Mummy fail #1736

George chipped his tooth today. 15months of being perfect then along comes my lack of discipline and his front tooth is now incomplete. My poor little lamb. Boy did he cry but then I would if I'd been jumping/dancing in the bath, slipped (inevitably) and bashed my face against the side. We were on FaceTime with alarm when it happened so a nice call for daddy: "oh yes daddy, we're all fine, having a grand time" cue splash, very loud tears, phone dropping and me shouting to be heard over the cries (my god babies are loud) "we'll call you back."
My boys are tough - thank goodness - with mummy fails like this they have to be.cwithin five minutes George had calmed to the occasional son and our chaotic conversation with daddy resumed. We were finally able to actually say what a great day it had been (though given the face smash who knows if he believed us). But it had been amazing. A day at being five bombed by Hawks, owls and vultures at the local bird park. And I do mean dive bombed. In their safety announcement they say "you will have to duck and I don't mean a nod of the head I mean touch your shoes duck." My parents then proceeded to smile and swear in equal measure during the flying displays with Alby saying "bloomin' lek" over and over by the end! We saw a duck race, collected our stamps and hunted down golden eggs, got grizzled at by an owl called Humbug, watched two wheelchair users almost get decapitated by an eagle and watched Alby eat an ice cream whilst wearing my gillet because "it's so cold today".
There is something about Alby making my dad laugh that is just the best thing in the world to me. I'm not saying there's anything special about Alby compared to other four year olds and all he does is come out with those "kids say the best things" type of stuff so it's not the content that provides the magic. I guess it's the chemistry or something but I always know that when you put the two of them together you'll get a good three or four cases of my dad just bursting into laughter/choking on his tea because of something Alby has said. And with each instance you want to bottle it up and say "there, that's what true happiness looks like." I don't want to dismiss how lovely it is when my mum laughs with Alby, far from it, her face lights up and it has magic too but there is just something about Alby and Brooks that nestles in my heart.
As well as seeing the birds with my folks it's been a day of family - messages with my brother in the morning, gifts from GG Rita in the afternoon and s phone call from GG Jouce in the evening. Maybe they all sensed a mummy fail was on the horizon - haha. Whatever the reason it's been a good day. A good day to chip a tooth.

And as a side bar please note that even in bodily damage George is proving competitive with Alby. Alby chipped his tooth in the same bathroom albeit on the sink not the bath and the when he was three not one but still. as we get ready to move house again I appear to be feeling nostalgic - or maybe that's because it's gone midnight, but there's something nice about them being able to have these similar experiences even if they are of the mummy fail variety.

And so it begins....

One year and three months and the stick obsession is now firmly in place. What is it about sticks? Bamboo sticks, rotting sticks, sticks twice as long as themselves. The stick collection outside the front door has officially started. The instant cries when you wrestle the stick out their hands as you shepherd them into the house has officially started. 

George is a stick lover. Hilariously, having watched his ninja brother almost non stop for the past year he will even pose with his stick ninja style. I didn't catch on camera but this afternoon he snuck a stick into the hallway, lunged forward, back foot on tiptoe and arm outstretched. Goon. 

Sunny days are naked days

Following a very grey, wet and windy June summer appears to have returned. England has been blessed with beautiful blue skies, glorious sunshine and heat. And as any young boy will tell you the best way to celebrate / cope with sunshine is by being naked. 

Despite me going through the dressing process with both boys every morning by lunchtime they are completely naked, running in and out of the house and garden, normally via the paddling pool ensuring a house full of delighted squeals and muddy footprints. 

So thrilled is Alby at being naked he has come up with his own song which I know have stuck in my head. To be sung along (in the most part) to the tune of Music maker it goes: "I am the naked man, I come from down your steet and I can be naked, I can be naked..."

This little ditty is belted out at top volume as he runs around the house, high knees, whilst George stomps and twirls nearby. 

I'm afraid I won't be sharing the photos I have of this online but shall leave to your imagination and with luck you may get close to a true sense of the ridiculous revelry we're being treated to.

Competitive much, George?

George has come up with a new game.  Actually he’s come up with lots of new games recently.  Many still focus on kicking and throwing but you can see him starting to work out cause and effect whether that’s pushing cars down a ramp, hitting balls with a hammer (toy hammer, just so we’re clear) or copying others, his little brain is starting to link things up and understand that by doing this thing, I can get that result.  One such connection which I’m getting a lot of enjoyment out of is that as fun as running around and throwing stuff is, it’s even better if you preface it with “Ready, Steady, Go!”  Now I’m not claiming at all that George has got his tongue around speech yet.  Mostly when he babbles I think he’s in the wrong county as the sounds he makes seem more Scandanavian than British, but he’s definitely got the right tones and what’s more, he gets them in the right order.  And he’s pleased as punch about it.  As Alby says, it’s just hilarious.  Obviously there are alarm bells ringing.  As an overly competitive younger sister I’m not entirely sure how healthy it is for a 13 month old to be practicing his sprint starts.  The proof will come out at the upcoming nursery Sport’s Day no doubt, but this is hand’s down my favourite video at the moment.  Being such a modern young chap George is also loving this video and giggles every time he sees it.  I don’t know if he realises it’s him but he certainly seems to be thrilled that somebody else understands the importance of sprint starts.

As I’m waffling on about cause and effect I want to share a story from Mark’s parents’ house last week which we were at as I had to go into the office and they were watching the boys. It was late.  Oh so late.  George decided sleeping was for wimps and despite all of us yawning he was still carrying on.  He’d found some coasters and was handing them to Boppa and then taking them back, handing them over one by one and then grabbing both and walking away over and over again.  Then he decided to let GG have them, so over he goes and once he hands them to GG she uses them to cover her eyes and play peek-a-boo.  George takes them back and mimics.  He doesn’t get it at first; they go on the top of his head, then over his ears but when he finally slides them over his eyes there is real pride with himself and he actually squealed with delight.

My final George story comes from today on the way home from nursery.  This is the time when Alby gets to watch telly on my phone whilst George and I sing nursery rhymes together.  Mostly it’s just me singing with him joining in for one or two songs before getting frustrated at being in the car and then pulling on his straps and shouting.  Today he was on good form though and despite a long day at Farleys his brain was switched on and, first time ever, he did the actions to the Grand old Duke of York followed by “If you’re happy and you know it.”  Proof if ever it was needed that my child is a genius.  Hahaha.  I love how all parents think their child is gifted, of course he’s not but in this little moments when all you have is complete wonder and adoration for how they are growing and learning and observing and absorbing genius seems the more appropriate word. 

Alby meanwhile is still a ninja.  Yesterday he got a load of pencils and chopsticks and poked them into his pants and strutted around telling me they were his utility belt and he needed them for fighting baddies.  To save his future self I won’t post the photo I took but I will cherish it forever. As part of showing off his ninja skills he has decided to try and teach himself how to do back flips. He’s not there yet but I’m sure watching him try has aged me considerably.  I wouldn’t mind if he said “let’s try this mummy” and I could help him but no, he’ll just be jumping about and next thing he’s thrown himself backwards, time freezes, my eyes pop out my head and then we move on to another round of energetic kicks and twists as my son educates me on all things ninja. 

He’s also started singing silly songs.  Like really silly songs which seem to start with “Put your head in your belly and you head on the telly….” And then the transform into excited jibberish for five minutes (I’m not exaggerating on the timings here).  Every now and then a real sentence comes out, sometimes once that rhymes with the next but your ears have to be very keen to pick up on such.  The boys imagination is amazing.  He’s rhyming isn’t half bad either. 

Oi mister. What time do you call this?

It is just gone 11pm and George has only just crashed out for the night. They told me when I collected him from nursery that he was tired but that was six hours ago and he has barely yawned since. And not just any six hours. We took Percy for a walk, threw stones in the lake, played in the garden, had a bubble bath, jumped in the car and drove for an hour and a half (prime sleeping time wouldn't you think) and then played catch, peekaboo and various other chatty throwing games with balls and coasters with GG and Boppa.
All the grown ups wanted bed but George is a Duracell bunny.
I hope he drops one of his naps soon. These late nights are wearing thin and I'm conscious I'm no where near as consistent with George's bedtime routine as I had been with Alby's at this age. Or at least that's what my brain tells me. I don't know. I'm pretty tired.

When Alby met the Queen

Last Thursday was a big day for the family.  For the past five months Mark has been working on an event.  No, not just an event.  The Event.  Alongside two other crazy committed and dangerously dedicated soldiers he has been putting his heart, soul, mind and time into pulling off a day of celebrations to mark the 300^th anniversary of the Royal Artillery. 

21 Gun salute

He has been a stranger in the house, regularly working until midnight (in fact for the past three weeks, always working until midnight) plus weekends.  I wish I could claim that I was simply the dedicated and supported wife throughout but I’m not quite that exceptional a woman and the absence, compounded by the knowledge that three days after The Event he would be living away from home took its toll on my tolerance and understanding every now and then.  For that I apologise.

The Kings Troop

However, I digress. This isn't about me and my self-claimed guilt but about my amazing boys. 

A ride in the new car

Stepping onto the Square on Thursday morning I was overcome with pride for my husband and his team.  It was amazing.  The best tribute one could imagine pulled off brilliantly. And so it continued throughout the day. We spoke to re-enactors, at Alby’s request we asked a World War Two veteran to talk us through the medals on his chest (five from the Second World War, one from Korea plus a selection of others for service), we heard the 21 gun salute, admired the processions (Alby pointing to the soldiers dressed in their snow camo shouted “Look, it’s Darth Vader’s soldiers), loved the horses galloping past and, at the end of the day, we ate ice cream, drank Pimms, turned Trouble Monkey into a Ninja Turtle and watched him show off his ninja moves with two balloon swords on the bouncy castle.  It was just the best of days. One of those events which runs so seamlessly you fail to appreciate the endless work that went into it, it was just spectacular and I couldn’t be more pleased for Mark and his team.  Bloody good show chaps.

Guns saluting the Queen

I’ve waffled on enough already and I haven’t event mentioned the highlight of the day, the reason Mark stayed in the office until twelve instead of coming home at ten, the reason he is now sporting a handful of grey hairs (so he says, I can’t see them) is that Her Royal Highness herself was in attendance.  It’s her 90^th birthday this year and despite the actual birthday taking place a good few weeks ago now most of Britain seems to have taken the position that we shall be celebrating this milestone for the whole year.  So, despite this officially being the 300^th Anniversary of her Royal Artillery the day seemed to be regarded more as the chance for the Royal Artillery to celebrate her.  She doesn’t do many long appearances but she visited Wiltshire for three hours so this wasn’t just a big deal.  This was mega.  And amazingly, almost unbelievably but certainly in tribute to the brilliance that is Mark, we were able to be a part of the day.  Or more precisely Alby was.

Stormtroopers

Pretty much everywhere the Queen goes she gets presented with flowers and RA 300 was to be no exception.  The posey giving was discussed ages back and a throw away comment was made that Alby could do it.  Mark and I didn’t give it much thought.  Things change every six minutes in the army and no doubt they would come across a far more deserving family with a young child to do the flower giving instead.  But they didn’t.  It’s been sold as a tribute to the phenomenal effort Mark put into the event though I can’t shrug the feeling it may also be down to a bit of poor admin amongst the bigger chaos.  Whatever the true cause Alby was chosen as official flower boy on the day. 

A suit was bought.  A (dodgy) haircut took place.  New shoes were found (very last minute – thanks mum).  We practiced at home.  We practiced with others.  We witnessed a bored and underwhelmed four year old in action.  And then the day itself came.

It was a hot day.  It was a long day.  And it was a day where amongst the nerves and excitement lots of people forgot how to talk to and generally be around four year olds.  Three days of being told what an important job he was doing, three days of having to hand flowers over to an assortment of random people in very smart uniform, three days of being told to walk forward, chin up, smile and walk back, maybe shake hands, maybe not, maybe say something, maybe not, more heat, more waiting took its toll and by the time the Queen made it to the chapel Alby was fed up.  But Alby is a superstar and despite wanting nothing more than to be sitting on the sofa, watching telly in his pants, with his bottom lip almost out he told us “when it’s my turn I’m going to do it perfectly mummy.”  Many may not have believed him.  Mark and I did and we were right to.  

I have to give a special shout out to my dad here who was standing on the bank, about 50 feet away, behind the crowd of school children, waving his arms, jumping up and down and pulling funny faces.  That is what a four year old needs.  That got Alby smiling.  

My superstar

Getting over the near-teary state he was in, held his head high, walked forward nicely, handed over the flowers and paused.  I think the question mark over shaking hands or not, saying something or not threw him slightly.  And so he stood there.  I think for three seconds, maybe five but it felt like five minutes.  The Queen asked “Are these for me” and he nodded and said “yes” and then he paused for another 3 seconds, maybe four, and we called him back.  “Okay Alby, back now” Mark said kindly.

And he walked back, and held my hand, and the Queen continued forward, asking us as she went “How old?” Being a fool I replied with a simple “He’s four” whilst my cultured/sychophantic husband replied with “He’s four years old Ma’m” (Ma’m as in ham not Ma’m as in harm).  To which my beautiful, perfect little Man said, loudly and clearly, “Actually I’m four and a half.”  And everyone laughed, including the Queen and with that line the whole thing to me changed from a very stilted, staged, anonymous experience to a lovely moment,  A truly lovely moment. 

My memory is that I replied with “Sorry Alby, that half is very important” and the Queen said something along the lines of “Well yes, quite” or “Oh yes, of course”.  I don’t know.  It’s a happy blur.  Then she said her goodbyes and got into the car. 

Mark, sadly, just out of shot

As she stepped into the car Alby said “Mummy, I can see her Magic shoes.”  A reference to the day before when one of Mark’s colleagues had told Alby that the Queen had magic shoes because whenever she steps out of her helicopter gunfire goes off.  Bless him for remembering.

And then it was off for ice cream and bouncy castles and sitting in the shade as by then we were all a bit too red around the edges. And on the way home my friend texted to say “Check out the Daily Mail” and I did, and there was Alby, looking amazing.  And I swelled with happiness and pride for him.  For the wonder of my beautiful boy.  And it suddenly seemed much grander and more important than it actually had by the chapel. And I spent the rest of the day (actually the rest of the next two days) constantly referring back to the photo (and any other photo I could find) and smiling.  Not just at Alby’s picture but all of them.  Googling “Royal Artillery 300” to see which papers had written about it.  Because for my family it was the whole day that was important and my smile wasn’t reserved to my little Man but my big one too.  My heroes.  My superstars.  My loves.

The wonder of Alby

Alby is now dry at night. (He probably could have been months ago but he held out until we kicked in with some reward box bribery. He is no fool, not sure the same could be said for us.) To keep him dry we wake him around 9.30pm for a late night potty run.

Mark or I will gently rub his back and whisper to him until he rouses, just. We lift him out of bed and help him get sorted. He is barely awake at any point in the process. His eyes stay closed and he is this little, floppy sleepy bundle. 

And as he sits I watch him. I stare in wonder at how long his limbs have got, at his skinny little frame, his soft soft skin and I am amazed. Amazed this little man, this perfect, healthy, beautiful little person was made by us, grown in me and is part of my life. And I feel so blessed. 

When he was brand new I couldn't take my eyes off him. Feeds were special because I could just sit and stare at his perfect face, stroke his tiny fingers and be mesmerised by him. And I still get to do that with George now sometimes and it is still heaven.  But as they grow and get busier and busier,  even if we find an odd moment to just sit and stare the chances are they won't be sharing it with us. They will be charging around the house battling fierce baddies or tackling tangfastic challenges with forward rolls, cartwheels and spinny jumps. So we have to be more accepting. Nowadays my wonder moments are accompanied by the night sky, lullabies and Alby peeing. But the wonder of him makes it imperfectly perfect.