Albert the Bear is now the ripe old age of three. Or as he told me the day after his birthday “I’m
almost four now mummy….I’m almost a grown up”.
Considering that he’s been insisting that he’s a big boy for the past four
months the move to grown up shouldn’t really be surprising but I still find it
hilarious coming from such a little person.
Alby managed to squeeze in three parties as part of this
year’s birthday celebrations – a precedent I fear he will demand seeing
repeated in the years to come. The first
party was the nursery Halloween party, held the day before Halloween for some
random reason, which Alby went to dressed up as the Big Bad Wolf from the Three
Little Pigs. This is one of his
favourite stories at the moment, however in typical Alby fashion he has decided
to side with the bad guy and thinks the wolf chasing the little pigs and
blowing their house down is hilarious. I’m
not sure where this dark side comes from but it’s there. When sword fighting he prefers to be Captain
Hook to Peter Pan, admires the Bone Cruncher in the BFG and when watching
Sleeping Beauty he cheers for the dragon and gets his bottom lip out when it
gets slain. Clearly there is still much
for me to teach him about good and bad.
I’ve clearly failed on such so far (one to add to the Mummy Fail list)
but maybe 2015 will be my year. I doubt
it but positive thought rarely hurts.
The second party was on his actual birthday. Cake, party hats and more fancy dress (this
time a roaring lion to continue the ferocious streak) with his nursery friends
during the day followed by balloons, cards and gifts when he got home in the
evening.
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| The finished story cake book |
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| From the Gurffalo |
And then came the actual birthday party with friends. A supposedly low key affair which involved
about two months of preparation from me cutting out shapes and making templates
of forest animals for the children to do collages, buying random playdough paraphernalia
for the playdough table, making a selection of lists with instructions on what
still needed doing, buying and packing and then lists of the lists when my
random additions and deletions made a mockery of my attempts to be
organised. And I haven’t even mentioned
the cake yet. Why why why do mothers
feel the need to make their child’s cake from scratch? I’m not arty. I never have been and whilst it’s
taken me awhile to accept it, I’ve made peace with the fact that whilst I’ve reached
the age where Facebook posts are filled with images of the crocheted hats,
handmade cushions and children’s fancy dress costumes made by my friends fair
hands they aren’t going to see the same from me. The last cushion I bought came from Tesco and
Alby’s Big Bad Wolf costume came from Ebay.
I can shop but I can’t create.
Until it comes to the blasted birthday cake where I fall
hook, line and sinker for the ridiculous notion that making a birthday cake
from scratch is some integral part of being a mother. As though it’s this annual rite of passage
which I must survive if I’m to go anyway in undoing the Mummy Fails of the past
12 months.
And so I visit the cake shops, I buy royal icing like it’s
going out of fashion. I google tutorials
on modelling icing. I practice. I mean who practices baking and icing a
cake? Crazy mothers that’s who. I stay up until midnight cutting icing with a
ruler to ensure the lines are perfectly straight. And by the end I’m not even impressed with
what I’ve achieved I’m so blurry eyed with exhaustion, frustrated at the cracks
and creases and numb to any feeling other than that of utter respect for
professional cake makes – a career path I begin to feel has been
under-represented and under appreciated for years. In fact, so high is my admiration at this
point that I start to wonder if I can campaign on their behalf to raise their
profile and secure them the respect they need.
And how did Alby react to his three day birthday
bonanza? By being sick! Oh yes, poor little Alby’s filled up with
cold spent his birthday party hiding out in the kitchen with me, refusing to
leave my side with a burning fever and a very sorry look on his face. Admittedly there were some lovely moments
when he came out of his shell – having his lunch with friends, chasing Joey
around the room, reading stories in the book corner we’d set up. But for the most part he stayed out of the
lime light and was eager for a bit of telly and his bed.
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| Blowing out the candles |
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| Story time love with his favourites |
The day itself might not go down in history as his best ever
party, but being three is certainly a milestone. At three food has graduated from being “yummy”
to “delicious”, water (or any drink really) isn’t tasty but rather “drinky”. Alby will do almost anything for a chocolate –
even if it’s just one mini smartie, and his best memory of going to Greece to
be Auntie Katie’s page boy was the man from the restaurant opposite the hotel
who gave him sweets every time we walked past (about four times a day).
His favourite films are Sleeping Beauty (because of the
dragon), She Ra and He Man (though he hasn’t quite mastered He Man’s
catchphrase, shouting out instead “By the power of Greyscone”) and the BFG with
the rest of his film collection (amounting to around 20 Disney classics) all
coming in a very close second.
Cars remain his number one toy (Disney Cars or Hot Wheels
are both acceptable) with ball games (rugby / football / tennis) a very close
second and probably playdough and puzzles on equal pegging in third place.
We’d seen a few of the Toy Story characters for sale in the
supermarket the other day which made him want to watch the film again. That evening whilst on the sofa together
watching Woody, Buzz and gang end up in a rubbish truck Alby announced: “I
don’t have Buzz Lightyear. I don’t need
him. I love my cars too much.” Never a truer word said by that boy.
He’s an ace on his bike and is completely
fearless. “Superman” with daddy is his
favourite thing at the moment and involves him hurtling towards Mark, being
lifted into the air and thrown into the sofa where he giggles and then
somersaults across Mark so as to repeat the process again. The “Daddy Rocket” may be no more but Daddy
flying has yet to go out of fashion.
Everyday there are a million stories to tell. It’s one big amazing adventure filled with
plenty of laughter, constant new discovery and the fair share of frustration
for parent and toddler alike. I’ve yet
to find the off switch with Alby meaning that I’m faced with a ba ll of energy, bossiness and stubbornness on a
daily basis. And the total and utter
neglect of this blog highlights how packed and non-stop life seems now (not
that I’ve ever been good at time management).
But no matter what I feel I think Alby’s words are probably the most
important to close this post with: “it’s hard work being three”.
