The first week home

This evening marks seven days since Mark first got back to the UK.  I won’t pretend that the past week hasn’t seen its fair share of emotions as we remember what it is to be a family, but for the most part the emotions on display have been smiles and laughter so all good in family Beebe.

Showing some real enthusiasm for proper family time this weekend has seen not one, but two family outings.  Yesterday started early with the family heading to Doncaster before making our way back up the M1 for a walk around the Sculpture Park before heading back home. 

Yes indeed, the day started with a trip to Doncaster.  Why?  Why indeed.  To test drive, and shortly thereafter buy, a new car – something which Mark has been intent upon for the past few months.  I can now announce that we are the owners of a very sensible VW Passat.  As it turns out owning an estate car has led me to feeling far more of a grown up than either getting married or becoming a parent did.  Odd the difference engine size and leg room can have to my identity! 

Mark did a huge amount of research before we worked out our final choices and can no doubt provide a long list of specifics which will no doubt awe and surprise you.  I am no such petrol head.  It is black, has leather seats and beeps when I reverse.  It’s an ex-company car so has been kept in very good condition and being a diesel is practical for our long journeys up and down the country.  A push button start and a push button handbrake are demanding a little bit of attention from me, but other than that it’s all good.

From running around the Car Shop (no really, that was it’s name) we headed to Wakefield for a bit of culture at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park.  My artist friend had highlighted the park to me and I’m incredibly glad she did.  500 acres of land in a beautiful setting (think rolling hills and huge lake) with huge sculptures dotted all around, many of which you can prod, poke and clamber over.  In addition to the park land there are a number of galleries also on the park but as we had Percy with us we kept to the dog friendly zones, which proved plenty to see and explore.

Shortly before flipping over the pole and landing with a smile.  Though the next time he crawled under it!

Who goes there?

Harmless bit of log climbing / bench running

One of my favourite sculptures

The Family of Man (apparently)

Percy auditioning for the fourth plinth

From Wetherby to Ripon, the family outings continued today with a trip to Studley Royal Deer Park.  The Studley Royal estate is linked to Fountains Abbey and whilst we have been to the latter many times before, lack of road signs and a certain degree of unnecessary secrecy by the Nation Trust meant the entrance to the Deer Park was, until today, a mystery to us.  With a map in hand Mark showed nothing short of true grit in his determination to find the entrance to the park and after driving up the same stretch of road several times (with a few false moves here and there) success was finally ours. 

Whilst the house originally on the estate was burnt down in 1945 (thank you Wikipedia) a church remains in a far corner of the medieval park land.  Being a non-religious type I wasn’t too fussed about seeing visiting the church having decided when I was about 12 that really once you’ve seen inside one church you’ve seen inside them all, however Mark was keen to explore and I’m incredibly pleased he insisted as St Mary’s Church was absolutely stunning.  From ornate carved birds in the seats to beautiful stained glass windows running its length to an incredible mosaic floor in the chancel which we were only allowed to stand on if wearing the compulsory plastic blue shoe covers, it had been kept in tip top condition and really was worth all the frustrations to get to the place.  

Tired out by daddy

Once back home, Mark took on his position as Alby carer whilst I handled some work nonsense that had sadly fallen on my lap.  Rather than be annoyed by the unexpected and unwanted work distraction, it allowed an extra hour or so of daddy and son bonding time and that is an all too precious thing at the moment.  Twice now Mark has been the one to put Alby to bed – something I didn’t think would happen for a month or so.  They’ve napped on the sofa, shared meals, run around the entire house at least a hundred times, wrestled, giggled and cuddled a bulldog en masse.  Whilst it may be taking me a bit of time to work out my place in the shifting dynamics of the house, my boys have had no trouble at all working out their place with each other and to be honest, next to that, nothing else is important.   

Random ramblings - I've got my family back

Mark arrived home safe and sound on Sunday evening.  A bit of army miscommunication meant I didn’t actually see the bus roll onto base, but Alby and I were there just minutes later to greet our slim, tanned hero.

It’s completely and utterly amazed me how, without skipping a beat, we’ve all just gone back exactly to our normal family life.  Mark’s place is in this home and whilst his absence was comparable to an elephant in the room every day that he was away - empty chair at the table, unworn coat on the peg, half eaten chocolates in the cupboard, the house and family simply feel right now he is back within it. 

And it’s utterly lovely, brilliant, smashing, fantastic having him back home.  Heart warming kind of lovely.  Exactly what you think it is going to be and then some. Within twenty minutes of him coming through the front door he was back out again – into the back garden playing football with Percy whilst Alby ran around once more.  We’ve snuggled up on the sofa together, got in each other’s way busying about in the kitchen, done the nursery drop off and collection as a family, retraced our steps from months earlier on our daily dog walks.  In many ways it really is like the 7 months apart never happened.

And yet they did happen. 

When I was younger we travelled a great deal as a family.  I always remember commenting when we’d come back to England that “nothing had changed”.  My friends lived in the same houses, we went shopping at the same supermarket, the high streets housed the same stores.  And the people all seemed completely the same – as though they had nothing to report on for the previous four years of their lives whereas I’d been travelling, met new people, experienced other cultures, tasted strange foods…

Now I realise how completely simplistic and stupid that interpretation of the world around me was.  Mark’s coat may still be hanging by the door just as though he never left, but he did and plenty has happened around it for the past seven months.  I’ve had daily highs and lows with Alby.  I’ve had daily highs and lows with work.  I’ve had frustrations with friends and celebrations with friends and family dramas and just plain living to get on with.  And I can’t even begin to imagine what Mark’s daily life (highs, lows and everything in between) was like in Afghanistan.  Our weekly thirty minute phone calls barely scratched the surface despite me talking for England throughout.  And now, it’s all old news.  It’s irrelevant.  Little snippets appear in conversation but for the most part, the moment has passed and we’ll never get it back.

Whilst I’d been mentally preparing for a “softly, softly, tread carefully” homecoming, my brain has been totally caught out by how easy it all is.  And I don’t really know what to do with myself.  For the past seven months I’ve focused on making sure I do good by my boys each day.  For the past few weeks I’ve focused on preparing for Mark’s return – not just getting the house tidy but in anticipation of a slow transition back into family life.  Now I’m in this happy, dazed state.  I sort of feel like I’ve lost my place and lost my purpose but not in a disarming way, more in an “I can’t believe my luck” way.

Whatever the brain is doing, there’s nothing like a good bit of late night rambling to help sort through my thoughts.  And so, whilst the blog was only really set up to keep Mark up to date on family news, I’m going to keep it going for the time being – just on a slightly less frequent basis.  For those of you who have had the patience to read this far (if any one has) your hard work will be rewarded with a promise to keep future posts focused far more on my boys and far less on what’s going through my head in future.

Wellies on…and little else

The final 13 hours waiting for Mark to return saw me as a distracted ball of adrenalin and emotion.  And so, naturally, I decided to focus my efforts on getting Alby to master walking in wellies.

My mum bought him a pair of wellies for his Christmas present and after a few gristly attempts they were put in the shoe cupboard along with a mental note to “try again soon”.  Soon it turns out took over four months to turn up, but turn up it did and I really don’t know what all the fuss was about.  The wellies went on, Alby pointed at each foot, rubbed his magic finger against the sole, and trotted into the garden. 

Welly action!

I had not been prepared for this – I was prepared for tentative steps around the living room.  And this will be my defence when Social Services turn up and ask why I allowed my son to run around the garden, with ferociously strong winds all around, wearing nothing more than a vest and pair of wellies!

Well deserved snoo

Picking up on my crazed cleaning of recent days Alby responded by doing his bit straightening up the garden for daddy.  Whilst watching this, along with everything else he has done in recent days, my mind recited it’s new mantra: I can’t wait until Mark gets to experience this too. 

Yet another moment I can't wait for Mark to share

Mark comes home tomorrow

It seems like I’ve waited a lifetime to be able to say that.  For some reason “in a week” or “in three days” just doesn’t quite sound right.  It doesn’t sit right.  Tomorrow however, that I find has a lovely ring to it.  It was the first thought in my head when I woke up and no doubt the boys are going to hear it a hundred times over the next 24 hours.

Whilst Percy and I remain almost exactly as we were when Mark last left us – both balls of determined stubbornness, Alby has seen a bit of change.

Yesterday, for the first time, in addition to shaking his head to signal disagreement, he started saying “no no” too.  The head shake has been around for a good few weeks and comes out quite often, despite me trying to follow the advice of all parenting books to keep its use to a minimum.  (The one exception being when he prods the TV or bashes it with his toys – having heard of horror stories from A&E I want no part in when baby and TV crash together.)  Shall we go for a bath?  Shake of the head.  Shall we go in the pushchair? Shake of the head.  Would you like some yoghurt? Shake of the head.  Yes indeed, that sense of self is coming along nicely.

 

Alby’s favourite thing is still being chased around the house / garden / anywhere.  Nowadays though it happens to the beat of “Ready steady go”.  In fact a lot of things happen to the beat of Ready Steady Go – yesterday whilst dusting he stood in front of the bean bag going “Daadii….duhdi..DO!” before falling face first into it.  Which he found hilarious and repeated for a good ten minutes or so.  Later, splashing in the bath occurred to the same rhythm.  As did reading his book (I’m not entirely sure how that works).

Whilst noises beginning with D are certainly the most prolific, he now roars and growls along with images of lions and bears (and ducks and, well any animal really).

I’m afraid Alby is a natural when it comes to the nagging finger.  So much so that I think it must be genetic, some inherent trait.  Why else would I get a telling when putting on his shoes?  He’ll settle himself on the bottom step to have his shoes put on and all the while I’m putting his right shoe on he is tapping his left with his magic finger and a “do do do do do”.  “Okay Monkey, I’m getting to it.” “Do do do do do.”

In addition to the nagging finger he’s developed a few more signs.  The most common being a fist to the side of the head means bedtime (never used for himself, but it appears quite often when putting his dolly to bed) and a hand held out and shoulders shrugged for “where”, “how”, “when” or “what”.  In fact, this appears not only when you ask a question but as he tries to work out the answer.  Randomly shaking the head is the sign for parrot – I blame In the Night Garden for such.

He’s as much as a book worm as ever, but takes in more of the books nowadays.  The “Where’s my…” books are no longer for touch and feel but rather for finding where the mouse is in every page.  In other books there are different pictures to find before the page can be turned, usually focused on a duck and/or teddy bear.

To all this he is the same Alby.  He stomps his feet and flaps his hands when excited, smiles and laughs and giggles when tickled on the chin. He cries when sad and sometimes when tired and likes to eat yoghurt with his hands. 

And in 24 hours my hero can see all this for himself.

z

Dirty stop out

For the past two nights Alby hasn’t fallen asleep until gone 10pm.  The night before that he went to bed at 8:30pm which was all good and well, but as that was in the car on the drive back North, this early start was disturbed by an over an hour of playtime once we made it into the house – meaning a final bedtime of 12:30am, woops.

I’m no stranger to time away from home causing dramas or disturbances when it comes to the “normal” routine.  That knowledge however, doesn’t stop it from frustrating me as I sit in his bedroom with heavy eyes as he bounces about on the bed giggling like a lunatic.

I think a few months ago I would be beating myself up slightly for Alby’s late night antics; toddlers have a bundle of energy and if you want them shattered come bedtime you’ve got to ensure they are run ragged during the day.  Today I failed completely and utterly in that regard and as such I’ve only got myself to blame. 

Instead of playing with Alby, singing endless nursery rhymes, chasing him around the house and tickling him until he cackles (which actually doesn’t take long at all) I left him to entertain himself as I cracked on with the unpacking.

The trouble with this strategy is that Alby is very good at entertaining himself.  It’s a trait his grandparents both commented on when they babysat him last week and one which I’m actually very proud of him for having.  But, it doesn’t make for a sleepy Alby.

I’ve decided to let myself off the hook.  In two days time Mark will be home.  With his return I’ve got another person to play with the boy, to cuddle Sir Percival and another pair of hands to help around the house.  With Mark, the family can get proper balance.  Today the scales lent in favour of busy mama, chilled Alby.  Tomorrow, when Alby goes off to play with friends whilst I’m at work, the scales will likely reflect busy Mama, busy Alby.  Come next week though, I’m hoping for at least a few days of busy Alby, moderate mama – and if that doesn’t happen, I’ve only got myself to blame!

Alberistics: thug

Mark is just one week away from coming home and naturally I’d like to look my best for him.  Sadly, Alby’s views on what that involves and my own are somewhat different.  Personally, and yes my own beauty expectations won’t hit the make over tips for Vogue, I’m hoping for slightly less-pastey skin, untangled hair and a reduction in the bags under my eyes.  Alby however seems to think that my appearance will be improved by the introduction of a few war wounds.  (Or maybe he’s over heard me saying I need more glow in my cheeks and is trying to add some natural rouge to my appearance?)  Regardless of the intention, which is no doubt honourable, I now have a scratch down my neck, three along my collar bone (all courtesy of his tiny nails which have simply outstanding scratching abilities.  Seriously, they deserve an award for efficiency) and a small cut under my right eye (courtesy of shoe to face during a moment of over excited tickling). 

I like to think of these as marks of love but let’s be honest, my son is a thug.  Whilst he has yet to channel Percy’s elegant sleeping ways he has honed the thuggish ways of the bulldog down to a T. 

Puppy love: Snoo time

When I came home from work yesterday it was to find both my boys having a snore on the sofa.  I won’t pretend it was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen – such would have required them to be somehow cuddled up together rather than Alby looking like he has fallen asleep half way through some planking episode, however Percy just allowing Alby to share his sofa is love enough to keep me happy.

In need of some sleeping style tips from Percy

As I’ve been in the office the past few days both boys have been left in the loving care of Mark’s parents and each day I hear another story about how Percy takes care of Alby. 

On Monday when out for the morning dog walk they come across a neighbour, also our walking her dog.  The dog wanted to say hello to Alby and went for a snuffle at which Percy jumped up onto the front of the pushchair.  Now in my head Percy was probably jumping up to say hello to the other dog but I’ve been informed that it was actually Percy protecting Alby.  The jury is still out…

A little bit less ambiguous, later that same day, Alby had his afternoon nap in the pushchair and Percy gave up his spot on the sofa to go and lie near him.  To put some context in, Percy’s crate is located just beside where the pushchair was so it’s not like he was choosing to have a nap on a particularly uncomfortable piece of floor.  However, anybody who knows Percy knows that he doesn’t give up his space on the sofa for any old thing.  To further the defence of the bulldog love, both Phil and Jenny reported that not only did Percy go and lie by Alby but he didn’t close his eyes – he just sat in his crate looking up at Alby.  Bless his little ginger paws.

The final bit demonstration of Percy love, and again this puts us in the land of the somewhat ambiguous, was reported this afternoon.  Phil has been in London at a reunion dinner and so Alby and Percy have been under the care of Mark’s mum Jenny for most of the day.  And Jenny informs me that Percy wasn’t at all sure of her skills or capabilities as a babysitter as he spent the entire day giving her slightly shifty looks! I’m not even going to fathom the truth of this, but what I do know is that the very idea of Percy being able to give a shifty look is enough to put a smile on my face.

Whilst plank sleeping, jumping up bulldogs and shifty looks aren’t what cuteness is made of, Alby giving Percy a good night kiss is indeed love personified (a bulldogified?)  Three months on you’d think I’d get used to the evening routine by now but, nope.  It still warms my heart every time...

As always Alby never performs quite as I hope when the camera is rolling and his desperation for bed tonight meant a fleeting kiss for one and all, but the sentiment remains.  Clever boy. 

Mummy fail #526

For the fifth time in his life Alby fell off the bed this evening.  Whilst previous incidents were largely due to an innocent babe accidentally rolling off the bed, this evening was the result of an over active monkey losing balance whilst jumping and dancing.  It was one of those classic moments, as all bed falling moments have admittedly been, where Mama turning my back for a split second is followed by the heart breaking cry. 

There is a bit in “We need to talk about Kevin” where the mother has a little rant on behalf of all mothers everywhere who have been the victim of media abuse following a horrific incident caused by them turning their backs for a second.  The narrator talks about how these mothers may well have been at their child’s side every second of the day, a committed, loving parent and yet one second lapse in concentration or misjudgement in their child’s ability and they are condemned forever more. This paragraph stuck with me more than any other in the novel.  

Today’s incident left Alby with no markings other than a few tear tracks down his cheeks but every time he falls, trips or bumps himself my heart still skips a beat.  I know that I can’t protect him from everything and I know that even if I could I shouldn’t – half the fun is in learning for yourself, but that doesn’t stop a cold shiver from running down my back. 

Alberistics: Box boy

Bath time is generally a fun time with Alby.  Having been thrown in the deep end (literally) with swimming lessons every week since he was 16 weeks old, he is incredibly confident and happy in the water.

He splashes, he kicks, he blows bubbles and nowadays he even ensures I don’t miss out on the action by washing my face (or at least that’s what I’ve decided to interpret the sloppy face stroking as).  He as also started to wash himself which I think is tremendously grown up. 

On the self-washing I, once again, find that other parents are probably my most informative teachers. On Easter Sunday Alby shared the bath with his two cousins.  Under instruction from his mother Oliver busily soaped his tummy and arms and I thought “Alby could do that” – and he can.  And he has. For a whole week now.  And yes, it is just as impressive as it sounds.

Anyway, the inspiration for this post doesn’t come from his time in the bath but the lovely little game he had with himself after his bath.  Have shone the projector on the ceiling, wall, bath and door, and then on his stomach, knee, hand and foot, and having been massaged he decided to do a little dance and then…

… sit in a box.  And so he remained for a good ten minutes or so.  Every now and  then he would rearrange the towels around him or shift his position, but mostly he just sat there.  Waving his sock about.  Having a giggle or pondering the world. 

It’s not a bad life this.    

A day out in Winchester

I forgot how much I love Winchester until today.  Of course my love for this ancient city was helped by the sun shining and my visit tying in with seeing a very dear friend, but still the market was bustling, the shop windows enticing and the street-side jazz band actually very accomplished.

To ensure Alby had burnt off a bit of steam between sitting in the car and being strapped down in a highchair for lunch, we headed to the Great Hall, which claims to have King Arthur’s Round Table hanging on the wall, for a run about.  Let loose Alby charged up and down the hall, poked the cherub at the foot of the Queen Victoria statue up the nose and had a good try at the sword and crown in the fancy dress box.  After getting under the feet of several other tourists we moved onto the high street and over to Dim T, one of my favourite lunch spots.  There, taking my lunch dates on a trip down memory lane, I filled myself on dim sum whilst Alby stuffed his tummy with prawn crackers.

Ahhhh, prawn cracker....very good. 

Honestly, his love of prawn crackers is really something else.  Having stuffed a fair few in his mouth throughout the meal, even his ice cream pudding didn’t fill him and he passed the time whilst we awaited the cheque twisting in his high chair and reaching out for the crackers at the table behind ours.  Prawn crackers, chicken pancakes, ice cream and prawn crackers – almost as lovely a combination as green bean dipped in yoghurt which he delighted us all with at supper this evening!

From Dim T we headed back down the high street to the other end of town intending to stroll along the river however, I caught sight of a children’s playground and so we quickly diverted so I could knacker little man some more.

Showing no fear Alby was off and away the minute his feet touched the ground.  Wandering off to a climbing frame, he didn’t look back until he needed help getting up the stairs for the slide.  I confess I take this approach completely for granted – it’s only after two different people in the past two days have commented on him being totally non-phased by other children and new environments that I realise not all little ones are like this.  Trouble Monkey is only really trouble if people try to pick him up – leave him to play or get down to his level and throw a ball for him and he’s as happy as punch. 

Alby's hands down favourite part of the playground was the wooden fire engine climbing frame where he sat very happily turning the steering wheel over and over and over and over and over.  The appearance of older children at his side, under his legs or standing over him in hope that they might get a chance in the driving seat were all completely ignored by Alby (well almost, he stroked the hair of the little girl who appeared from under his feet).  Alby was off to fight fire and it seems that's a job he takes most seriously.

Nee naw, nee naw, nee naw

And again, nee naw, nee naw, nee naw

Short lived diversion to the train

Often my plans fall flat on their face but today Alby exhausted himself as I hoped and slept almost the whole way home.  Somewhat annoyingly I was just as exhausted and required caffeine boosting to keep my eyes open, but caffeine is just one of the bonuses about being an adult.  For now, little man is tucked up in bed once again for the night and Percy is snoring on the sofa.  As predicted the return South has thrown a bit of a spanner in the works when it comes to bedtime but it would make me a very naïve mother if I hadn’t anticipated that. The foundation is still there and we’ll reintroduce the final tweaks once home again. 

Cuddle Monkey

A hug delights, warms and charms.  That must be why God gave us arms.

For the past two days I’ve woken early and jumped in the car for a near full day at work in the Charity’s office.  It’s actually really lovely to catch up with my colleagues and have somebody next to me to bounce ideas off.  It’s also so much easier to get things decided as we’re not constantly bouncing suggestions backwards and forwards on email.  However, it also means that I’ve left the house with little man still fast asleep and I’ve had to go eight hours without seeing him. 

Truth be told a little bit of a break from Trouble Monkey is nice but when it comes to pulling up in the drive way again at the end of the day I’m honestly not sure which one of us is more excited to see the other.  I head towards the door with a stupidly large grin on my face and he is in his Poppa’s arms waiting for me, arms and legs flapping in delight.  The icing on the cake is the cuddle I’ve been given for the past two days. 

 

Moving on from me simply holding him in my arms as I cuddle him, I now get cuddled back.  And I love it.  Absolutely love it.  His chin tucks into my neck, his arms are thrown about me and squeezed and I feel all warm and glowy.

This evening has in fact seen lots of cuddles between Alby and myself (inspired in part by the significant amount of cuddling taking place amongst the Tombilboos this evening).  In addition to benefitting from cuddles myself I was totally amazed over the Easter weekend by what a Cuddle Monster he is with other children.  He must have given out at least 50 cuddles to his cousins and even hugged a little boy in the park who just happened to be standing in the same area as he was. It's as though he's as impressed with his new skill as the rest of us are.  And whilst I don't want to sound all showy, the thing which stands out the most is that he seems quite unusual in this respect - he seems totally unperturbed by the fact that he gives out plenty more hugs than other children give back.

Cuddles with grown ups are somewhat more elusive than those with other children, and cuddles with bulldogs are yet more popular than those with fellow toddlers, but I’m not competing.  I just feel honoured and, added to the list of things to share with Daddy, I can’t wait for when Mark gets to tell me all about the first time Alby cuddles him.  

Hug O' War

a poem by the late Shel Silverstein

I will not play at tug o' war

I'd rather play at hug o' war,

Where everyone hugs

Instead of tugs

Where everyone giggles

And rolls on the rug,

Where everyone kisses

And everyone grins

And everyone cuddles

And everyone wins.

 

Daddy time – a helpful bub

With only twelve days until Mark is hopefully back home I can’t help but look back over the photos from when he was last here.  I love this collection of pictures snapped up when Mark was making some adjustments to the radiator cover we have cunningly placed to hide the grotesque 70s style heater hovering on the living room wall.  Eager to prove himself as a man about the house, Alby is at Mark’s side ready to point, prod and taste whatever tools come his way (and even some which don’t).

Without wanting to sound too cliché for my own good, I can already a real difference between the Alby in these photos and the little man I’ve just put to bed.  Obviously the change isn’t monumental, he is in fact wearing those very same pyjamas to bed this evening and they fit him well, but he understands quite a bit more now.  Next time Alby and Mark get down to some DIY around the house Mark will be able to ask Alby to pass him specific tools, he’ll be able to ask Alby to help him tidy up when the job is done and he’ll certainly be able to join Alby in a happy dance in celebration of a job well done.  I won’t pretend Alby will be of any real help but the amount the two of them will be able to interact together will have moved on and with it the enjoyment that they will no doubt getting from working together.  Alby likes to be put to work – he is an excellent floor sweeper, surface wiper and chair washer.  And he enjoys doing these things, something which no doubt will die a death fairly soon but we might as well enjoy it whilst we can.

In my previous life working for one of the countries largest children’s charities I went on a training course looking specifically at participation with children.  It seemed really quite silly and pointless – of course you need to include children in the work that you do, of course they should be involved in decision making and of course they should have a say in their own lives.  Looking back on the course now, the thing I’m most struck by isn’t so much how obviously everything being instructed was but more the fact that participation isn’t something you can learn in theory.  You have to experience it.  You have to spend a whole day looking at everything you do and thinking about how children can get involved too.  It’s easy to fob children off with a toy (or as they get older the television) and sometimes, yes, we need the easy route.  But I find that feeling fulfilment as a parent only really comes when I’ve given Alby the opportunity to help out with what I’m doing. 

And with that in mind, I’m looking forward to Alby and Mark pottering about in the garden together or through the house as they crack on with their Saturday morning chores.  I know Mark will make a great teacher and with Alby I hope he’ll find he’s got a captive and excited audience. 

A day with the ducks

More family fun to be had was had yesterday as  Starting with a treat for me, I left Alby with my parents and headed off into town for a spot of shopping.  Whilst Alby tolerates grocery shopping he finds anything else an absolute pain meaning that I simply don’t do it anymore.  With vouchers left over from Christmas and him in desperate need of a winter jacket however, I enjoyed two Alby free hours in town – the best Easter gift possible.

I came home to find Alby passed out on the sofa, wrapped up in my dad’s fleece blanket.  Bless his cotton socks.  Once awake, Family Beebe-Brooks headed off to the farm yard – Bocketts Farm to be exact, where Alby played slid, swung and drove a tractor in the playground then stomped off to the pond to feed the ducks.

The Alby way to drive a tractor

At the playground Alby proved himself a very huggy little boy giving the other toddler at the giant noughts and crosses board a good cuddle or two before poking him up the nose!  Such a charmer! 

Sadly the tractor was a little bit too big for Alby who even at his most stretched out couldn’t reach the steering wheel whilst sitting on the seat.  Not to let such a small thing as sensible seating to put him off he came up with his own way to drive a tractor.

Across the road and off to the pond we did our best to coax over the ducks, geese and swans with our stale bread and left over hot cross buns. It seems the rest of Surrey had similar ideas and all birds were looking as stuffed as we did.  Not to worry, with the waste not want not attitude of the family intact, Alby tucked into some of the bun instead! 

Stomp in the park

Duck spotting

Home again to a delicious dinner (me stealing the left overs for my packed lunch tomorrow), a bit more playing and then final cuddles goodbye.  I confess I’m quite liking the three day week, especially when the time away from the office is spent in the company of those I love and respect the most (well, next to my love love of course). I am, as I should be, feeling very spoilt at the moment. 

A very happy Easter

I have collapsed onto to the sofa, my stomach a bulge after a long weekend of food and festivities as we celebrate Easter 2013.  Never before has Easter so closely resembled Christmas but we’ve had food, gifts, food, chocolate, food and even (who would have thought this time of year) a trip to Church. 

The Church trip actually came first as Sowerby Parochial Church Hall opened its doors for Messy Church Good Friday, where the lovely Christians of the village host a messy extravaganza for children of all ages.  From baking (some marshmallow cooked inside a croissant to represent Jesus going into the tomb?  My religious knowledge never has been what anyone would describe as strong) to clothes peg Crucifixes to painting with a marble (Jackson Pollock does Jesus?) the hall was filled with sugar-filled children, their exasperated parents and activity station after activity station.  Alby and his friend Fraser kept solidly to the non-religious activities alternating between play dough and building bricks.  He dabbled in Jesus’ final walk carrying the cross by painting his feet red and walking across a piece of paper, but reverted to his more Beebe self by laughing and dancing through the prayers which followed.

Whilst I don’t do religion per se that the only hymn on offer was sung to the tune of “What do you do with a drunken pirate” was ironic enough to keep me enjoying the day and I do love a bit of community fun which is exactly what this was.  In summary, a geart way to kick off Easter.

Play dough fun

Poking clay messy play

Find the Alby prints

By Easter Sunday we were back in Surrey.  After popping in on Cousin Joey and the rest of the Brooks side of the family we headed back to the Ridgeway ready and rearing to go on Alby’s first ever Easter Egg hunt.  Armed with his homemade basket he headed off into the garden with his fellow junior family members – Georgia, Ru and Oliver.  Georgia, who has just turned six, very kindly ignored the more obvious eggs for the babies to find (Phil and Jenny ensuring plenty of booty to go around).  Alby was a little pro at carrying his basket even when filled to the brim with chocolate eggs, ladybugs (of course) and even a giant Easter bunny (we’ll save that one for daddy).  And what Easter would be complete without a rugby ball?  Poppa Phil ensured all boys were completely spoilt having bought them a mini rugby ball each.  Daddy will be delighted to hear that despite Ru sporting his Wales jersey on the day the little chap showed absolutely no interest in the ball whilst Alby tucked his under his arm and headed off to throw it for Percy!  A natural.

A cuddle for Joey

Oliver taking it all very seriously

Alby and Ru on the hunt

Egg!

Try time!

Alby keeping quiet in the background whilst Ru lets the ball bounce off him!

 Come Easter Monday the party continued as we headed to the beach for a catch up with a good old friend of mine and his lovely fiancé in West Wittering.  The day was one of highs and lows for Percy.  On the plus side he had a lovely run all over the beach, chasing after ever dog we passed regardless of size or volume of bark.  With his ears down he spent half an hour tucky-bum running across the sand and over the dunes.  

On the negative side, it turned out that I’d allowed far more time for traffic than was actually needed and so we arrived at the beach before my friends.  To kill time in a proactive way, I put the car through the car wash at a nearby garage as it was in desperate need of a clean.  I thought Alby would enjoy seeing the brushes pass over the car and he did.  What I hadn’t anticipated was Percy’s reaction.  He did not like the brushes going over the car.  Not one bit thank you very much. In fact, so deep was his displeasure that he climbed onto my lap.  The car wash ended with him refusing to move, one leg on the handbrake and the other through the steering wheel.  Neither one of our finest nor most elegant of moments!  After some considerable effort I managed to get him back on the floor and we made friends again by me rewarding his considerable bravery with a cocktail sausage or two from Alby’s lunch.  I would love to have a photo of this but it turns out that my range of motion is considerably limited when I have a bulldog on my lap. 

Grandparents, cousins, friends, a silly bulldog and a swollen tummy – a very happy Easter by one and all, hope you had a great one too. 

The end of a lovely Easter