Happiness is

• Taking Percy for a walk with his two best friends Milo and Bella and watching him try to keep the pace of an overactive Jack Russell
• Watching Alby test out a selection of sticks by bashing them against a tree whilst yelling
• Getting my first proper cuddle from Alby where he wrapped his arms around my neck and squeezed in
• Alby’s end of term assessment reporting under Emotional Development: “When another child is unhappy Albert will help to care for the child by giving cuddles and giving them their comforter”.  Bless him.
• A hug from the nursery supervisor who was thankful for my thanks – honestly, those women deserve so much appreciation it’s horrible to think that mums ever take them for granted
• Picking up the car from the garage and it costing half the amount I was expecting
• A day of winter sun (it seems an  age since the sun managed to break through the clouds but today it happened!)
• A phone call from the bank to check my account – apparently my attempts to spend less have them concerned and they were worried something had happened to me!
• An email from my love love
• An Easter egg in a knitted hat arriving in the post from my new boss – bless her cotton socks
• A three day work week (though no doubt I will regret it next week)
• A bulldog sitting on my lap for a cuddle
• Ticking off one more day until my husband gets home.

Today has been a day filled with happiness.  Today has been a wonderful day. So that your day is too, I give you a final drop of happiness: dancing, giggling Trouble Monkey

Random ramblings: juxtaposition

I had two posts I wanted to write this evening.  One was going to be in tribute to the creativity that has come from my fine hands over the past two days. The other, well the other was on something quite different.  And as I mentally drafted each post, pondering the title, thinking about any funny quips which could be introduced, considering where I can drop in a bit of humility a Bon Jovi song got stuck in my head which pretty much sums it all up:

Welcome to wherever you are

This is your life, you’ve made it this far
Welcome, you’ve got to believe
That right here, right now you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Hand trees and footpring glow worms - I am no artist

So where am I?  Well right this minute now I’m standing in the kitchen waiting for my cornflake chicken nuggets to finish cooking.  I’m touched – these were specially requested by one of the nursery workers for tomorrow’s end of term Easter Party.  Today has also seen me finish off both Alby ‘s and my “farewell  and thank you” cards for the Glow worms staff, make an Easter bonnet for the parade (well, Alby’s interpretation of a bonnet), get Percy prepped for Easter and do a spot of washing up and laundry too.

Today also saw me respond to Alby emptying his box of car toys across the living room floor, pulling books off the shelves and stamping a rice cake into the carpet by turning on my heel and making myself a cuppa.  I can’t take Alby swimming tomorrow because we’re going to be at the garage getting the car fixed (no heating, squeaky brakes, blown headlight and oil change required) but it doesn’t really matter as no swimming means Alby can fully participate in the previously mentioned Easter party. Why can’t he just get into the party spirit after swimming I hear you ask?  Good question. Well, that’s because the nursery is closing at noon and so I’ve got the day off work and Alby and I will spend the afternoon preparing for our weekend guests and packing for the trip South. 

Right here, right now my life is a juxtaposition.  On the one hand I’m feeling enthused by my productivity.  I’m not claiming to be some brilliantly arty type person – far, far from it.  My teacher and I were equally relieved when I dropped art when I was 14.  However, I had job to do, it’s been done and I think I’ve done good. The house is a bit scrappy around the edges, but I’m mostly on top of it all.  And my son is running, dancing, giggling ball of energy – it’s brilliant and I’m blessed.

On the other hand, I’ve hit wall in this whole deployment malarkey.  I hadn’t quite realised that’s what it was until I was out walking Percy this evening.  We didn’t make it out until 7pm, (yup, that is indeed Alby’s bath time – I was hoping you wouldn’t notice).  It was pitch black, snowing again and Percy was being particularly indecisive about where he wanted to go.  Light relief was found in bumping into my neighbour out walking her three dogs with her nine year old son.  She greeted me with “I’ve hit a wall.  I’m over this deployment already.”  Hello to you too.

But she’s right.  What I thought earlier on as I faced a floor covered in rice lumps, crumbs and dust was “I think I know how depressed people feel.”  Now, before anyone starts getting all uppity let the record show that I am absolutely not depressed in any way, shape or form.  Let me explain...

As I looked at the mess on the floor I thought:

I should really put Alby in the highchair and give him a proper meal

And then I thought:

I should really sit on the floor with him and make a game with these toys.

And then I turned around and put the kettle on.

This isn’t the first time I’ve felt like this over the past two weeks.  Since the sickness bug a month ago Alby’s dinnertime has been a bit rubbish with him essentially dissing my meals in favour of a feed.  And I’ve accepted it. 

The finished product - cornflake nuggets!

My reaction isn’t about me being some super chilled out person.  It’s not about me being relaxed or proactively encouraging free spirit within my son.  It’s that I just couldn’t do it; I couldn’t muster the energy, the willpower, the wherewithal, the anything.  I made a drink and went back to sticking tissue paper to a baseball cap.  And I thought depressed people probably feel a bit like this – aware they aren’t in the healthiest of head spaces, able to see opportunities for light relief or even serious relief and yet just unable to take that step.  I know that once Mark gets back I won’t just be stepping, I’ll be leaping, but for the moment, I’m over this deployment! 

All that said, applying a little bit of brain power to the dinner issue yesterday has already garnered some encouraging results, but more on that another day.  For now, my chicken is cooked, laundry  spun and dishes ready to be put away. (And if you were worried about the state of the living room floor fear not, Alby was very helpful when it came to putting away his toys and we had a good round of bumper cars a la hoover and baby walker as we vacuumed up the crumbs). 

Alby thoroughly unimpressed with his bonnet

Bullbunny - far more accepting of Easter

Smug baker

A bit anemic but still yummy

Double inspiration from my mother and my friend led to me buying yeast and bread flour earlier this week and this evening I finally pulled up my sleeves and attempted to make my first loaf of bread in 20 years.

Fresh!

Following (mostly) Jamie Olivers recipe for basic bread mix I ended up with a mass of dough which I turned into one bread loaf, one cottage loaf and a dozen dough sticks.  (A confession: I wasn’t meant to have dough sticks but some much more pukka bread snaps.  It transpires however, that Jamie and I have very different views on what 1cm thick actually is.  He gets trendy twisted breadsticks and I get squidgy, warm dough sticks which I promptly dipped in philly.  Scrumptious).

Obviously, my bread doesn’t look like any of the beautiful loaves in the recipe book or even on the front of the flour packet, nor indeed any bread I’ve ever seen before but ugly bread is a family trait and I like to think that I’ve keeping up tradition. 

Clearly, I’m not pretending to have mastered the art of baking in one evening, but tonight’s efforts have certainly given me the confidence to try again.  Yes, yes, I completely lost my head at the beginning over when to mix the yeast or pour in the water (conscious that this makes me sound like my grandmother, the first time my mum taught me to bake bread we spent the morning waiting for the yeast to froth up.  Being able to simply pour in the yeast and mix it up a bit confused me no end).  However, against the odds my house not only smells like a bakery but I’ve got some really tasty bread ready to tuck into in the morning.

Tucking into scone pizza

Similar to many I always thought of bread baking as some arduous task and that the results didn’t necessarily justify the end but here I am having been proven quite wrong.

 

Sweet and savoury with cookies and cheese straws

Filling the kitchen with floured surfaces and dirty baking trays doesn’t end here.  Continuing another family tradition, when life gets a bit stressful and the to do list seems insanely long, I head to the kitchen and see how much mess I can make.  Since Mark returned to Afghanistan Alby has enjoyed scone pizza, cornflake chicken and cheese twists which his nursery staff have been on the receiving end of my mega chocolate chip cookies.

Cornflake chicken - like dippers but so much better

With the exception of my cookies I don’t claim to be a great chef but I do love a bit of baking and trying new recipes.  There is something very therapeutic about it.  No doubt psychologists would site all sorts of Neolithic stirrings caused by playing with flour. Who knows.  It makes me feel good and my house smells of fresh bread.  Happy days.

Days out

In the countdown to Mark’s return I’m getting all silly in excitement at the Family Days Out we can embark on when he gets home.  This all started when our new English Heritage cards came through the post the other day which, in light of dogs not being allowed on the beach after Easter, will ensure plenty of dog walking locations to enjoy once the sun finally decides to make an appearance.

Down the road there is Monks Cross farm where we can have another attempt at getting Alby to say hello to a pig.  What’s more, a play date at a friend’s house on Saturday left me completely overexcited at learning there is a Yorkshire Wildlife Park in addition to a Children’s museum both within day trip distance.  

Yorkshire Wildlife Park

The Yorkshire Wildlife park bills itself as being “The UK’s number one walkthrough wildlife adventure”.  So long as I’m not walking through a lion’s den then I’m game (excuse the pun).  With a map boasting Lion Country, Wallaby Walkabout, Flamingo Pool and the Lemur Woods I’m not sure what else there is in life to wish for!

Eureka!

Next on the list is a trip to Eureka! The National Children’s museum.  I took a snoop around their website yesterday and it looks amazing. They have two sections specifically for the Under 5’s : the Sound Garden where Alby will be able to climb inside a huge flowerpot or crawl around a giant honeycomb, and the Desert Discovery where Mark can no doubt re-enact in a child friendly space the last six months of his life!  In other parts of the museum they got things like a scaled down bank and supermarket where Alby will be able to go explore the vault, do his shopping or pretend to be the cashier for mama. 

Yorkshire Sculpture Park

Finally, though this will probably be more for Percy and me there is the Yorkshire Sculpture Park in Wakefield.  Alby and Percy will be able to stomp around the 500 acres of grounds whilst I take in a bit of culture.  A artist friend of mine highlighted it to me as she was hoping to visit.  Somewhere I think the grandparents may also wish to see (again, sun allowing!)

I think we’ll simply have to visit them all if for no other reason than ensuring I’ve got things to keep posting about!

Book worm Trouble Monkey

Prior to having Alby I read any parenting book I could get my hands on and spent hours slobbing on the sofa in front of such programmes as House of Tiny Tearaways and Super Nanny in hope that I’d have some clue about what to do with the tiny life about to be put in my charge. One of the key messages which came out of every book and every programme was the importance of reading to your child.  Fiction was heralded as being of equal importance to the other basics: feeding, sleeping and changing.

Now I’m not shy when it comes to reading.  When I moved away from my London Book Club I just set it up on line so as to keep in regular contact with my fellow book loving pals.  And so, this instruction was one I thought I would excel at. And in many ways I did.  From day one, bedtime involved a story. We made our way through the entire Beatrix Potter collection (turns out her artistic skills are far superior to her writing skills), the entire My Naughty Little Sister collection (if you don’t know it, buy it), Shirley Hughes, Harry Potter and whatever else came our way.  I’ve chopped and changed the bedtime routine a number of times in Alby’s short life but despite the changes I have never negotiated on the bedtime story.

The thing that gets me about those initial words of wisdom from parenting gurus of the 21^st century is why did nobody tell me how much children love books?  And I mean love.  I don’t need to encourage Alby to read, he works his way through a dozen books every day without any instruction or direction from me.  Telling you to expose your child to books is like telling you to breath each day – from my experience babies will hunt out books whether you encourage them to or not.

In the early days he was all about the Touch and Feel book.  Our bookshelves were filled with “That’s not my monster / puppy / snowman / pirate / bear / fairy / dragon...” or “This little builder / pirate / monkey / kitten...” which were a pure joy to Alby and his magic finger as he explored felt, velcro, silk, satin, wool, perforated card, sandpaper and all sorts of other materials I don’t even know the name of.   Then, we moved onto noisy books.  As if laughing in the face of my own simple childhood, The Hungry Caterpillar these days is now accompanied by a tuneful little ditty, The Wheels on the Bus with background music and that’s nothing compared to the roaring Gruffalo, tooting elf and braying donkey also on our shelves.

Today, showing yet another step forward, we are all about the lift-the-flap book.  Mark will be delighted to learn that Alby’s hands down favourite book at the moment is “Where’s Spot”.  I don’t want to dismiss the brilliance of this children’s classic but having read it five times every night for the past week, I’m sort of wishing it wasn’t so good at the moment.  In addition to “Where’s Spot” we’ve also got “Goodnight Spot” which I think daddy will find equally delightful in addition to a number of other similar books.

Lift the flap books are a natural winner for Alby combining a challenge for his magic finger with a game of Peepo on every page.  What really strikes me in this move in reading material is what a clear marker it is of how he has developed since Mark left.  When we were in Kent with friends I vividly remember seeing our friend’s little boy who is a month older than Alby, sitting happily with his parents carefully opening up each window and door to see what was underneath.  At that time I didn’t dare let Alby read such books as doing so would have simply resulted in us both being surrounded by ripped up pages.  Just one month on though and Alby squeals with delight when we opens the piano to reveal the Hippo or the wardrobe to reveal the monkey.  No ripped pages (well not many), plenty of giggles and me once again the proud mother of a clever Trouble Monkey.

Percy love

The Darsterdly Duo

Whilst this blog is called “Life with Alby” there are of course two boys in my life – as well as Trouble Monkey we have his trusty (somewhat wary) side-kick, Sir Percival. And boy has Percy dedicated a lot of time this week to getting in my face and making sure his presence is recognised.

Having started the month dog sitting for the neighbour, which meant having three extra dogs in the house for a few hours each day, followed by a week in Surrey, Percy seems to have got it into his head that I should be providing the cuddles and entertainment of four people.  He also seems to have decided that he is completely starving (no doubt due to the sad realisation that meal times no longer mean a floor littered in Alby leftovers) and so has been my shadow in the kitchen and my lap dog at all other times since Monday.

Did someone say "food"?

This morning as Alby and I sat on the floor playing, Percy decided he was going to get involved too.  With his bum in Alby’s face he stomped on every jigsaw piece, snuffled every book and knocked over the stacking cup tower quicker than I could make it – beating Alby at every turn. 

Thankfully, Alby’s helpful manner holds true when it comes to Percy love and he ensures Percy gets at least half a dozen hugs (Alby flopping on top of a sleeping Percy), pats (Alby bashing Percy’s face) and kisses (actual kisses) each day.  This afternoon as Percy snuffled around the kitchen in desperate search for more food, Alby threw himself over Percy’s back and stayed like that as Percy made his way across the kitchen floor. 

Like Alby, Percy has got quite accustomed to garden time in the afternoon and today saw the two of them hanging around the back door in eager anticipation of outside play.  Percy has taken to leaping recently – something which first occurred when Mark came home on R&R, with him not only leaping out the door but at his football and across the garden in chase of it.

The result of a walk well spent

Thankfully the rain from the start of the week has drained away so Percy Bullhound was able to play without fear of it ending in a bath.  If he is still traumatised by my Pantene hose down earlier this week he isn’t showing it right now – in fact he isn’t showing anything right now as he’s tucked his little squashy face into his paws and has fallen fast asleep. 

Hiding from me and my Pantene wash

Stubbornly hidey Bulldog

Back inside, but still hiding

New Charity shop Ted

Charity shop Ted one hour later

Green fingers

In my efforts to ensure that Alby gets a little bit of outside time each day (not including the times strapped in his pushchair as I march the bulldog around the barracks) I headed to Argos to invest in some outside toys.  Success! I am now the proud parent of a gardening Trouble Monkey.

 Turning a complete blind eye to the snow, 25mph winds, grey skies and drizzle the start of the week saw me headed off to our local garden centre in search of colour.  Combine my stubbornness with Alby’s enthusiasm for dirt, bashing, pushing toys and watering cans and we’ve got, for the moment, a lovely splash of purples, blues and yellows in an otherwise dark area.  

 

How well the flowers will survive the snow, floods and Percy’s football playing only time will tell but for the moment I’m thoroughly enjoying my new view when doing the washing up.  That it’s the result of Mama and Trouble Monkey team work makes the view all the sweeter.

Moving on up

Alby has 6 days left in the Glow worms room of nursery.  With Friday next week comes Good Friday and the start of the Easter holidays.  And following the holidays Trouble Monkey moves up to Caterpillars.    

To help prepare him for the move up the nursery staff have been taking him up for the occasional session each week since half term.  And yesterday morning Alby walked me up to meet the lady who will be his new Key Worker, Dawn. 

I had it in my head that Caterpillars was a bit gloomy and boring following the Glow worms room but I was very pleasantly proven wrong when I walked in yesterday to a large room completely decorated in photos and art work by the little ones.  Children were busy playing with bricks on the large tables in the middle of the room.  Most of the children eat their lunch at the table and I think Alby will love sitting up like a big boy for lunch and snack time.  There is a slide and two sit on ladybugs to race around the room on for the active ones and a comfy corner (think cushions and then think some more) for those wanting to chill out.  

What is really lovely is that the room opens out onto a little private garden just for the Caterpillars and on days when the weather isn’t just horrid the children have free flow in and out. 

There is a little room which doubles up as a sleeping area (two cots) and changing area.  I’m a bit sad that these two have been clumped together, but it’s a small price to pay.  Whilst I’m a bit of a snob about where my child sleeps Trouble Monkey doesn’t discriminate like his mother however and was fast asleep in there when I turned up to get him this afternoon.

I have mixed feelings about Alby moving rooms.  On the one hand he is now the oldest in the baby room.  From being the youngest who was learning off all the others these days he is the one doing the teaching (a worrying idea) and becoming a bit too old for some of the games and toys they have.  Caterpillars will be far more appropriate and with that, better for him.  Nut on the other hand I love Glow worms.  He has been there for ten months.  I can’t even begin to put into words how wonderful the Glow worms staff have been; reassuring, compassionate, friendly, trustworthy hardly scratch the surface.  And they were even polite enough to tell me that they didn’t want Alby to leave because they love him so much.  “He’s ready to leave but we’re not ready for him to leave” were Rachel’s words last month – ah bless her (though I’m sure she says that to all the mums).

But move he will.  Dawn, his new Key Worker has given us a box of goodies to have at home this week made up mostly of toys, photos and information about her. I’ve even got some homework to complete this weekend.  On top of that Alby and I will be out shopping, spending a decent amount of Daddy’s money on gifts for Shannon, Zoe and Rachel in thanks for the wonderful care they have given my Trouble Monkey.  No idea what would be an appropriate gift but hopefully I’ll find inspiration somewhere on the streets of Northallerton!

Taming the Trouble Monkey

I initially wrote this post yesterday but the internet crashed – grrr.  Ho hum, I guess my computer was testing boundaries in a similar way to how Alby had done earlier that day over breakfast.

With greater understanding of the world comes appreciation for wrong and right.  Or at least that’s what I’m aiming for.  There are a huge number of things I turn a blind eye to everyday.  One of the key messages coming from any toddler-related book or article is “choose your battles carefully”.  With that in mind Alby is free to pull toys and books off shelves with reckless abandon.  Toilet paper can be unrolled and pulled around the house. Furniture and climbing frames are interchangeable words and water can be splashed, everywhere and anywhere.

However, there are a few rules boring Mama Beebe likes to impose in her house.  Firstly, we don’t pull hair and we don’t scratch faces.  Alby has learnt on the hair pulling, but my face still holds a few war wounds from over excited baby nails.  We don’t hit the television (crickey have I heard some serious horror stories of children who have pulled televisions onto themselves).  And we don’t drop food on the floor.

From day one Alby has marked the end of mealtime by dropping food on the floor.  Sometimes this is a delicate process, pea by pea, other times it’s a whole arm swipe of the tray causing food to fly across the room, stopped only by crashing into wall / radiator / Percy’s face. 

When Alby was younger I tolerated this manoeuvre; the first item dropped would be my signal to act fast.  Nowadays though, mealtimes are just one more opportunity for a bit of Ably education.  We’ve got bit of a way to go but I like to think some progress is being made…

The final countdown

Four weeks left until Mark comes home.  Four whole weeks and the countdown has, against my better judgement, officially started.  And oh boy, it's going to be the longest four weeks of my life so far.

Life with Alby usually flies by.  During the countdown to R&R a combination of me convincing myself we had longer to go than we really did plus me trying my best not to think about it too much meant that time ticked away at a very nice pace.  This time round there’s no trickery to be had and it is amazing to me how long a day can be. 

It’s not as though the coming weeks will be quiet.  The weekend after next sees up hopping back onto the M1 for yet another trip down south.  But even with a crazy agenda seven months is too long to be apart and the cracks are starting to show.

 In summary – I miss this face...

 A lot.

Sleeping habits

In the “No Cry Sleep Solution” the author recommends keeping a sleep log once every ten days.  Any more than that and she suggests you’ll just get disheartened by how erratic baby sleeping patterns are. Well, I don’t know if it actually counts as I don’t keep a formal sleep log but this evening was the first time I’ve successfully put Alby to bed on his bottle and in my own little mental ten day log, the progress has been nice and steady in the build up to this point. 

When I first reintroduced the bottle at bedtime I was met with quite the show of resistance – pushing the bottle away with his hands, turning his head and crying. A lot.  Very gradually he started to accept it.  

The routine involved bath, stories, bottle, sleep.  As he tired of his stories he started reaching out for his bottle which gave me great hope, but sleep would still only come via Mama.  But progress was made.  Initially it was just a short feed and then request for Mama.  Then I’d negotiate with him; he had to have two goes on the bottle before he could have Mama.  And then three goes on the bottle.  Even then however he would keep his eyes wide open when having his bottle, only heading into the land of nod when snuggled into Mama. 

Last night saw the first change.  In fact, had we not run out of milk I’m confident he would have settled that way.  As it is, this evening marks the first time since I shook up the routine that little man has snoozed off without me having to readjust my top. 

Once again I find myself the proud mother of a lovely little boy.  And this evening’s pride isn’t even concentrated on the new routine finally falling fully into place.  The real highlight of tonight happened as we started getting ready for bed.  Alby was playing in the living room and I asked if he wanted to come and get his bottle ready.  His arms were instantly outstretched for me to carry him into the kitchen.  Sitting on the counter he watched me pour the milk into the saucepan (nobody wants cold milk at bedtime).  Meanwhile he had grabbed the measuring spoon and was tugging at the packet of baby rice (I give a very faint nod to thickening the milk with a pathetic small scoop of rice).  He held the spoon out as I poured the rice in and then he tipped it into his bottle.  He picked up the ring which goes on top of the bottle and put it in place, then the teat and held the bottle as I screwed it all together.  Once the bottle was made I said “Do you want to say goodnight to Percy before your bath” and he flapped his arms and legs about like crazy.  Once on the floor he ran, actually ran, all the way to Percy’s bed where he lent over and gave Percy two kisses on the nose before charging off to the bottom of the stairs (empty milk carton still in hand) ready for bathtime. 

I’m not embellishing at all in this story.  There is no journalistic indulgence or generosity with the truth taking place.  I completely understand how unimpressive this probably sounds to anybody other than me, but to know that rational thought, understanding and compassion are all starting to develop in that little head is amazing.  I want so desperately for Mark to understand how much his son is growing up.  To understand that when he comes home, they will be able to do things together – actually together not just side by side or with Alby as an innocent bystander as has been the story for the past 16 months.

There is a little buddy waiting at home for daddy and I’m so excited about the adventures to be had when the two of them (and Percy) get back together next month.

Wacky races

In an attempt to knacker Alby before the drive back North on Friday I took him to the soft play near my parents’ house.  Recently done up it is one of the best centres of foam cushions, shiny plastic slides and questionable padded bumps I’ve yet tested.  Colourful, relatively quiet and a dream for toddlers Alby ensured the entire area was covered.

His exploration led us to the very end of the room which I, having been focused on the “Under 3’s” zone had failed to notice – almost a Mummy Fail like no other as the end of the room contained about a dozen Little Tikes red and yellow cars, with a little track made out to race them around.  

Alby took one look at the cars and threw himself against the padded wall in an effort to scramble over.  He couldn’t get onto the plastic seat and behind the flimsy wheel fast enough. 

Ignition on

Checking the wing mirrors

And he's off...

I’m still trying to work out who he’s learned his driving technique from – I’ve watched my behaviour around the house for some time now but thought I could relax when out and about!

As I visit new places with the boys, or buy new gifts I always have the same thought at the back of my head: I must share this with Mark.  Well a day at the soft play isn’t just a must – I’m already envisioning a return with Family Hines and Family Kitchen this summer as we pit Daddy and Baby teams against each other (surely the Championship belt can be un-retired for this?)  

For those interested – my mission was a success and Alby slept the entire way home.  Of course the one slight flaw in my plan was that it knackered me too, but that’s what God invented caffeine for I suppose.

Birthday boy

On Saturday 9 March my parents, grandparents and various other extended family members piled into a church hall in Dulwich to celebrate my nephews first birthday.  With Mark away and one still being a very young age I passed on a traditional party for Alby, spending the day instead amongst the chaos of London Aquarium during half term.  I thought he would be too young to appreciate a party. Once again, I have been proven a fool.  Joey’s party was amazing and as much as the grown ups all enjoyed it, the younger ones had the time of their life. 

The birthday boy

With a dozen other babies and toddlers to walk with I don’t think I’ve ever seen Alby run about so much.  For three hours he was a ball of bouncing energy – running, spinning, climbing, running, throwing, laughing, crawling, running, dancing, shouting, stomping.  Oh, and running. 

Alby on top form throughout

Two memories of the day stand out:

To set the scene slightly, my dad disappeared for the first half hour of the party.  One presumes that he was having a bit of quiet time in order to fully prepare both mentally and physically for the chaos which was about to ensue.  On finally deciding to join us he settled down with his newspaper, a good distance from where his own mother has settled herself.  An hour later, with no harm done, he finally stepped into granddad mode and joined Alby on the floor for a bit of playtime.  It started simply enough – my dad throwing a Squishy Grabby Thing (and yes, that is it’s proper name) at Alby and another little boy called Patrick.  It would bounce off them and roll away.  One of the boys would run to collect it, return it to my dad and the game continued.  The game continued until Alby ran to get the Squisky Grabby Thing but returned with a wooden peg, which he lobbed at my dad.  In the blink of an things went from innocent fun to the stuff nightmares are made off. Following Alby’s lead not only did Patrick decide to throw a wooden peg at my dad but around five other children thought they’d get in on the act too.  One ricocheted off my dad’s glasses and I’ve never seen him move so quickly. 

There was nothing short of sheer panic in my father’s eyes as six toddlers all with arms flaying ran for him.  When faced with nothing but pure, basic instinct to save him my father proved himself all man – he ran for it.  Yes indeed, when they come to close the book on my dad it will state when it came to “fight or flight” by father was a true pacifist.  Lucky for him, he didn’t have to run far.  As it turns out the one sure way for an adult to defeat a mob of sugared up toddlers is simply by standing up.  Turns out than when left with just knee caps to play with they aren’t so bothered.

The second incident was of true Health and Safety brilliance.  Having decked out the room with decorations toys and play mats it turns out that the most popular place to play was on the large trolley the folded tables are usually stored on.  With a flimsy metal frame, unstable base and wheels this was, obviously, the must have toy for any self respecting toddler.  At one point there were seven little ones running on and off it, hanging on the top bar and jumping so much it shook.  It took a whole two hours before any of the parents thought to put the brake on the wheels – well done Jim! 

Trouble Monkeys on the day's most loved toy

My growing little lad

Not so long ago when Mark was back and we went away with friends, I looked on in awe at what a grown up little chap our friend’s son is.  Only one month divides him and Alby however he seemed to me months ahead of my chappie – sitting calmly as his mother read to him, standing at the counter helping his dad make his dinner, following basic instructions and even starting to say a few words. 

Well, as recently noted, Alby has yet to move on from babbling but crickey has he grown over the past month.

Whereas one month ago putting a lift-the-flap book in front of him would merely result in me being left with a pile of ripped off card, today he works his way meticulously through his Baby Beethoven rhyme and Goodnight Spot books which are his current favourites.

Every time I get down to chores in the kitchen – be it the washing up, cleaning surfaces, making a drink or cooking, Alby is right in there.  A few days ago I rudely started filling up the sink without having a chair there for Alby.  Boy was I told.  First he tugged at my legs and then pushed them, then he walked over to the closed door and smacking it until I opened it up.  Then he ran off to the chair and bashed the seat of it until I moved it into the kitchen.  Running at my side he cackled when finally lifted into it.  Not yet finished, he whined until the scrubber was in his hand and the water was being splashed across the counter.

When playing he will fetch toys that you point out, or not even point out, ask him to get “the yellow car” or “the red brick” and nine times out of ten he’ll do it.  

And finally, to prove what a total grown up he had his breakfast and dinner sat up at the table.  Choosing to ignore that his chin hardly reached the table he happily ate his way through the entire meal – even drinking from his cup without then emptying the contents across the table.  (Don’t go thinking he’s too impressive though – Percy’s water bowl went flying only moments later).

Just having my morning toast

Just as I did when Mark’s R&R was coming close I spend my days wondering “what will daddy make of you, Alby?” 

The start of language

Whilst I am in no way claiming that Alby has started talking over the past few weeks he has certainly started babbling with much more fervour than ever before.  What’s more, sounds are not only being repeated but they are being applied to specific situations. 

If you ask him what Percy says he responds with “urrrggggghhhh” – which, incidentally is the same noise that both ducks and cows make.

If you are reading a story book and a duck or dog appear he will point and say “de de de”.  No such noise is made for cows, pigs or any animal not beginning with a “d”.  

We often get “ta” when we give him something.  If we ask him a question more often than not we get a firm shake of the head or a squat accompanied with a short “esh” which we’ve taken to interpret as Alby saying “yes”. 

Pointing accompanied by “dere” is quite routine and a few times now he has made noises which sound uncannily like “this one” and “out there” which is no doubt giving more talent to his vocabulary than due, but we’ve definitely moved on than everything and anything simply being “dadadadada”.

I’m a little but surprised that this is how language comes into being.  I had it in my mind that he would master the individual sounds and then piece them together to make words in the same way that when you learn to read you clump the individual letters together to make a word.  It turns out to be far less discriminate than that – understanding, application and delivery all coming in one swoop.

We’ve still got an awful long way to go before he is properly talking but I suspect that in his own head he is closer than I allow.  This evening I actually ended up crying with laughter when he picked up a delivery card from the doormat, studied it with a frown on his face and then started a constant stream of babble as he ran his fingers over the words.  He turned it over, frowned again and then started talking and running his fingers over the words once more.  Following a full examination he walked over to my dad, babbling all the way and offered the card to him.  Just as my dad went to take it he pulled it away, read it again (both sides) and then repeated the whole thing firstly with my mum and then with Percy.  No doubt before too long when I’m hounded by “why why why” and “no no no” I’ll be longing for the calm days of random noises spoken at a nice indoor volume, but for the moment I’m ever so excited about what’s to come.  As a serious chatterbox myself I can only think “God help Mark”.

A bit Pete Tong

Crashed out on the sofa

This evening didn’t quite go to plan.  Alby’s afternoon nap lasted over two hours and, somewhat predictably, when it then came to bedtime he wasn’t interested.  He finally crashed out at 9:30pm, two hours later than I would have liked.

Having spoken at length to my mum earlier about the importance of picking your battles when it comes to life with a toddler this was a good example of needing to listen to my own advice.  Yes, I was thoroughly unimpressed that he was still full of beans when 9pm came and passed but he was smiling, giggling and running about without a care in the world; I can’t really complain about that. 

The return down South has definitely knocked Alby for six.  As if the change in settings wasn’t enough I instantly threw in a manic birthday party, to-ing and fro-ing from his grandparents house and, today, a trip to the office to see the lovely set of people I work with.  Add to that a nasty cough (which I’m blaming on teeth) and a well established back log of bad sleep (which my mama and I have concluded comes from a growth spurt / getting his weight back up after his last bout of sickness) and it’s a bit of a wonder that he’s even asleep right now!

But he is asleep.  Lying horizontally across my bed, his head inches away from Percy’s snoring face.  I’ve just had to write up notes for my in-laws who will be babysitting him tomorrow and I confess I smiled the whole way through jotting down the “routine” as it’s a mish mash of possibilities, but we’ll all work our way through it.  It can take me a bit of time to drop my guard and just accept the disconnect between what I was expecting and what I’m getting but with my parents both here to chase him around the hallway, read the story book for the umpteenth time and hand out cuddles for us all, I’m in the best possible place for when it all goes a little tits up.  

Toddler cleaning

I was recently made aware of the Crappy Baby blog which has had me laughing out loud.  It’s not just the pictures but the completely true captions which go with them – forget attachment parenting, sometimes being a parent is just hard work and there’s something very liberating about acknowledging that...

http://crappypictures.com/cleaning-with-a-toddler-in-the-room/

I can’t pick up toys in front of Crappy Baby. This is why…

I have to assume that this is his thought process.

Either that or he is just being a dick

 

Now I've never called Alby a dick and am not too comfortable with giving him that label but I confess that I came closer than I'd like the other week when Alby decided to point out that I hadn't closed Percy's food bin properly - Thanks Albs!