Birthdays and Holidays... Part Three!

Right, so the negatives are out of the way. Here are some things about my holiday that made me very happy:

• Food - Food always makes me happy. French food even more so. I do not know how anyone is thin in France, when they are constantly surrounded by croissants.
• Sunshine - I had been checking the weather forecast religiously in the week leading up to our departure, and on the basis of this, had mentally prepared myself for a week of clouds, rain and thunderstorms. The first day was pretty miserable, but after that we got some real and actual sun! And warmness! It was rather lovely, and I didn't even burn the children overly much. The Toddler's left arm got a bit singed, but other than that, I actually managed to be vigilant enough to keep them pretty much un-burned. Result.
• Seeing my sister - I adore seeing my sister. As do my children. And as she is not a haggard, lazy, sleep-deprived mother-of-two who spends most of her life in the company of two small people, but an energetic aunt for whom said small people are still very much an exciting novelty, they run around playing together, while I sit and watch, eating croissants.
• Sleeping - as a result of playing all day, and going to bed at ridiculous hours (well, they went to bed at fairly reasonable times, but then, fired up by the excitment of sharing a room, they sat and giggled at each other for hours before finally falling asleep), the kids actually did some pretty good sleeping. The Toddler fell out of the very narrow bed a couple of times, and The Littl'un still usually had a litttle bit of a yelp about something or other at some point, but overall, much better sleep was had by all. It has, sadly, not continued now we are home.
• Not having housework - The best thing about holidays is not being in your own house, surrounded by all the things that you know you should be doing. We did have to keep on top of the cleaning - the house was so tiny that I would have swung a cat in it, but only because I don't really like cats so wouldn't care if it took a few knocks to the head, so it got messy really quickly - but being able to switch off from thinking about the constant cycle of dusting and hoovering and washing and ironing and tidying and sorting is all kinds of awesome.

And, you know, all that general stuff about being with the people I love, doing fun things, seeing nice places, seeing my children happy. That's all pretty good too.

And now we are back, and the washing is almost under control, and today is The Toddler's third birthday. (I have decided to re-christen her, as The Littl'un is starting to toddle, and The Toddler just walks. Henceforth, she shall be known as The Big'un, until I get fed up of it)

We had nice plans for today. Due to her current obssession with princesses, and her disappointment that Caen castle was just the battlements, and not "where the princess lived", we decided to take her to a castle which looked like a princess might live in it, so thought we'd drive up to Alnwick for the day, then go out for tea with my parents. It was all going to be very lovely, and I was looking forward to it immensely, until Husband decided to contract some kind of stomach lurgy, which has made him so ill that I'm even being sympathetic and kind to him. He managed to get up and see The Big'un get her drum kit ("It's my favourite! I can't belieeeeeve it!!"), but anything more was beyond him. My mother had it too, which meant even the tea with them was off the agenda. Obviously, it couldn't be helped, but it made me a little bit sulky anyway. I tried my best to make a nice day for her anyway. I allowed her to ride her trike to the shop, where she brought a smile to several people's faces because she was wearing her new fairy princess outfit, complete with wings and tiara. I even tried not to despair over the fact that the trip, which is 10 minutes maximum sans children, took nearly an hour. We made it to a castle, which, even though it was "broken" (ie, in ruins), she was quite impressed with, where we met up with a friend and her little boy (he taught her to say "It's boring!", even though they were clearly having a whale of a time, she taught him to roll around in the grass, so they even had a mutual exchange of useful life skills). I bought a chocolate cake and let her decorate it with chocolate buttons. But I fear that large portions of the day still ended up being how they always are when I am tired and have to deal with them both alone when they are in high and defiant spirits, which is with me being tetchy and impatient and a bit useless. Ah well. Her party is still to come so we have another chance to give her the perfect birthday day. If your definition of "perfect" involves several small children hyped up on icing, of course.

Birthdays and Holidays and Apologies - Part Two!

Sorry! Again. I said I would continue last night, but I watched the football instead. I really shouldn't have bothered. I could have done something much more exciting, like watch paint dry. Actually, that would be pretty exciting, I have just bought some tester pots because, inspired by pictures of other people's houses on the internet, I have been suddenly gripped with a mad desire to re-decorate my living room.

Anyway, I think talking about the brilliant things about my holiday (which I am honestly going to do, I wasn't just going to leave it with my usual whingeing) will have to wait at least another day, as I've got to wrap The Toddler's birthday presents. She is three tomorrow. Three! Can I even call her a toddler anymore? It seems too little a word for my sturdy and sassy little madam. A madam who, tomorrow, will become the proud owner of a drum kit. Yes, a drum kit. I know. Yes, I probably have lost my mind. Or if I haven't, I'm sure I soon will.

Oh! And also! Walking baby! The Littl'un can walk! Ish. She's been taking one or two steps for a couple of weeks, but not very well, and not very often, but tonight, she took at least four little staggery steps across the landing, and then repeated it a few more times. I am very proud. And amused, because she looks like a drunkard.

Oh God. Sudden grave misigiving. Why have I bought a drum kit, which in theory is for the exclusive use of my eldest child, when the youngest one is into EVERYTHING? And can now use her feet to get to EVERYTHING. This was a mistake. Oh dear.

Birthdays and Holidays and Apologies!

First - the apology, for not having written anything for ages, just in case you were sitting there thinking "D'you know? What I really need in my life is the incoherent rambling of a woman who is barely in control of herself and her two children, and it's not there!". I haven't had time to write much lately. Partly this is because I have surprised myself with a new-found dedication to housework (no, really), so my evenings are spent finding things to clean. This is most unnerving behaviour on my part, but I am enjoying living in something resembling a neat and tidy home, even if there is still just too miuch STUFF in it.

But mostly, the reason I haven't had much chance to blog is because June has been fecking BUSY. Not content with having two children's birthdays to sort out this month, we, for reasons which now escape me, decided to go on holiday in between the said birthdays. So it's all been a bit busy, and we're not even done yet, but I am going to tell you about some of it anyway. Aren't I kind?

So, yeah, The Littl'un is now 1. One whole year old. We celebrated by having a little party for her, attended by all of her friends. Well, strictly speaking, they were mostly The Toddler's friends, as one of the many ways in which second children are deprived (or at least my second one), is that you don't spend your whole maternity leave seeking out things to do and people who have children the same age to do them with. You spend it taking your first one to soft play and drinking coffee with the friends you already have. As a result, The Littl'un only hangs around with nearly-three-year-olds, and is fascinated any time she sees a baby of her own age. I think she enjoyed her party anyway. There was food, and she got a trike, which she liked. And by "liked", I mean "crawled on top of the box, sat on it and refused to move".

Then came the holiday: a week in France with my parents, and my sister and her boyfriend joined us for a few days too (although they almost didn't make it due to an almighty farce involving them locking their car key in the boot of the car in the South of France, and them having to have new one forged in the fires of Mordor, or some other such nonsense). We had a very lovely time, although, naturellement, I found things to despair over as well....

Things that pained me:

• Driving (well, passengering. Husband makes fun of my driving, therefore I refuse to ever do it if I can make him do it) -  I do not live very close to France. Getting to France involves driving from the Tyneside coast, to Portsmouth. That's far. Although, to be honest, the drive down was not actually as bad as I thought it was going to be. Or at least, not after Wetherby Services, where I decided that rather than sitting in the front, it was best to wedge my arse in the gap between the car seats and keep the kids supplied with a constant stream of rice cakes. So that bit was OK. The painful bit of driving came once we disembarked. This is because we were in convoy with my dad. My father is a wonderful man, with many admirable skills and qualities, but it has to be said that getting directly from our point of arrival to our accommodation on any given holiday is resolutely not one of them. My childhood holidays to France always commenced with some kind of circuitous wandering around mysterious back roads, with the whole family on the lookout for road signs, or some kind of significant landmark like the sea, or Paris, to confirm for us that we were, in fact, heading in the wrong direction. Ah well, we got there in the end.
• Eating out - There is apparently a book out called 'French Children't Don't Throw Food'. If that is true, then all of the restaurants must have been slightly shell-shocked by my children, who cannot eat anywhere without redecorating the walls and upholstery with bits of fruit and partially-chewed chip. The Littl'un has an excuse for this behaviour, in that she is only one, and still working out the best way of getting food into her face (and fails to realise that smearing it in her hair is not it). The Toddler has no such excuse, she's just a pain in the arse. She lolled on chairs, she crumpled up bits of food in her hand, she refused to eat anything that wasn't a chip, she showed everyone the contents of her mouth at every opportunity, and generally made me look like one of "those" mothers who is incapable of making her child behave nicely. By the last night, I had resorted to telling her that princesses (which is she is currently and suddenly obsessed with) sit and eat nicely, so if she wants to be a princess when she grows up, she had better do as she is told, while the feminist in me cringed.
• The Littl'un - The Littl'un seemed to spend the week vying for the title of Clingiest Baby In The Whole Entire World. The first weekend, it was quite funny, as her affections were almost exclusively directed at my sister's boyfriend, who she adores. She would fling herself towards him the second he was in sight, and if he dared to leave her, she would cry as if her heart was breaking. It was pretty cute, and I don't think he minded too much. Or at least I hope not. But once he had gone, the clinginess was turned my way, or my mother's, and if she knew that one of us was there and not cuddling her, she would let us know, in no uncertain terms, that she would like us to rectify this situation. Husband was a bit put out by her behaving as if he was some kind of evil stranger every time he held her, and I was a bit put out by being constantly clambered on and pulled at by tiny hands. It's a good job she's cute.
• The ferry home - It was choppy. It was unpleasant. I was ill. The Toddler was so ill that she put her Haribo down. Poor thing.

So that's my whingeing out of the way. There were many, many lovely things as well, but I will write about them tomorrow, as now I am tired, and I have to make sure I am well-rested for my fresh assault on the washing mountain that awaits me in the morning.

To be continued....

Eek

My baby is one in three days. Three days!!

When did that happen?

I feel I should do some kind of profound looking-back over her first year of existence, but quite frankly I'm in shock.

The Not-So-Littl'un

I haven't written much about our day-to-day lives lately, and I am not going to do so now, because I still have some friends who are yet to reproduce, so, in the interest of the continuation of the species, I will refrain from telling you how many of the night-time hours I have spent awake, and how many of the daylight hours I have spent scrubbing wee out of my carpet, over the last couple of weeks.

I have decided, instead, to give you a bit of an update on The Littl'un. I feel a bit guilty actually. The first few months of this blog contain many posts about how proud I was that my baby could do a new thing, and how terribly exciting I found it all. With the poor neglected Littl'un, not only do I not have as much time to sit blogging about all her achievements, I don't even seem to pay as much attention. Part of it is that I stress about them less - I know that as they get older, you can't tell who did what and what age, so I'm not sitting waiting and wondering why my child is so rubbish compared to all the child prodigies out there. Another part of it is that I'm just a bit more dozy these days.

So here are some things that The Littl'un does/is/has:

• She has 6 teeth. Two of which I just found in her mouth one day with no idea when they got there. I think she might be getting two more, but when I put my finger in to check, she tries to eat it.
• She can stand up on her own. She's been doing this for a while, it's pretty cool to me, especially as The Toddler refused to lift her lazy bum off the floor until she was about 15 months old. The Littl'un likes to stand for a while, before lowering herself carefully back down when she's seen an interesting-looking piece of fluff on the carpet that she wants to eat.
• She can climb up the stairs. Which she does, at every single opportunity, looking extremely pleased with herself. She also has a seemingly hilarious game in which she climbs on to the first step, then throws herself off it. Must get a new stairgate before she decides to take this, literally, to the next level.
• She can say "Hiya". I think. Certainly something that sounds like it, and is usually accompanied by a madly waving arm. We also have "mumumumu" and ""DADA", sometimes even directed at the right person. Oh, and something which I think is meant to be "panda". (Not quite as random as it sounds, we read a lot of Maisy Mouse)
• She can grab a spoon off me and feed herself. What she cannot do, is accept that when a yoghurt pot is empty, that it is empty, and that no amount of screaming will make it have more yoghurt in it.
• She can walk using her push-along walker, getting extrememly enraged when she pushes it into a wall, and seems to think that if she pushes hard enough and shouts loud enough, the wall will suddenly cease to be there. It won't.
• She can see right through all my attempts to distract her from playing with whatever The Toddler is not in the mood to share, and will wait until my attention wanders briefly (she never has to wait long) to go and try to play with the forbidden thing. She also, if The Toddler is to believed, discovered a way of communicating to her sister that she wants to go away and play with something else. Erm, I don't think she does, love. I think she wants to stand next to you and annoy you.
• She likes to give kisses. They're beautiful. How could anyone resist the sight of a baby launching herself towards them with an open mouth, a face full of snot, and a slightly manic look in her eye?
• She is obsessed with "Wind The Bobbin Up". Obsessed. I know that something is actually wrong with her, and she's not just in a mood, if she has not calmed down by the time we get to "pull, pull, clap clap clap". The Toddler has taken to launching into it the minute The Littl'un cries. It's like a reflex. 
• She quite likes clapping too.
• She likes to pull on various bits of faces. Eyes, noses, lips - she's not that fussy. She especially likes to do this at 3am. I especially do not like this.
• She could do better at sleeping. That is all I can say on the matter without weeping.
• She is mischievous, far too curious and very good at screaming. But she is also a big bundle of gorgeousness (well, a titchy one, she's only skinny), and I can't believe she is nearly one year old. I should buy her some of those present things.

I Love My Kids..

I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids I love my kids.

Sorry. Just jotting down a helpful little mantra, for the next time I have a day like this one.

Well That Was Fun

Both my children are finally in bed, and if not asleep, then at least happy and relatively quiet, after a spectacularly rubbish bedtime. It's nights like these that make me realise how utterly ineffectual I am sometimes.

It started OK. The Toddler has been horrifically tired all week, after a very busy weekend away in London visiting my sister, which she doesn't seem to have quite recovered from, so I've been hearing "Uuuurrrraaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmnnnnnnuuuuuuuuuiwantthetellyyyyyyyyyyyyyuurrrrrrrr" pretty much all week. But by bedtime she seemed to have perked up a bit, and I was just about to read her second story, when she decided to purposely rip one of the pages of the book she had chosen. To be fair, the book was already broken, and the pages in question came loose long ago, but that is not the point. I let her get away with an awful lot that I probably shouldn't, but I do not take damage to property kindly, and especially not books. And especially not when it's the second page-tearing incident of the day. So I decided to resort to actually doing something about it, which as you may know, is not my strong point, and was possibly not the wisest move when all I really wanted to do was put her in bed and go downstairs and drink tea. Out came my best impression at being a Proper Parent who teaches their child about Consequences and Respect. I told her that if she couldn't look after her stories, then she wouldn't get to listen to them, so we would go straight to the toilet, song and sleep part of her bedtime routine. She thought about it, accepted the wisdom of what I was saying, and calmly proceeded to the bathroom.

Pahahaha.

Of course she didn't. She proceeded to have a massive tantrum, and I then floundered about at a total loss having not a clue how to deal with it. Because I, for reasons which are unclear to me right now, honestly thought that it would play out how I imagined it and described it above. Even though I KNOW my daughter is a stubborn and stroppy little madam who likes to have her own way at all times, I somehow thought that all that would happen would be that she would accept the consequences of her actions and all would be well.

It took me far longer than it should have done to realise why that was ridiculous, and when I did, it was like a mini-epiphany. The whole point of trying to teach her that her actions have consequences is that these actions, and therefore the consequences are Not Good Things. She is not supposed to be happy with the outcome, if she was, it would be a completely pointless exercise. I took away something she liked, and being a wilful, bad-tempered, nearly-three-year-old, she threw a wobbler.

I know, right? I'm a total genius. Seriously though, this has been a bit of a breakthrough for me. It might seem stupidly obvious, but I'm obviously a bit stupid. I've never really looked at it this way before. Well, maybe not NEVER, I'm not a complete moron, I just don't tend to analyse her tantrums in any way at all. I just dread them, because they always seem to come out of almost nowhere and seem completely disproportionate, and I never know how I'm supposed to deal with them, so I tend to do whatever I can to avoid them. But sometimes they're just expressions of rage, and that's really not the end of the world. As she gets older and wiser, she'll learn better ways of behaving in these situations. With any luck, so will I.