Daddy time

This is just a quick post as I really need to head to bed, but I’ve been meaning to share these little stories for awhile.

Alby and Mark are becoming best-buddies.  Despite Mark’s manic schedule he’s been able to factor in quite a bit of quality time with Alby over the past few months.  From “tent time” (burying Alby under a duvet), to rugby practice, games of tennis (almost as lethal as Alby golf), football in the garden, singing together (Alby’s rendition of Jingle Bells will appear as a video shortly) and plenty of train and game cars the two are becoming their own little double act.

Whilst this all sounds very warming and admirable please don’t be fooled.  Mark allowing me my first lie in for months led to me coming downstairs to their new verse for “Wheels on the bus”: the mummies on the bus go nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag… Two months on and he is still singing this verse around the house complete with wagging finger action. 

The love continues with ages.  As Alby’s understanding of numbers is slowly growing we’ve been able to teach him “Alby is two” and “Percy is three”.  Mark has added to this with “Mummy is old girl”.  Thankfully there is some justice in the world – Daddy is “old boy” too.

Finally, Mark was teaching Alby about different names the other day.  Sadly he hadn’t appreciated that whilst Alby is generally an average child, as his nursery report informed us he is bordering on the 30-50 month age range when it comes to self-awareness.  Mark’s lesson has backfired with Alby now routinely shouting for “Mark” or asking ”Mummy-erranda” to do something for him.  Apparently we are meant to be very impressed that he understands that his parents have an identity beyond “mum” and “dad” and for the most part we are, but that’s not to say it isn’t a little unnerving to hear him call us by our first names.  I know there are a lot of very liberal parents who go for that from day one but we aren’t like that!

Ah well, as I will be telling all of my relatives over the Christmas period – be careful what you say to him.  Trouble Monkey is sharper than he lets on and has a memory like you wouldn’t believe!  What’s worse he’s got his daddy’s smile and butter-wouldn’t melt dimples.  Like I’ve always said: Trouble Monkey.

Ear ear Alby

At 8:15 this morning Alby and I were both dressed, fed and in the car heading off to the hospital in Richmond (a snappy 40 minute drive away) for a hearing test.

As a newborn Alby failed his hearing test. Glue ear in the right ear ensured regular trips to the otology department where he was plugged into a range of devices so they could test how sound travelled to and from ear to brain, where the congestion was occurring and how severe it was.  I won’t pretend I hit it off with the otology bunch to begin with – the first two sessions saw me leaving the hospital near tears (firstly due to a mean lady whose incompetent testing and uncompassionate approach made baby Albert the Bear cry like he had never done before and then later simply because I wasn’t prepared to hear my Trouble Monkey was anything but perfect) but they do a good job.

Over Alby’s first year we attended around 6 different check ups.  The first were the hardest – as they requested a baby deep in sleep and I found such pretty much impossible to produce.  Inevitably the more I would try to jostle Alby to sleep the more agitated he became and the harder the sessions were.  By the time he was a year old though the testing involved toys and dancing monkeys.  Alby’s glue ear prevailed but the sessions were no longer a battle and with each test the lovely ear doctors of North Yorkshire not only learnt more but were able to reassure me that the congestion was very limited and unlikely to have any real impact.

A failure on my side of book in for one appointment caused us to be kicked off the books and, to my shame, it has taken me a year to book in a follow up appointment.  And so, on this cold and windy morning Alby and I, both still half asleep, hit the motorway for another testing session. 

Alby’s age presents a few challenges to testing, obviously.  The baby focused games would go right over his head causing him to get bored and disengage, making the testing inconclusive whereas there is a fear that the older games would be too hard. 

To start with they game him a board with pegs and he had to slot different shapes over the pegs every time he heard a sound.  Later the game changed to dropping a shape into a bucket every time the sound was played.   He was very cute with both games; he would hold the shape really close to the ear they were testing whilst he waited for the sound and only moved it from the ear when the sound appeared.  As we couldn’t hear any of the noises we had no idea if he was getting it right or not but we’d cheer and clap hoping our encouragement was promoting him the right way. They tested the right ear then the left ear and then the right ear again.  When he didn’t have ear plugs in, they were looking into his ears with a range of contraptions.  Bless him, it went on for an exhausting 45 minutes.  Half way through he announced “Hard work mummy” – poor sod.  It’s no wonder he fell asleep in the car on the way home.  He was fried.

In conclusion, there is still very minor glue ear in the right but it is so minor that it isn’t having any impact on his development or day to day hearing.  The congestion is so small that they have discharged him.  Well done Albs. 

Shatteredmummy.com

In the past twenty minutes there are about fifty things that I have thought would make a good blog post.  Top of the list is Alby’s polite but naughty nature.  It is 9:34pm as I type, Alby is playing the piano thumping down on the keys and shouting “that one’s loud mummy”.  Every so often I ask if he is tired or if he would like to go to bed.  He looks down in a slightly bashful way and says “No thank you mummy”.  Polite, yes.  Troublesome, absolutely.

The second thing I feel compelled to write about it Alby’s unlimited supply of energy.  He hasn’t had a nap today.  He has been up since 7am.  He has played with his cars, his train, his playdough and his toy groceries.  He has been on a 90 minute walk across the Moors with Percy.  Yes, he was in the backcarrier for part of it but he also ran a fair share of it in addition to chasing a few sheep, stomping on several mole hills and throwing stones into the reservoir.  He has been in the garden with Mark, walking his plastic £10 lawnmower up and down whilst he declares that he is “cutting the leaves”.  He has done all of his puzzles, played the drum, the piano and sung Christmas carols with Mark (more on that later). He has splashed about in the bath, scribbled on my Christmas cards and bashed away on the keyboard of my computer as I endeavoured to finish up a piece of work and yet he is still not tired. 

It is now 9:42pm.  Me: Alby are you tired?  Alby: No thank you.  Alby play hammer. He is now walking around the study bashing everything he comes along with my pen. 

I’ve been trying to work out over recent days why I haven’t been blogging that much recently.  It’s because every minute of every day is spent trying to exhaust my son.  And yet no matter how much caffeine I drink or how much sugar there is in my food I simply don’t have the stamina to keep up with him.

Mark went away a couple of weeks ago and I was a broken woman.  Not because of how much I missed my husband (though obviously I did, a huge amount).  It is because for the two weeks that Mark was gone Alby expected me to provide the entertainment level of not just one parent, but two.  As I say, I was a broken woman.  Mark is heading off again at 9am tomorrow morning and won’t be back until Friday.  I’m terrified! I wonder how much bribery it will take for a nurse at the local hospital to hook me up to adrenalin by drip? 

I don’t know why I’m surprised.  Yesterday he played rugby in the morning, visited the Knaresborough Christmas market and then charged around Northallerton with me for two hours and still didn’t wasn’t interested in a day time nap.  The saving grace yesterday was that he went to bed at 8pm.  Hurrah I thought, I’m more than happy to give up day time naps if it means an earlier bedtime.  Stupid me.  It’s now 10pm and the game of hammers continues…

There is more to write.  And one day it will come but for now my brain is dead, my eyes are heavy and I need to conserve my energy or I am sure to pass out where I sit whilst Alby plays hammers on my head.

Wish me luck

Mummy fail #747 parts a, b, and c

Oh yes, today has been so successful on my part that I am the proud accomplish of three mummy fails in one day.  No doubt this isn’t as remarkable as the blog may suggest but for a cheap laugh let’s reflect on the light comedy moments that have framed my day.

Part A

Most Mummy fails take place towards the end of the day, when Alby and I are both that little bit more emotional and exhausted.  Today however I surpassed myself managing to clock my first fail at just 11:16am.

Alby’s rugby first thing on a Saturday morning means that Percy doesn’t get his morning walk until a bit later than usual.  Being one of those beautiful winter days were the air is crisp and the sky bright blue I thought that instead of traipsing the same roads we walk day in, day out I’d take the boys for a change of scenery and treat them to the fun of a walk on the Yorkshire Moors. 

The minute we stepped out the car my plans for a bit of fun bonding time had gone awry.  A shoot was taking place nearby and Percy does not like loud noises.  He jumped, shied, crouched low and tried his best to actually sink his body into the concrete.  And so the walk began with Alby, who’d insisted that he walking, waddling slowly up a steep hill as I dragged, coaxed and pleaded with Percy to get his noble backside into gear.  Somehow we managed to make it up the 100+ steep steps without Percy having a heartache or Alby toppling backwards.  At this point the trail leads you along the edge of the Moors.  There is a deadly drop on the one side and, with no fencing or barrier, I thought I’d be the responsible parent and put Alby in the backcarrier.  Alby did not think this was a good idea and continued to cry and shout for the next fifteen minutes.  

If I were an optimist I would take joy from the fact that at least by now the gun shots had ended and Percy was trotting along happily beside me.  However I’m not an optimist, I’m a realist and family fun time this was not.

Thank god for the planes and gliders heading off overhead.  Not only did they bring fabulous memories back of when I sent my dad into the skies but also distracted Alby brilliantly.  Instead of crying about how unfair the world was to him and what a bully his mother is, he began a 30 minute chant of “Where’s the plane gone? Where’s the plane gone? Where’s the plane gone?...” You’ve got to admire the child’s commitment.

Part B

This is how they should advertise it, not as some small toy

This one was not all my fault. I swear Mark should take some responsibility for this one.  Yes, okay he wasn’t actually here when I bought it but he did see the product first and he thought it was cool and he knew Alby would love it and he told me to buy it. 

And he didn’t ask the about or look into the actual dimensions either.

I’m rambling I know but clearly it is important to me that I get my defence in first.

Good for cars and boats alike

 So, to start at the beginning or there about, in the build up to Alby’s birthday I looked at quite a few toys so that if anybody asked what to buy I could put them in the right direction.  Nobody did ask but my online searches had uncovered this fantastic water play toy which looked brilliant.  I showed it to Mark and he loved it too.  He really did.  And he pointed at other models which he thought would also be good.

They say "no man is an island" - I'm not so sure.

As I say, nobody did get it for Alby but I recently got some extra money for working overtime and thinking that rather than seeing it all disappear into the melting pot of groceries and bills I decided to treat my son. 

And what a treat!  Let’s be clear it is an amazing toy that he played with non stop for an hour today.  There’s dams, gate ways a slide and a water pump all of which push the little boats around.  Even Percy came over to see what the fun was all about and gave an approving sniff.  But here’s the thing…it’s huge.  Having said after his birthday party that he couldn’t have any more toys as we didn’t have the space I’ve gone and purchased a brilliant toy that is almost as big as our dining room table. 

I’m not saying that I thought the internet pictures were actual sized but I didn’t think it would be this big.  Woops.

Shattered Al-bug

Part C.

To complete the hat trick Alby and I went back to an old faithful: falling off the sofa.  Poor little chap.  Having started the day with rugby, then been dragged over the Moors, then back home for water play Alby was completely shattered when he finally passed out on the sofa at 3pm.  Making the most of his unconscious state I booked in a skype date with a favourite and left Alby to his dreams.  Almost an hour later we both heard a thud and I ran around the corner to see him on his back, arms and legs curled up, face bright red and in a silent scream.  He opened his eyes and with it came the sobs.  Poor bugger. 

Alby is two

Train cake with fab card background

I’ve always been one for a bit of reflection, taking stock and resolution making around my birthday.  With each new year comes a dressing down and a talking up as I do a mental health check on how I feel my life I going.

Now Alby is on the scene my moment of reflection aren’t confined just to myself.  Today Trouble Monkey turned two.  Two whole years old.  And I’ve spent the past fortnight reminiscing over the past 24 months.  From vague recollections to vivid memories to Mark quizzing me on an hour by hour breakdown of our trip to and from the hospital on 30 October 2011.

Cars, cars, cars!!!

We started the celebrations last night as Mark was out of the door at 4am today and had no idea what time he would be back.  So, enjoying him being in the same country for this year’s birthday celebrations we did the candle in a cup cake, singing and present opening (for the most part) last night. 

Alby has once again been spoilt by his many admirers and this year has provided a mass of toys, books and games.  Mark is horrified by the current state of toys whilst I’m delighted – this is one of the best things about being a little one!

Skeleton suit +cars = perfect spooky birthday

Once Alby was in bed I got to making his birthday cake for nursery.  Following in my mother’s footsteps (and grateful for Alby’s love of trains) we went for the no-bake, chocolate and sweet-high swiss roll train cake.  Alby was very impressed with my fairly sub-standard efforts and had a minor birthday paddy this morning when I wouldn’t let him have it for breakfast.  When I collected the plate from nursery it was completely clean!

As a halloween babe, no Trouble Monkey birthday would be proper without a bit of fancy dress and this year Alby fashioned a great little outfit from Tesco: glowing skeleton.  Apparently the concept of a birthday is confusing enough for a little one, even with Mr Tumble helping him through the process.  Fancy dress, trick or treaters and Halloween went completely over his head and it was a very timid, snuggled up skeleton who greeted the children knocking on our door this evening.  Considering the outfits however I’m more than content with Alby managing a shy wave and no tears.  Little star.

Final dance move - the Alby squat

Dancing skeleton - why not?

His birthday may only have a few hours left but the celebrations will continue this weekend when we entertain around 20 toddlers for his party extravaganza.  I’m already exhausted by the very thought of it!  For now, I sign off with huge love for all those who have been a part of the Alby story so far.  It’s been awesome for me and I hope others have enjoyed the past two years, my little man and the person it has made me just as much as I’ve enjoyed being a mum to my little hero.

Toddlers bring happiness

I wrote this post a couple of days ago but in typical me procrastination mode it’s only going up today…

Toddlers bring happiness.  Yes they bring frustrations and exhaustion, but life with a toddler is a life with daily joy.  And I mean real joy.  Not just the faint little turning up of the lips that represents a near smile I’m talking about the stuff laugh out loud cackles are made from.

The laughter comes from the novelty and the innocence of the moment.  What is old hat to us is completely new and exciting to the little people around us.  Standing beside them as they get their tiny, developing brains around a new concept brings pure joy. 

I often find myself thinking back to when Mark was in Afghanistan and I was able to keep writing the blog every day. Nowadays Alby is changing so much I can’t keep up.  I think were he to go away again now my blog posts would be nothing but random lists of everything Alby had done that day.  And even then I would have forgotten half of it.  All to often I sit down ready to write a new post and just don’t know where to begin.  New experiences come so quickly I can rarely remember anything notable from the previous hour let along the previous day.  (With Operation Botbot still a work in progress no doubt some of this is also due to my sleep deprived brain getting overly fuddled, but let’s focus on the “Alby is just completely impressive” line of thought).

All that said, last week had two incidences which I haven’t been able to shake off and every time I think of them my eyes sparkle for my family.

The first incident was early in the morning when I was getting Alby dressed for the day.  As I took off his pyjama bottoms he looked himself up and down, pointed at his nappy and informed me to “Leave it on mummy”.  Where he had formed this sentence from I have no idea as I can’t imagine “leave it on” is an expression we say routinely.  And yet, there he was almost naked but with a clear sense of self and an edge of bossiness.  “Pardon Alby?”  His expression hardened, he pointed to his nappy once more and repeated slowly and clearly twice over (repetition is everything they say) “Leave it on mummy”. 

Truth be told I prefer to be the bossee rather than the bossed, but on this occasion I was too busy laughing to care.

From a semantic experience to a one a bit truer to his nature my next stand out moment took place later in the week when we took Percy for a walk in the evening.  The Tulip trees nearby are embracing autumn like you wouldn’t believe and in the space of two days had covered the pavement in their leaves.  The expression might be “like a child in a sweet shop” but I think “like a child amongst the leaves” would be more apt.  Alby was beside himself kicking the leaves, jumping on them, shuffling through them.  All of which was accompanied by laughter and a running commentary on all he was doing. “Alby kick leaves.”  “Alby running.”  Seriously, nothing passes thi chap by.

This evening bought extra special brilliance when Alby and I went for a evening walk to the shop.  Percy had spent a busy day running around the barracks with the soldiers and was no mood for a walk choosing instead to stubbornly engage in a very deep sleep.  However, Alby was completely over excited and we’d run out of washing up liquid so he and I got wrapped up in our winter woolies and headed off to the local convenient store.  It’s a stunning night here tonight and Alby spent a lot of time wandering around with his head tilted back shouting “Stars.  Lots and lots of stars.”  But then he saw his shadow and that was when the fun really began.  He squatted down and pointed at it.  Tried to out run it.  Tried to catch it. Tried to catch my shadow.  As we walked between the different street lights his shadow would quickly turn from being in front of him to being behind him and so every few steps we’d have to stop and find it again, with Alby somehow always managed to turn the longest way round so that when he did finally find it he had got all worked up with excitement, spotting it and squealing “There it is” before running off again.

                                                                                         

Laughter is medicine. Laughter builds relationships. With adult partnerships we often hear how it is the trying times that build bonds but with little people I think it’s the laughter which builds the family bonds more than anything else. As I have done from when Mark first went away I continue to try and ensure that every day I put aside the time to initiate giggle-filled moments with my little Trouble Monkey’s laughter.  Lucky for me, he seems just as committed to doing the same with me!

Channelling my artistic side

People often say that left-hand folk are more naturally more artistic.  Pish posh.  I am left-handed and I am not an artist.  I have never been arty.  Sure, I like the idea of it and if wishing made it so I’d be the next Monet but positive thought isn’t always enough and my attempts at art have always left a lot to be desired. 

And yet life with a toddler is meant to be all about creativity.  Thousands of incredibly intelligent people have dedicated years of their lives to convince us all that a toddler covered in paint with strips of sticky paper hanging of them whilst chewing on a felt tip pen is crucial to child-centred pedagogy.   That what appears to the naked eye as an extravagant mess of inks, paints and no doubt snot are in fact the key ingredients for cultivating strong emotional, social, physical and language skills in any child.

I’m not so sure.  To me it still looks like a mess. But if helping Trouble Monkey to make a mess will save me from the judgements of healthcare visitors, other parents and the potential undermining of his overall development then so be it.  I will roll up my sleeves, seize a paint brush, turn a blind eye to my artistically lacking ability and embrace the mess…

Sticking and gluing to promote fine motor skills!

Painting to promote self-expression!

Painting to promote cognitive reasoning!

Baking to promote fluency!

Of course I jest.  I love making a mess with Alby.  I love seeing him work with different materials and textures.  I encourage it as much as I can and even when I’m busy with other things Alby will ask for his crayons so he can draw away at his little table.  So far he’s been good at sticking to the paper (mostly) and the constant demands of “Mummy car”, “racing car” or “big car” ensure that I get to play too.  You can almost tell the difference between the blobs with wheels I call pictures!

 

When words gets meaning: what people forget to tell you

When your Sproglet first starts talking people are quick to tell you that any day now your little bundle of joy (often bouncing, bucking, bashing bundle of joy at this point) will suddenly start picking up new words quicker than you’d ever believe.  Blink and their vocabulary will have grown another ten words. You have to start watching what you say as they will parrot fashion every word that comes out of your mouth.  Whilst we are all united in wanting words like “please” and “thank you” to be repeated as much as possible, “oh bugger” isn’t something I really want Alby repeating at nursery.

And, as with all those other annoying clichés that come out of the mouths of parents, websites and books this is no lie.  To begin with every new word is a real joy. That said, I realised several weeks ago that I am no longer impressed when a new word comes out of Alby’s mouth.  Nowadays my eyebrows refuse to be raised for anything featuring less than three syllables.

For me first words do deserve great applause.  YouTube is no doubt filled with such clips posted by proud parents and so it should.  But rather than just preparing me for the excitement of hearing Alby’s babble turned into recognisable words I wish people had said more about how phenomenal it is when your child actually starts to understand the meaning behind the words.  Because that more than anything else leaves me constantly floored these days.

With understanding comes real communication.  And it is communication that the bonds of friendship are really made.

These days Alby gives me his order for breakfast.  He runs to his cupboard, selects the bowl or plate and cutlery that he wants and then stretches out his filled arms with the command “Mama up” so I’ll lift him onto the work surface where he overlooks my breakfast preparation.  He knows the names of almost all of his favourite things, undestands and follows instructions and is pulling together his own sentences.  Yes, usually these come about from him copying what I’ve said.  The other day he sat on the bottom step for what seemed an age shouting “Not today” as mimicked me, trying out the words in a variety of volumes, speeds and poses. But every now and then he not only comes out with his own instructions or sentences but they include words I’ve never heard him say before.  Driving into town the other day Alby pointed out the window and announced, out of nowhere, “Alby doctor”.  I point out every tractor, cow, sheep and lorry we pass but I’ve never pointed out our doctor’s surgery before.  Yesterday we drove to town and when we joined the motorway Alby squelled out “neeeowww racing cars, lots of racing cars”.  Not quite – just a fast road but you can’t argue with the Little Man’s reasoning.  Today a friend phoned me and Alby ran up to me pointing at the phone in my hand shouting: Narna tell-le-le-phon”.   It wasn’t Narna but double points for using a new word and triple points for it being a three syllable word, even if in Alby speech it was transformed into four syllables.

This evening Mark has been teaching Alby to shake hands with a “Hello, how do you do?”  It hasn’t taken long for Alby to grasp that you shake with your right hand and whilst Alby’s version has about four “do’s” in it, it’s perfect in my eyes.

Finally, another thing they don’t tell you – even toddlers can lose their voices.  Alby had a horrific cough last week which every so often left him with a rasping, croaky voice.  I don’t know why but I never imagined Trouble Monkey’s voice going at such a young age.  It would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so pitiful.  Oh who am I kidding, it was hilarious as well as being pitiful.

Operation BotBot

On Saturday night I was performing at a concert on the other side of England.  With Mark away at the moment this meant Alby spent the afternoon and evening with his buddy Kara.

When I stumbled home at midnight, shattered from the adrenaline of the day and the chaos of recent weeks it would be a bit of an understatement to say I was bemused to hear Kara tell me what a breeze Alby was at bedtime.

For Kara, Alby fell asleep on the sofa at 8:30pm exactly.  Kara carried him to bed and he snuggled into her shoulder before snuggling into his pillow.  At 11pm she heard his footsteps along the corridor and found him standing by the stair gate rubbing his eyes.  “Alby, it’s bedtime” she said.  “Yeah” said sleepy Alby, who waddled off back into his bed and fell asleep again.

Alby would never do this for Mark and me.  Okay, Mark and I aren’t going to just let him fall asleep in front of the TV every night. But I was left with the definite feeling that things need shaking up a little bit.  And that the shaking mostly needs to come in regards to Alby’s love of his botbot.

Whether motivated by change or driven by exhaustion that turned my brain to mush, last night I confess I went for the tough love approach.  But you know what, I’m no good at tough love.  If I were the parent of two little ones like some of my friends then survival instinct would probably give me the motivation needed for tough love but nah, 12 hours of hardness and I’ve already withered.

And so today we went for the middle ground.  Jiggled the routine, made Alby his own “bedtime book”, hid his real bottle until the very last moment and stuck to my guns.  And Alby went down like a star.

I’m not patting myself on the back just yet.  We’ve got the rest of the night to get though and I need to work out my game plan for the night time wakings.  Also, the first time Alby went to sleep in his bed he was asleep in minutes. Mark and I thought we’d struck gold.  One week on and things were back to the slightly more normal chaos.  Yes there have been things to rock the boat - Mark has been away a couple of times, I’ve been working overtime, a possibly growth spurt have led to Alby being the worlds most tired little chap in the world… But there are always things to rock the boat.  We’re trying to keep life as calm as possible and hopefully for the next few months we can all keep our promise of a calmer environment.  Time will tell!

Al-bug: prodigy in the making

Stop the press! News flash! Put down whatever it is you are doing and instead stand in awe of all that is Alby because on Friday (drum roll please) my son mastered counting from one to ten!

I know, I know.  An applause is required.  In fact I would go so far to suggest a standing ovation.  I mean for goodness sake, the child is 23 months, this is highly impressive stuff.

Well, no actually it isn’t at all.  He is bang on his milestones.  Neither advanced nor behind for his age, just Jo Average.  And yet I still find this something worth stopping in my tracks for.  Something to cheer and even to write a post about! 

As much as I hate it I spend almost everyday having to accept that all those patronising comments other parents made to me before having Alby – you know the ones: “children change everything” and “you don’t know what it’s like until you have kids”, really are true. Of course what those people don’t tell you is that “changing everything” means your brain becomes so fuddled that you think it is completely legitimate to follow a post on sex trafficking with one about your child being able to count.  A shift has definitely taken place somewhere in my universe but I’m not quite so blind as to believe it is simply a shift the right way.

And yet, when all is said and done I have a child now.  A child who can count to ten.  (Let’s all gloss over the fact this happened whilst he was counting a mere three cups – clearly he is not only intelligent but able to see things invisible to the naked eye.  Like I say, a genius).  A child who, as of tonight, will have been sleeping in his own bed (yes bed, no cot for Mr Albert) for a whole seven nights.  A child who will repeat almost anything you say provided it isn’t more than four words long.  Who demands you make train tunnels out of thin air.  Who tells you to cut up his toast and then cries when he can’t get the two pieces to stick back together again.  Who insists on taking Percy for a walk and spends the entire time running away from you.  A child who, yesterday, fed maggots to fish in the river (this was under the supervision of his babysitter and I’m still not sure whether I’m delighted or disgusted by this event).  A child who cuddles, kisses and laughs like his father.  A child who can count to ten.

It's hard work being so smart

The power of words

English is the third most common language native language in the world.  It is the most widely used language in the world.  It is the language of Shakespeare, of Dickens, of Tolkien and Austen and Steinbeck and Orwell.  

Wikipedia informs me that a Harvard study in 2010 found the English language to contain 1,022,000 words and to expand at 8,500 words a year. 

My family is English as is my husbands.  I take pride in my nationality.  England has a strong heritage (I’m not saying it was all good, there have been a number of incredibly bleak moments such as that whole colonizing thing we got a bit over excited by) but we’ve had some highs too and we know the meaning of old and of history as good as anybody else in Europe.  And for a little island, the influence our language has had in the current state of the world is quite spectacular.

And so given this amazing history, this huge, expansive language that was the native tongue of some of the world’s greatest authors, how are two of my son’s first words Tesco and Abba?

Where did it all go wrong? Seriously.  I’ve got a BA in History and an MA in International relations from one of the UK’s best universities.  I come from a well read, cultured family. How did this happen. 

Tesco and Abba.  Tesco and Abba.  Really?  Even his requests for me to read excerpts from “Small is Beautiful” or “The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying” aren’t enough to nullify the horror of these being two of his favourite words.  And he’s only 23 months old. 

They say: babies are innocent.  I say: the Western world has no true understanding as to how far its corruption reaches. I am disgusted.

On a happier note, today Alby said “I love Mummy” and “I love Daddy” for the first time ever.  Yes it was spoon fed to him and yes he has no idea what the words mean but that doesn’t stop them from being some of the best words the English language has to offer.

Getting a bit political on behalf of the sisterhood

I’ve never called myself a feminist but that isn’t to say that I would distance myself from the term if ever challenged.  Truth be told, from my somewhat ignorant position, I find the term somewhat confusing these days.  As women’s rights have changed and women’s roles in society have diversified I find it wrong to try and band all issues relating to women under one heading, especially a heading which is associated with bra-burning, civil disobedience of previous generations.

I’m not saying the women weren’t right in the action they took.  I’ve just always been a bit too much of a goody two shoes to go in for rule breaking. 

However, there are a lot of issues affecting women that I feel need to be talked about far more.  Yes there are grievances over pay and employment opportunity amongst my contemporaries but I’m referring more to the issues facing hundreds of thousands on women across the world: those who can’t vote, who are forced into marriage, who are subjected to female genital mutilation, who are forced out of schools and beaten because they dare to wish how to read and write.  Admittedly, not the fluffy sort of stuff that you normally get in this blog, but this is my platform to speak and today I saw a video which I thought was just brilliant.  That part of me that wants to see a better world for all gave a little woop of support to the genuis people who came up with this campaign.  Want to know what I’m talking about?  Check out this video on You Tube. 

As one of my favourtie characters in my favourite TV shows says: “I didn’t burn my bras J, In fact I like my bras.  I ring your bell when it’s important”.

Consider me ringing a bell…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gfFzCDIQ_a8

I feel the need, the need for speed

The only reason I’m able to update the blog at the moment is because Mark is away for a couple of days.  This means I’m allowed to break curfew hiding away in the study and tapping away on the keyboard.  

As it turns out juggling work, chores and three boys makes blogging a bit difficult.  It isn’t just juggling my time to find the time to write it but also the head space to think about what I want to write. The days go by like a blur.  Alby is learning a new word every day, running like a crazy and developing an ever keened sense of self.  Mark is back in the office, he has new projects with work, exercises to prepare for and we’re both getting back into the routine of post-holiday life. And Percy, well, Percy needs cuddles.  He’s pretty easy.

And so the only way this blog will survive is if I develop speed.  No more long entries – if it can’t be written and uploaded whilst Alby is in the bath it’s not going to happen.

Mummy Fail #680

This evening ignoring the signs of serious fatigue and general ineptitude to do the most simple of tasks I dropped Alby’s dinner whilst trying to carry it and his table and chair all at the same time. 

It was one of those moments where I definitely knew better.  Before I picked up the table I thought: this isn’t going to work.  Sadly my thoughts stopped there and the next thing you know potato waffles, fish fingers and, most important of all, dip dip (aka tomato ketchup) are in a messy pile on the floor. 

“OH NO!” responds Alby who then picks up his plate, puts all the food back on, carries it over to the table, sits up and starts eating, only glancing back at me to give a dismissive look and yet another “Oh no Mummy. Dip dip. Oh no”.  

Needless to say I have been firmly put in my place by Little Man.

And Little Man he is fast becoming.  Today when I picked him up from nursery I was asked to stay a moment for a word with the teacher. (Will there ever be a time when that phrase doesn’t fill me with random guilt and the sudden stock piling of excuses).  As it was I wasn’t being reprimanded (and I should jolly well hope not) but asked how I would feel if Alby moved up a class to Butterflies.  They worried I would be nervous about the idea, I’m ecstatic.  Half of his class from last term have moved up and he is now in a room with new teachers and lots of new faces.  He may not know the nursery staff who run Butterflies, but he knows the children, many of him whom are life Members of the Alby-Sunni gang. 

And yet with my glee comes yet more evidence of how much my Trouble Monkey is growing.  In seven weeks he will be two.  Time to get the party invites sorted.

Mummy fail #577

Last Tuesday I had a meeting in London.  Mark had some work to catch up on and so to give him a bit of undisturbed office time (which it transpired also translated to a game of golf but we’ll leave that for another day) Alby headed to the city with me.

As I met with work colleagues, had a grumble and worked out our plans for the next year, Alby bashed his way around the Natural History Museum with my best friend Kate.

A cultured day out in London doesn’t quite qualify as a Mummy Fail so you may interpret the story so far as me softening you up to my fail.  A fail which started on the train to London with Alby’s breakfast – a packet of crisps, and ended with his pub dinner – a plate of chips.

To soften the Mama Fail slightly, the breakfast crisps were organic baby-friendly baked crisps which cost a ridiculous amount to soften my ego, but they were still crisps.  And the evening dinner may have come with a fish finger sandwich and a vegetable garnish but let’s be honest, Alby pretty much just ate the chips. 

To extend the Fail slightly, Kate admitted Alby had also stolen a handful of chips from her boyfriends plate at lunchtime.  So all in all a healthy diet for the little man.

A mild obsession

We are currently chicken-sitting for neighbours of ours who have headed off to France for the summer holidays. 

In addition to the three chickens, the family have three small children and with it a garden filled with toys.  As I got to grips with the water dispenser, feeders and cleaning the coop, Alby commandeered the toy motorbike, wendy house and scooter before finally setting eyes on the Little Tikes Crazy Coupe car.

Now Alby has been in these cars before.  His first tantrum occurred when I tried to get him out of one at a local soft play centre.  At a play date with friends of ours Alby showed off his amazing social skills by sitting in the car for fifteen minutes and refusing to get out. He did the same at another play date but thankfully that friend had two cars so Alby and his buddy Arthur were able to both sit in each for twenty minutes at a time without anybody getting too upset.

Mark and I have discussed buying Alby one of these cars on many occasions.  So much so that at any given time I am likely to be found following the sales of at least three of them on ebay and have another saved to my Amazon wish list.  We’ve been reluctant though as they are a big bit of kit, even the second hand ones aren’t cheap and with baby toys you can never be too sure what will actually be used versus what will sit in a corner gathering dust.

A quick text to France and we are now not only caring for the three chickens but one red and yellow Crazy Coupe.

To say Alby is obsessed with the car really doesn’t do it justice.  He wakes every morning, runs to the back door and shouts out “car, car, car, car, car, car, car”.  Once outside he opens the door, gets inside, giggles, kicks his legs about, pushes the car backwards, giggles some more and then runs into the house shouting “push, push, push, push, push, push, push, push.” And then I have the pleasure of pushing him around the garden, still in my pyjamas.  At least three times a day the ritual is repeated.  If, whilst in the garden pushing him about you stop to, I don’t know catch your breath or throw one of Percy’s toys to the side, he hangs out of the window and starts tapping his magic finger on the roof whilst saying “mama, mama, mama, mama, mama” until I get my act into gear and get moving again.  

His birthday isn’t for another couple of months and Family Beebe are on a bit of a saving spell at the moment but I think we’re going to have to find some way to get hold of a Crazy Coupe before our friends come back from holiday or Alby will be out every morning demanding his car and no doubt being quite upset that it’s no longer there.

When Alby grows up…

It’s rather odd looking at the little person that is Alby and thinking that one day he will grow up to have specific passions, skills, interests and even a profession of his own.  Every day brings new personality traits, a new set if likes and dislikes and a new set of sometime ridiculous, sometimes challenging behaviour. 

So far Mark and I have whittled down Alby’s future career into the following options:

• A nudist model for art classes – the boy honestly cannot stop strutting his naked self.  I have a whole host of videos and photos of the Trouble Monkey getting up to silliness that I’d like to share but can’t because they are of him in the buff and no way do I trust the internet enough to post such. But the boy just loves being in his own skin and for the moment, I salute his lovely little bare butt.
• A dustbin man – ah yes, the favoured profession of many a young child.  I remember wanting to be a bin man myself when younger.  Alby spends at least 10 minutes every Friday morning standing on a window ledge waving at the bin men, pointing as the bins are lifted into the back of the truck and jabbering away as the recycling gets sorted, raised and tipped.  He is completely and utterly mesmerised by it.
• An artist – I often hear the claim that left handed people are arty.  Well balderdash as I’m a lefty and don’t have an inch of artistic talent inside of me.  Alby on the other hand, who appears right handed by the evidence shown so far, is developing a real love of drawing.  Every day for the past week he has got out his crayons for a quick scribble not too incomparable to some of the stuff I’ve seen in the Tate Modern.  And today, as the end of term looms at nursery, we were sent home with his portfolio – an impressive thing indeed for one still so you and still so uncoordinated.

  

  Clearly a master in the making

• A stunt man – Trouble Monkey is a whirlwind of kamikaze craziness.  About a month ago his favourite thing in the world was to bounce on the bed and then just fall face first into the mattress – no bend of the knees, no arch of the back just a full on face plant from which he would jump up giggling.  Last night he treated us to his latest trampolining skill – jumping up and landing crossed legged on the bed.  Who teaches him such I have no idea as I’m fairly certain there’s no trampoline at nursery.  The best thing about his new move is the preparation before each jump – a series of very small bounces accompanied by deep breaths and a steely look, comparable to the lovely Johnny finding his happy place.  When not jumping on the bed, Alby has other fun activities as demonstrated this evening when he spent twenty minutes throwing himself onto a beanbag.  

His suicidal nature isn’t just about body slamming soft furnishings though, as witnessed by his love of the Daddy rocket…

In addition to these he warbles a good tune, stomps a merry dance and will charge down any puddle which dares try to stand in his way.  

One of the memorable quotes from the speech my dad gave at our wedding was:  what do you get when you mix a meat eating, rugby playing Army officer with a vegetarian liberal pacifist?  Well dad, you get an Al-bug….