Operation BotBot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Al-bug: prodigy in the making

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

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

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

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

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

It's hard work being so smart

The power of words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Getting a bit political on behalf of the sisterhood

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

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

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

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

Consider me ringing a bell…

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

I feel the need, the need for speed

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

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

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

Mummy Fail #680

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

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

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

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

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

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