An hour ago I ended Alby’s bedtime routine by falling asleep whilst we were huggled up together.
I highlight such to show that the silliness which now sees me lying on the
floor outside the bedroom, with a towel over my toes to keep them warm just so
I can write a blog post is not lost on me!
As stated in the previous post I am keen to see this blog
continued. I want to be able to say to
Alby when he is older: this is the crazy, whirlwind world that you created and
that I loved being a part of. And so,
when inspiration for a post does come and I’m not distracted by hundreds of
other tasks, as silly as my current situation might be there is a slither of
good sense about it. Or at least that is
what I’m telling my slightly aching elbows. (Yes, I could go and sit in the
study and type at a desk but that would be too much like actually getting up
and I want no part in that.)
So, what is life like with an almost 2 ½ year old? I’d say on reflection it is mostly filled
with the busy joy of simple things, plus a few tears and the occasional nappy
change.
Today Alby woke at the too early time of 6:15am. Thankfully I was able to persuaded him
(through cuddles and otherwise ignoring him) that actually sleeping more was a
good idea and we dozed until 7am when he decided he was starving and in dire
need of breakfast. In typical toddler
randomness with a pinch of naughty, his first words this morning were: I tell
Brooks, “get out my kitchen”.
“Get out my kitchen” is one of Alby’s favourite things to
say to my Dad. He stands on the bench by the table, pointing wildly as he
shouts out the words, spitting toast with every other syllable whilst my Dad
shouts and gestures back at him, causing Alby to throw his head back and
cackle.
Breakfast done (delicious mix of sugary cereal) it was then
time to have books read to him and to line up his cars around the rug in the
play area, 10 books and 50 lined up cars later and we were now one hour into
the day! Who says time flies with
children?
Despite then demanding porridge – with apple, honey and
“WHISSSSSSSSSSSSKKKKEEEEEY” (one drop per year old) he didn’t touch a bite, choosing instead to
alternate between bossing about his grandparents and saying “Hello Polly” to
the parrots on the bird feeder.
By 9am he was over-excited.
My solution: chuck him in the pushchair and take the dog for a
walk. Neither were enthusiastic about
this, but the spotting of horse poo along the path seemed to cheer them both
and the fresh air and time out did us all some good – me possibly most of all
having hauled them up and over hills in a way that should leave people in no
doubt that I am in fact a hero mum! (haha)
Attempts to get Alby dressed were stalled by my mum and I
having to wait, clothes in hand, as Alby “just do my job, I just doing my job
Narna.” The job, a very important one,
involved moving stickers from the side of the bed to the bookcase. Eight
stickers to be precise.
Once the job was done and we were finally both properly
washed and dressed we jumped in the car (Alby climbing into his seat himself as
he refuses for others to help him now) and headed to the train station.
As a stereotypical boy Alby loves trains to the point that
on several occasions we have just driven to the local train station just to
watch the trains go past. Today we
actually got on one which almost proved too much for Trouble Monkey: as the
train pulled into the station he ran alongside shouting “That’s Alby’s train,
that’s Alby’s train….” Once onboard he
jumped up and down, threw himself onto the seats and continued jumping as he
looked out the window.
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| Train fun |
We’d really only taken the train into town for the experience
itself, but in the vicinity of shops I made the foolish decision to venture into the town for a bit of retail therapy.
As Alby would put it: silly mummy.
Retail therapy is clearly exclusively for childless-women / mothers of
teenagers. Retail and toddlers involves,
for me, losing Alby amongst the rails of clothes, abandoning my wallet, bags
and pushchair mid payment as I chase after him as he head’s for the doors and
then finish my payment whilst dangling him upside down. My decision to pop into a card shop and buy a
card for a friend was quickly proven to be a completely idiotic idea – Alby
took one step into the shop and was off, charging up and down the aisles
grabbing handfuls of birthday cards and tossing them on the floor before
charging towards the porcelain gift display tables. Only the discovery of Disney-themed balloons
allowed some order to resume. Madness. I did the only thing left – I headed for
one of the car rides and then enticed him into being nice to me by promising
another ride on the train!
Back at the station Alby insisted on sitting in the waiting
room, making observations and asking questions about everyone he could
see. Including the elderly lady also
sitting in the waiting room: “What’s the lady doing? Where’s the lady going? Where’s my train? The lady is sitting on mummy’s seat…” Put him in a room of people and he goes
completely shy. Put him with just one or
two strangers and he presents his most chatty and tactless self!
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| Loving Lightening McQueen |
The arrival of the train prompted yet more jumping, dancing
and general cheers of joy. It is the
simple things that bring the most fun and I urge commuters to remember this
when packed as sardines first thing in the morning!
When we got to the car park Alby’s Disney balloon had come
free from it’s stick and was bouncing alongside the cars. I abandoned the pushchair and charged off
after it with Alby running along behind laughing hysterically – clearly the
sight of mummy running is comedy gold!
On the way home we popped into a shop to try and buy a cable
for his car DVD player (our one has broken and I’m not sure I can face another
4 hour journey home as the only adult in the car without the help of
Disney). As the sales assistant kept me
occupied Alby found his own fun chasing a little girl around and around and around the aisles.
A long sleep in the car later, dinner of pizza, ham and
yoghurt (not necessarily in that order) and it was finally time for a game of
tennis. Usually us playing tennis
involves trying to hit a ball with two random toys to very ill effect however
I’d just bought two bats and a ball to ensure our games retained a sense of
professionalism I feel necessary. Alby
was very excited and should be praised for his love and awareness of tennis. For ten minutes straight he announced to me
and my mum who was standing nearby “I’m playing tennis. I’m playing tennis. I’m playing tennis.” At one point my mum kicked the tennis ball
towards him to which she was quickly reprimanded: “Not football Narna. No kicking the ball.” We played
upstairs. We played downstairs. Every time the ball went to Alby he would
hold it in his hand, his bat in the other, put them both down, turn them, pick
them up with the opposite hands and then attempt what can only be described as
an underarm serve with the ball in contact with the bat throughout until the
last moment when it gets randomly and dangerously launched into the air. We all duck for cover whilst Alby cackles and
shouts “I’m playing tennis!”
The day ended with a guitar lesson – I left Alby under the
capable tuition of my father (moments like that make my heart melt a little
bit) before a final dog walk, bath, DVD, bedtime stories and sleep. That was Trouble Monkey’ day – all 13 hours
of jumping, reading, working, laughing, bossing, eating, running and cuddling
and Disney loving.
