a very bright mood. For us its a chance to have a perfect kind of day.

A mosey along down to the seaside.

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The perils of a chatty kid

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F will pretty much talk to anyone wherever we go. I like this. it’s nice and for the most part it’s very well received. Builders, postmen or the local crazy cat lady all seem happy to be interrupted to discuss what they are doing any why; For the bus stop drunk, it’s a rare chance to converse with someone on the same level. Everyone’s a winner.

If unfriendliness is whats wrong with modern day society then i often think i could take a leaf out of his book myself, but then perhaps telling window cleaners you admire their big ladders might not be as well received from someone in their mid thirties; Or i guess, too well received, depending on how you look it.

Exchanges i am not quite so keen on are the ‘do you have a beard?’ interrogations aimed directly at women in small, inescapable places (train carriages are a particular hot spot). It would not be half as bad if they actually did and i could convince myself that his frankness was for want of the greater good. But In most cases they don’t even have a hint of peach fuzz, so what do you do? Arguing against it just draws the conversation out making things even more awkward. I’m sure he has caused at least half a dozen young women to run home and scrutinize every inch of their lower face in the mirror before stalking Groupon for electrolysis deals, just to make sure.

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One’s World

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Of late I have been spending a relatively high proportion of my time hiding in dark corners, no not drinking gin (oh how I wish), but furiously churning out Google search after Google search in response to the boy’s increasingly curious mind.

You see there is nothing like the application of a small child to your life to make you feel inexorably stupid. Apart from my specialist subject of Watership Down, my general knowledge could best be described as dire. I am useless at a pub quiz and may even struggle to remember the name of the Prime Minister under pressure (It’s a mind blank thing ok).

Over the the years i have also become far too ready to accept the status quo. If I were to be asked something like ‘how do planes fly?’ I could chuck in a few choice words (something about pressure, velocity and drag) but in essence I don’t really know. They just ‘do’ fly despite the fact it doesn’t exactly look like they should.

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Do you have days like this?

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A Gin Day

It’s a day that started badly
The kind of day that you can’t win.
It’s a day that has you asking
‘Can my cornflakes come with gin?’

You see I love my dear sweet boy,
But can’t abide his evil twin.
Till he returns from where he’s hiding,
I’ll be day-dreaming of gin.

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A memo to all toddlers re. your diet

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I’ve noticed an alarming trend at pre-school, some of my fellows seem to be eating what is presented to them on their plates without query. I have also witnessed some voluntary consumption of vegetables. It makes me sick.

Take heed people, follow these simple rules and exert some fricking authority!

Set the tone – spend a week detoxing on jam toast.
Refuse anything but Cheerios for breakfast. Have them without milk on Mondays, Thursdays and every other Friday. Hyperventilate if they get this wrong.
Don’t try anything new EVER.
Just because you liked something yesterday does not mean you have to like it again today. It is perfectly acceptable to change your mind and you do not have to explain yourself.
Fruit as a pudding is bullsh*t.
Be suspicious of anything that was recently alive. Beige, dead looking stuff is safer.
Request a wide variety of food at the supermarket and then a, deny all knowledge of it upon your return home or b, allow it to be cooked first and then say you don’t like it.
Spend some time revising brand names so that you can legitimately refuse cheaper derivatives.
Any amount of cooking or food preparation time above 30 seconds is wholly unacceptable.
Ask for updates of when things will be ready every 10 seconds, protest with your fists on the floor if things are taking too long. This may result in the meal being served half frozen but it doesn’t matter as you are not going to eat it anyway. Continue reading →

Do you ever get the feeling you are being watched?

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…you know, when you are lying in the bath trying to relax after a hard day and you start to notice eyes staring at you across the bubbles.

I counted them the other day. 18 pairs in the bathroom alone (not including my own). I wondered how many pairs there were in the whole house.

‘Count them’ said a voice in my head.

‘No, don’t be ridiculous it would take ages’

‘But don’t you want to know?’

‘A bit i suppose’

‘You might regret it if you don’t…’

‘Will I?’

‘YES! When you are old and grey it will pop into your head and you’ll think oooh i never knew how many eyes were in that house, i wish i had counted them, i really, REALLY do.’

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The law of the Babybel

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It’s easy sometimes, to despair, when you hand a Babybel to your child and they kick off because you took the skin off first and then refuse to eat it.

The tantrums and the strops stem from the most minor or ridiculous things and the reward chart you created with the aim of aiding co-operation just blows up in your face. One measly Milky Way for all that – just one?! How very dare you.

But you see you can’t have ALL the toys you ever want, It’s not ok to exist on a diet of Cheerios, we can’t just buy and live on a boat and the whole ‘DON’T WANT MY FEET ATTACHED TO MY LEGS’ gate? Well I’m sorry but that’s just basic human anatomy.

Google pray tell me – why is my child such a dick?

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One

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To my dearest littlest,

I feel much more emotional writing this on the evening of your birthday than i thought i would, which to be fair could be down to the bubbles we had at 4.43pm. You are now a whole year old and lay sound asleep upstairs, tired from your crazy day of trying to eat wrapping paper, gazing at fishes and thumping cake.

The big shiny balloon tied to the wheel of your new fire engine has been the star or the show, as we knew it would, which is to the great delight of your big brother who claimed said fire engine as his own, as we knew he would.

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The tipping point

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We have a super little park about 3 minutes stroll from our house and If the weather is dry then we can be found there most days. We live in a neighbourhood with no through roads making it a pretty safe walk; as such I place a degree of trust in F to ride his bike ahead as long as he always stops at the curbs.

I’m proud to say he’s good at this, and for the most part, very aware of road safety; but at the end of the day he’s still just 3 years old – energetic, excitable, distractable.

The other day we were racing home (him Lightning McQueen, me Francesco Bernoulli and the baby Jeff Corvette – characters from Disney Cars if you don’t posses a child within the target demographic) when he darted out into the road without thinking. No harm done, no traffic, but that’s not exactly the point is is?

I lurched forward and pulled him back onto the pavement; I explained why what he did was so dangerous and told him he needed to be very careful of cars or he might get ‘squished‘. On reflection this was perhaps a slightly more graphic choice of adjective that I should have used, but one that stopped him in his tracks.

‘And then would you go to the shop and buy a new me?’

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