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….

Putting a smile on Mama’s face

Hard work really does pay off – my lesson of the week

The past week has been tough.  There has been a huge amount going on at work, a fair amount going on socially and combined with Mark also working hard, the smile supply in our house dipped slightly.  Whilst on the one hand a bit of blogging therapy would have probably done me good, eagerness not to just have negative post after negative post kept me away from the blog.   

The truth of it though is that life can be hard to juggle at the best of time and when the work-life balance gets messed about with life can be really tough to handle.  The people who know me best, and probably even those who don’t know me very well at all know that I get tired and grumpy.

My boys – Alby, Mark and Percy are the silver linings of my life. Usually they provide constant and spontaneous smiles, laughter and happiness.  Other times though we all have to work a little bit harder for them.  And that’s really what my lesson today was all about.

As Alby gets older and more independent he is incredibly happy to just find his own games to play.  What’s more, he has an ever growing sense of what he does and doesn’t want to do – low betide the person who tries to take him away from something he doesn’t want to do.  And so, last week in my tired and busy state, when my initial attempts at engaging Alby in an activity failed I confess I just gave up.  My thoughts went along the lines of “Fair enough, you’re happy to just get on with things, I’ll leave you to it as my to do list has plenty to keep me entertained”.  And whilst it did give me the time to get the house in order and chip away at various work projects, I ended each evening feeling as though I’d failed a bit as a mother, I’d interpreted us being under the same roof as us being together when really there was no quality to it at all.  Looking back at the slightly unsettled attitude of Trouble Monkey last week I’d say he felt it more than I’d realised then too.

Today I wasn’t going to take no for an answer however.  I was done with work, I was on top of my tasks and by George, I wanted some giggles.  Hard work really does pay off.  Alby and I chased each other  around the garden and the house, danced in the living room, threw ourselves onto bean bags and rolled across the living room floor.  He is my afternoon medicine.  And I guess I’m his too.  So yes, he is learning to be independent and yes I praise his ability to play solo, but in the same way that life and work need balance, so do Alby and I. 

As with all the lessons I log here, I hope in some way that by writing them down I am carving them onto my brain as I’ve found them all so important and I don’t ever want to forget a single one of them.

Play dates!

This weekend was Alby’s third play date of the month – he is such a sociable little man. 

First off we had Kathryn, his buddy from nursery.  Actually the word buddy downplays it slightly.  When Kathryn sees Alby she screams his name at the top of her lungs and flaps her arms about.  (She actually shouts his name whenever she goes near the nursery). Kathryn’s mum was having a super busy week so I volunteered to have her for a couple of hours after nursery one day.  

Any concerns I had that Kathryn wouldn’t be too keen on me collecting her at the end of the day were quickly dissolved – she and Alby ran out of the nursery room holding hands, chased each other down the ramp and into the field and then all the way to the park.  We headed to the supermarket and it was my easiest shop by far as Alby and Kathryn kept themselves entertained poking each other, giggling and seeing who could shout louder.  

Alby and his bestest, Kathryn

The second trip was quite a bit more challenging.  From 2pm to 7:30pm I had sole responsibility of Alby and his buddy from NCT days, Arthur.  To begin with it was all quite easy.  I took the boys to the park where they ran around like crazies. Also at the park was a man with his racing pigeons which added a surreal moment to the day as he took one out for us all to stroke.  Once we came home things got a bit more complicated as we moved from neutral territory to Alby’s patch. What’s more, both boys had decided that sleeping was for wimps and missed their afternoon naps, making for tired play mates.  Both boys are also obsessed with tractors and cars and quickly decided that sharing wasn’t cool.  For the next few hours the day went in waves – me exhausting myself coming up with ideas to distract the boys with which they loved and were the example of best friends, followed by me collapsing exhausted and them getting all rather grabby and pushy with each other until I could finally take it no more and came up with another activity. 

Double trouble with Alby and Arthur

An ingenious moment came when I decided to take them to Mark’s office.  From there they watched a helicopter take off, ran around the hanger shouting (Alby loves the echoes you can make in there) and played in a jeep.  Awesome.  When it finally came to home time they both crashed out in the car completely shattered. I followed shortly after.

Only a mild helicopter obsession

The final play date came this weekend and words do not describe how gutted I am that I don’t have photo evidence of this.  Two of our closest, most precious friends came up to visit with their little girl Milly.  She’s six months younger than Alby but the age gap was no issue and the two of them were quickly thick as thieves running around the garden, sharing toys and having cuddles. 

I won’t pretend that Alby is the most perfect of playmates.  Tiredness makes him physical and sharing is, obviously, a skill two year olds have to master.  That said, on every occasion I have praised the work done by and experience he has managed to gain from attending nursery.  I know that there are a huge number of studies which claim nursery can be emotionally damaging to young children, indeed I got freaked out reading many of them when Alby was still a real tiny bub.  However, what I see before me is a well socialised, generous little boy.  He fetches drinks, shares snacks, offers toys and gives out kisses and cuddles to one and all.  He loves holding hands and running around with other children – even the big kids.  He hasn’t mastered sharing but he isn’t too far off, if another child has a toy he wants he offers them a replacement instead of simply committing day light robbery. Yes nursery can have it’s faults but for this month at least I am very chuffed with my friendly, happy little boy.

A bit of greater awareness

It has become apparent that I have been spending the past four months or so in a fairly deluded state.  My subconscious has been under the false impression that come 5pm, when Mark returns home from work, I can relax. In my mind his presence marks the arrival of a helping hand, somebody who could take over Alby play, Percy play and all household chores.  What utter tosh.

Very worryingly it has taken me a good long time to work out how deluded I have been.  Even more concerning is the husband abuse that has gone on recently in this house as when my expectation isn’t met I turn quite quickly into a grumpy teenager – tired, irritable and somewhat monosyllabic for  at least half an hour.  Not quite the happy family fantasy I had when Mark was away on tour.

This isn’t a husband bashing post.  More it is about the arrival of greater awareness.  The appreciation that in the same way 3pm doesn’t suddenly mean my brain turns off from work, walking through the front door doesn’t equate to Mark suddenly divorcing himself from all other thoughts and emotions linked to the day.  Similarly in the same way that I’ve got my own agenda for the afternoon, so does he.  When he gets home the first thing he wants to do is get showered and changed, something I wholeheartedly support in this gloriously hot British Summer weather as army uniform, heat and sweat do not a good combination make. He wants to tell me about his day, he wants to tie up loose ends, he wants to crack on with the list of chores he’s been thinking off whilst at the office. 

And so today I ask for a touch more strength, discipline and good humour.  The ability to not just give up at 5pm but to look at it as the next chapter of the day.  To set aside that time for a bit of a pause in my life, so that rather than expecting Mark to fling open the doors and just pick up from where I’ve left off, he can have some time to sort himself out so we spend the whole afternoon working as a team, rather than having an initial grumpy half hour before we remember to be nice to each other again!

Because we do love each other very much and for us the idea of the person is never as good as actually having the person there.

Alby at twenty months

Alby loves…

• Running.  Especially in the opposite direction to where you want to go, away from the pushchair, up and down small slops and around and around the house.  The loop from the living room to the kitchen and back again being a particular favourite for chasing.
• Standing on random pieces of furniture and than shouting, loudly “get down”
• Shouting the word tractor.  Especially if there isn’t a tractor anywhere in sight
• Seeing diggers, helicopters, lorries, trucks and buses
• Anything to do with cars – from lining up his toy cars to sending them down the slide to sitting in our actual car.  Honestly, just being left in the car for thirty minutes at a time is pure paradise to Trouble Monkey
• Balls – of any size or shape.  Although they are all referred to as footballs.  In fact, so certain is he of all balls being footballs that even my large beaded necklace was renamed “football football” by him the other day
• Blowing raspberries. Anywhere really, but on daddy’s back is a particular treat and bound to cause mild hysteria
• Jumping on the bed.  He also does a pretty good face plant on the bed jumping on it and then toppling forward without bending at all.  Thank goodness the mattress is super soft
• Saying “bye bye” to pretty much anyone and anything – from the checkout lady at Tesco to random people on the street to the swing at the play park, his cars at bedtime and even a bottle of shampoo. 
• Splashing in the bath at either grandparents house.  With my parents he goes for the kicking splash.  At Mark’s parents it’s more about the arms
• Blowing bubbles in the bath.  He fills up his bucket with water, lifts it to his mouth and blows bubbles for ages
• Doing the washing up (and giving Mama a good bossing at the same time).  We got into a habit of Alby standing on a chair beside me when I go the washing up.  Nowadays he just has to hear the water running and he pulls on the dining room chairs.  When I go to them he runs into the kitchen and points at the floor to let me know where the chair is mean to go, climbs onto it quick as a flash and then drops anything (and I do mean anything) that he can lay his hands on into the water
• Snogging.  Honestly, I need to teach this child how to kiss with his mouth closed.  It’s just messy.
• Playing with other children.  Really anybody under about 8 years old will do.  He’s one sociable little Trouble Monkey.  Thankfully he seems to have grown out of the just hugging strangers phase which is pretty good as other children didn’t seem to appreciate the love quite as much as Alby expected
• Ice lollies.  I’ve made a batch of home made ice lollies which are basically water with a splash of apple juice.  I don’t know if it’s a teething thing but Alby will crunch his way through a whole one (and they are pretty big) now like it’s nothing at all.
• His Mama. I know because I asked him if he loved me and he nodded his head and said “yeh”.  For the record he also loves Dada, Percy, GG, Boppa, Narna and Brooks. 

Basically, he’s a little kid with a big heart and I love him completely.

Army living

Last week was hand’s down the most Army-intensive week I’ve had of my life so far.  As I’ve very briefly mentioned in the past I am now involved in my local Military Wives Choir.  Truth be told I’m really enjoying it – not only is it lovely to meet new people, but singing exercises mental and vocal muscles and being almost 15 years out of practice I’m finding it a good challenge.  On Friday last week it was my first concert with the choir and as such every evening was either spent in extra rehearsals or locked away upstairs practicing.

With the Regiment’s Medal Parade taking place on Saturday, the evenings spent singing to myself at home also saw me taking up the trousers on Mark’s uniform.  Meanwhile Mark covered the dining room table in his polishing cloths and jars as he cleaned his belt, shoes and sword until they were gleaming. 

Even the somewhat routine morning dog walk involved high activity – much to Percy’s utter disgust.  I keep trying to tell him that I didn’t purposefully time our dog walk with the local RAF bases morning Formation flying exercises nor with the Regiments’ drill practice, such was just a happy / unhappy coincidence. 

As Alby kicked his legs, pointed skywards and shouted “nee-yow” at the planes, Percy jumped, shook and did all he could to either sink into the ground or get the hell home.  Once I’d finally get him to relax about the planes, we’d round the corner and walk into hundreds of men in uniform shouting or marching to the beat of the rather loud drum leading the way.  Again, a delight for Alby but a living nightmare for Percy.

 

From army themed singing, sewing and dog walking, the highlight of the week came on Saturday when we saw the troops march through the city, receive their medals, give a speech or two and have a well-deserved drink.

Well, that was the highlight for me.  For Alby, I think it came in chasing ducks and pidgeons at the park, playing with other children around the playground and chasing his friend Milly in the tropical rain forest.  

For Percy it was spending the whole day at home on his bed with no baby to poke him, me to drag him outside or RAF jets to scare the living daylights out of him.

I’m a proud wife today.  A very proud wife.  This lifestyle brings with it a lot of challenges for us all but you know what, the boy did good.  Very good.

Line ‘em up

I’m not sure if this is an Alby thing or a little boy thing or maybe it’s just part of his British-ness, after all it’s a well known fact that us Brits love a good queue, but the boy is obsessed with lining up his cars. 

Nowadays you can pretty much put money on the fact that when you go into the living room there will be at least one surface with cars lined up in a row, bumper to bonnet, straight as an arrow.  It might be the TV unit, the sofa, the coffee table or the floor.  Or all of them.  It might involve three cars in a row or twenty.  It would appear that neither the surface not to quantity has any real importance, so long as they are in a row.

Whilst I am the first to put my hand up as possessing a number of OCD qualities, I swear that he hasn’t got this from me.  And as it started before Mark came back from Afghanistan I’m confident it doesn’t come from him either.  Whatever the root – and more likely than not it’s a pretty standard developmental step all toddlers go through, I find it brilliant.  He takes it so seriously.  Whilst a tower of bricks will get taken out with a full arm swing and evil cackle to accompany it, the cars are handled in the most gentle manner.  If the line runs out of space he individually moves each car along by a couple of centimeters to make more room, regardless of how long the line or how much time it takes to do.

From being a toddler with serious ADHD, flitting from one activity to the next, emptying a toy box on the floor only to throw all the toys around and then head to the next toy box to do the same again before charging around the house six times and then jumping up and down the steps, he has now become a most focused and serious Al-bug. 

Well, let’s keep this in perspective.  For twenty minutes he will focus on the cars.  Then he will abandon them and charge around the house destroying everything and anything in his way. My father named him ASBO about six months ago – seriously how many acronyms can a child have after his name?  In my pregnancy days I confess I’d daydream of my Little Man making something for himself, and often such things are acknowledged through added initials at the end of the name.  Not for the life of me did I think that at just 20 months I’d be the proud(?) mother of Albert Trouble Monkey OCD. ADHD. ASBO.