keris stainton

Funny peculiar (and ha ha)

Harry has been cracking us up the last few days. Everything he says is either said with indignation or with a twinkle, like he knows he's funny and he wants to make us laugh. You probably won't think much of this is funny, but I'm saving it here for posterity anyway!

First thing yesterday morning

Harry: [Very aggrieved face.] "No! Daddy does NOT have wings!"
Me: "Er, okay then."

Breakfast time

Me: "Do you want some Cheerios?"
Harry: "No... I want to eat one more... one more Tuc cracker."

After preschool
(Waiting at the bus stop, I was trying to help Harry with something.)

Harry: "Get a grown-up to help?"
Me: "It's fine, let me just--"
H: "Get a grown-up to help!"
Me: "If you'd just let me--"
H: "GET A GROWN-UP TO HELP!"
Me: "I AM A FLIPPIN' GROWN-UP!"

Bedtime
(Harry has recently decided that, along with his glass of milk, he must have a "bedtime banana")

Harry [holding banana]: "What's this?"
Me: "A sticker."
H: "A sticker?!!!"
Me: "A banana sticker."
H: "A banana sticker?!!! [considers] Hmm. I've had an idea ... a good idea! We can draw the banana sticker ... on a piece of paper!"

Still bedtime...

Harry: "I'm scared in the cinema."
Me: "Okay. Well we don't need to go to the cinema. But I thought you wanted to see Wall-e..."
H: "Wall-e not AT the cinema. Wally on the TV!"
Me: "Yes, but that's just an advert for the cinema."
H: "NO! Wall-e on the TV!"
Me: "Well, yes, in a little while. We can get it on DVD. Who is Wall-e anyway?"
H: "He's a little robot."
Me: "Is he?"
H: "He's the s'vanced robot IN THE WORLD."

("The most advanced robot in the world." He's seen that advert too many times.)

Wired for sound

Harry loves my eee pc, but he calls it the "Super Duper Computer" after the laptop on kids' show, Superwhy. I love the way he says it. So I recorded it:

Super Duper Computer

I also managed to convince him to sing for me (albeit very quietly). But *what* is he singing?

Name that tune

Ah, men. You've got to laugh.

I'm just sorting my ridiculously full in-tray and found a cutting I tore out of the Guardian's weekend magazine a while ago so I thought I'd share.

In the Love By Numbers relationship column, a woman had written in to say that she and her husband have a two and a half year old and a six-month-old baby. She goes on to say:

"My husband is unhappy with the amount of sex we have. He says the average is three times a week, but we should be doing it five times to make up for lost time (pregnancy, post birth)."

Isn't that just the most fantastic thing you've ever heard? You've got to admire that man's balls, haven't you? I'm just sad that the woman took it seriously enough to write to a national newspaper; if David had said something like that to me after Harry was born, I'd still be laughing now.

Actually that's not true. If me and D had to "make up for lost time", I'd be having sex now. And every day for the next couple of years.

In fact, the other day me and David were talking about how Charlotte Church is pregnant again, despite her daughter being just 9 months old and poor David said, earnestly, "You're not even supposed to do it for six months after, are you?"

Oh sweetie. It's just six weeks you're not supposed to do it for. It was six months (and more) I didn't want to do it for.

More. Later.

Much later. Sorry about that, we had a busy day yesterday. And thank you so much for all your congratulations. It's just about starting to feel real! I'll try not to bore you all with endless pregnancy stories, so let me just get the story so far out of the way...

For the first three months, I felt pretty crummy. I haven't been sick (I wasn't with H either), but I felt sick almost all the time.

The other problem was that there was nothing I wanted to drink - I couldn't stand the thought of tea or even water. After trying a number of different things, I finally found Diet Coke to be the answer, which was weird since I haven't touched a drop in more than four years (since I was pregnant with H, in fact). Now that I'm feeling a bit better, I'm trying to wean myself off the Coke and back to water. I've currently got traditional lemonade and iced tea.

Again, like pregnancy with Harry, I've become more carnivorous. With Harry, black pudding and bacon were reintroduced. This time, they were just the gateway to burgers. Yes, beefburgers. I've only had two, but my god they were good (and they were the first burgers I've had in almost 20 years).

I've been absolutely knackered so I have barely done a jot of exercise, even the 20 minute walk to and from preschool has been hard work. I'm feeling more energetic now (until about 3pm when I have to have a little sofa snooze), so I'm hoping to start doing some yoga and more walking.

Ah sleep. With Harry, I slept less and less as the pregnancy went on until, by the end, I was only managing about 2 hours a night. Gah. It's going to be the same this time, I guess, since sleep is rubbish. Funnily enough though, I wake feeling pretty refreshed and with a surprisingly uncrumpled face... although I did have a twitch in my eye for about a fortnight.

I look a lot better this time - last time my hair fell out and what was left looked like a bad wig. Also I never got that glowing thing. This time, my hair has sprouted dramatically (I haven't had it cut yet and it looks like hedge clippers may be required) and my skin looks great. Much better. I'm huge already though, so lord knows what size I'll be at the end.

Harry is cautiously excited, but a bit bewildered. When we showed him the scan picture, he thought it was him. He also insists that the baby is a girl. If either of us says it might be a baby brother, he says, "No! Baby sister!" He also thinks that if it *is* a baby sister, that will make Harry a "big sister". But he sings a lullaby to my tummy and he's very sweet with me, often suggesting I might like a little snooze. Or a "little snore".

All in all, things are good. I'm hoping that the middle three months will be enjoyable and energetic, before, in the final three months, I no longer sleep and am too massive to move. (At least it'll be winter and I can just curl up with a book...)

Oh, I'm also planning a home birth so if anyone has any experience/tips/advice, I'd love to hear from you (you can email rather than comment, if you prefer!). (I planned a home birth with Harry, but it didn't work out, so I'm trying to be open minded this time.)

Introducing...

... the newest member of Team Stainto!

Yes, as some of you already know (I'm terrible at keeping secrets!), I am in the family way.

We had the scan this morning. I am 13 weeks. Baby is due 6 January next year. He/she was very cute on the scan, waving its arms and legs about and turning to grin skullishly into the "camera".

More later...

Harry's birthday

Thanks for all your cards and messages. Harry was pretty much disinterested, I'm afraid, but me and David were very touched. :)

After preschool, we took Harry to the Lauren Child exhibition at the Manchester Art Gallery.

Harry loved it, but I think I loved it even more. There were little room set-ups for each of her books, including the Clarice Bean books and The Princess & the Pea, plus commentary by Lauren Child and even one of her sketchbooks. I think she's amazing.

 

   

Four years ago today...

... my gorgeous boy was born.

"And while some have called it the most meaningful experience of your life, to me it was something more akin to doing the splits on a crate of dynamite." - Lorelei Gilmore

Happy Birthday, baby.
I mean, Big Boy.

Team Stainto

Taken with the webcam on my new eee pc! (Or should that be "eee cheesy"?!)

Yes, I'm going on about my lovely son again...

This is my blog so please indulge me in a little bragging about my gorgeous boy (also, my sister is away, so if I write it here it saves me having to remember to tell her about it).

So yesterday, Harry had preschool in the morning. As we were leaving, his absolute favourite teacher - really, he adores her and she adores him - leaned down to speak to him and he stepped up and kissed her on the lips. I filled up and I'm pretty certain she did too. (Harry's come on so much at preschool recently that a couple of his teachers are worse than me for snivelling over him.)
Then, in the afternoon, I took him to Big School and left him there for the first time. He was a bit clingy to begin with (he's got into the habit of saying, "You come back for me?" which he got from Wonder Pets*, but which is still heartbreaking when he says it (even though he'll now say it even if I'm just going to the loo).

When I went to pick him up, he was absolutely fine, told me what he'd done and said he'd had fun, which is practically unheard of - Harry hates to admit he's enjoyed himself. If you ask him, he generally says a resounding "No!" and then, later, shyly, "I had lots of fun..."

So all day I'd been promising that, once we'd picked Daddy up from work, we'd go to Toys R Us and get Harry (yet another) engine. But when we got to David's work, it was practically a monsoon. "We're not going," David said. This struck me as pretty unfair since me and H had been talking about it all day, but still, the weather was terrible. So I said, "Harry - I'm really sorry, but we can't go to Toys R Us today after all. It's raining too hard."

"Put the wipers on?" said Harry

"We've got the wipers on, but it's raining so hard that it would be dangerous to drive there. I'm sorry. I know you're disappointed."

There was a short silence and then he said, in a small voice, "Thank you for telling me."

Mish.

* There's an episode of Wonder Pets in which a baby blowfish starts nursery and his mum sings, "Wherever you are, whatever you do, I'll always, always come back for you." Harry and I have changed it to "... I'll always, always come back for a poo ... I mean for you!" Boy, kids love toilet humour, eh?

Short attention span

The following conversation took place this morning:

Harry: Want to tell Daddy I love him so much.

Me: Well, we'd better ring him then.
[rings David and hands Harry the phone]

Harry: Hello? I paint the fish black!

Me: That wasn't what you wanted to tell him!

Harry: I put a spoon on my nose!

Me: Wasn't there something else you wanted to tell Daddy?

Harry: Nope!

Birthday weekend - in Harry's photos

Thanks so much for all the lovely birthday wishes. Harry documented the whole thing... (click pics to embiggen):

 

[From left to right]: Harry's feet; T is for Toast (when Harry saw this picture on the camera, he all but fell over laughing!); Buster; the Daewoo; flags on the Fort; Daddy and a grape; brunch at the Lowry (outlet mall, not 5* hotel); the Lowry; Harry's cousin Jake's cheesy grin.

Harry's obsessions

He's still obsessed with both flags and Yakko's World of Flags and he's also discovered the video on US state capitols. Honestly, if we lived in the US, he'd be way ahead when he starts school in September.

In the last couple of weeks, he's also added car badges to his roster and so now the journey to school is filled with: "What's that?" "A Rover." "What's that?" "Citroen." "What's that?" "A mini." "What's that?" "You know that one." "A Toyota!"

"Google it, a Toyota," he says and so we have to google image search every car badge Harry can think of. Truly, he got completely overexcited when David found this collection. (Photo taken by Harry from the computer screen.)

Plus for a while now, when he catches himself doing something cute he says, "Get it, the camera" or "Take it, a picture." (I don't know why he talks like this, but he does.) Yesterday, he finally worked out how to work the camera himself and now he has to take pictures of EVERYTHING.

Harry's world

I don't know why the clown appeared twice, but it took me ages to do this so I'm not doing it again.

From top left: The factory round the corner (he actually took a picture of the flags, but they didn't make it); Charlie & Lola postcard; the "pitou"; a wee, yesterday; Nick Jr ident; Emily engine; Cheerios; preschool; Buster; Mr Clown; Daddy's brew; Mr Clown again.

I'm was going to get him a kids digital camera for his birthday but a) they're £60!!!! and b) the reviews are terrible. Hmm.

Blame and shame

I've been thinking a lot about blame lately. Partly because David grew up being taught that everything was someone's fault. So if he knocked a glass of juice over, his mum would say, "What did you do that for?" (Um, a laugh?)

He has a tendency to do the same, but I'm gradually beating it out of him (only joking - I make him beat himself). The other day, Harry fell over and was howling in pain and shock. I was cuddling him and reassuring him when David's mum came in and said, to Harry, "Oh, you silly thing."

Now, I'm sure she thinks I'm a giant nellie and I *know* she thinks Harry is way too coddled (the other day she said something about Harry being too attached to his Middy. Really? Too attached? At age three? Yeah, probably about time I cut him loose...), but I think my job is to comfort and reassure, not to blame and criticise.

Of course, this doesn't work with blaming myself. I second-guess, question and agonise over every decision, however minimal. For example, Tuesday Harry got sent home from school because they thought he had sunstroke (he didn't; he was fine from the minute I "sprung" him). Yesterday Harry slept really late, plus we'd realised he was allergic to the suncream we'd been slathering him with and hadn't got round to getting anymore, plus I didn't feel very well and couldn't really face the bus journey and walk home. So I decided we'd take the day off.

And then I decided, no, we should go in. I thought about ringing other mums and arranging a suncream rendezvous. I thought about driving David to work so I would have the car, could drop Harry off, buy suncream, return to preschool, slather him up. I thought about getting David to go in late so he could take Harry and I could lie on the sofa with a damp cloth on my head. Of course, Harry slept through all of this and eventually I decided if he was still asleep at 8.15, he probably needed sleep more than he needed three hours of preschool.

Of course, as a backdrop to this, I was blaming myself that we hadn't noticed he was allergic to the suncream (we thought it was a heat rash) and kicking myself for not being organised enough to get more the night before, as planned. (Incidentally, I don't remember my parents ever putting suncream on me before school. Even in that sweltering summer of 76...)

As it turned out, Harry and I had a great day, culminating in his first poo on the potty (yes, he is nearly four, what of it?) so I felt justified in keeping him off. (After he tried to poo again this morning, he said, "That was 'tresting!"

This morning, as I was kissing Harry goodbye for the three hundredth time, one of the nursery nurses rushed past carrying my friend Karen's baby, William. Behind her was Karen, sobbing. As Karen passed me she said, "I dropped him. I dropped William."

As it turned out, William was not only fine, Karen hadn't dropped him at all - she'd tripped over some broken paving and had cut her arms, knee and hands protecting William. But her first instinct had been to blame herself.

You probably won't be surprised to hear I don't have any sort of conclusion - I just think it's 'tresting.

Perfect day (and it's not even 10!)

I am having such a lovely day. Before preschool Harry reached a new peak of cuteness, shouting to me from his bedroom, "Come here! I missing you!" (It wasn't true, he just wanted me to find his race cars for him, but it was still cute.

Then, waiting for the bus, we played with some blossom petals and then Harry said, kind of wistfully for a 3-year-old: "Petals on the breeze..." I said, "Petals on the breeze? What's that from?" and he said, "Goodnight Harry." David's favourite book. I know children have great memories, but I so so love that Harry's quoting from a book. And in context! (It also reminded me of the lines in Goodnight Harry that always make me laugh. Following the petals on the breeze, it says "They felt the dew of the night." Again, it doesn't work written down, but David always adds "already" and it gets me everytime.

Then I walked back from preschool via the park and it was just beautiful: blossom, bluebells, a Dalmation puppy (you don't see so many Dalmations anymore, do you? Bloody de Ville) and I listened to a Michael Neill podcast, which was just as funny and insightful as ever. Then I got home, settled down at the computer and watched this:

The thing is, the day's only going to get better because this afternoon, me and D are off to York for the night. Finally - finally! - celebrating my deal (and going to see Shaun Smith). Yay!

Harry's World of Flags

Harry is utterly obsessed with flags. And I mean obsessed. He has his flag poster and he also watches Yakko's World of Flags on YouTube over and over again. (That's David trying to sing it at the end, but it's not in alphabetical order, which is where he went wrong!)

"Checky-a-bucky" is Czech Republic. I'm glad we managed to capture him saying it since just a week or two later he can say it properly. Which is good, but not as cute.

Incidentally, we don't force him to learn these flags, he is constantly on at us to "test" him on his flag knowledge. He already knows more than me...

The sick note was premature

Harry woke up this morning full of beans (yes, full of snot too, but still) and so he's gone off to preschool cheerfully.

But will you allow me a small rant? Harry was being a little clingy and I said, "Come on, Harry. I've got lots of work to do this morning." And one of the nursery nurses said to Harry, "Come on. Mummy's got to go home and get on with her work. She's got to wash the dishes." I laughed and said, "No, not the dishes." So then she said, "Mummy's got all the ironing to do."

I resisted putting on my most pompous voice and saying, "In fact, I am a writer! I have writing to do!" but can you imagine her saying something like that to a dad dropping off his child?

We're going on a bed hunt...

Harry is a strange duck (at least, thanks to Wondertime, I know we're not alone!) He is and always has been very particular about routines. His bedtime now goes like this:

Watch Bear in the Big Blue House, Five Minutes More and then "shapes" (some funny little fluffy creatures who sing "Say goodnight and shut your eyes tight."

Get (toy dog) Buster and Costa coffee paper bag filled with "engines" (Thomas, Gordon and James, plus their tenders), which Harry calls his "Bag of bits and bobs" and go upstairs into our bedroom.

Read two or three stories in bed. Harry chooses the books, of course.

Go on a "bed hunt". This involves "Middy" singing "We're going on a bed hunt" and pretending to walk into Harry's bedroom door. Well, I say pretending, I actually have to bang my head on the door and say "ow". More than once.

Once in Harry's bedroom, we wait in the dark for the "bear".

Bear (Daddy) lumbers in growling and Harry screams, "It's a bear!" and gets into bed, saying, "We're not going on a bear hunt again..."

It's now Middy's turn to be the bear, this time in the "cave", i.e. I have to crawl under his duvet and bite Harry's feet.

Daddy may now leave, but Middy has to "Sing!" I actually really love this, particularly now since Harry sings too. A minimum of three songs is required. Some nights we sing Truly Scrumptious, but more often than not it's Thomas, or Five New Engines in the Shed or Troublesome Trucks. We usually finish up with the cuddle song from the Fimbles and then I am permitted to leave. (We've recently started singing Take Me Back to the Black Hills from Calamity Jane and I just love that, particularly when Harry joins in - usually on the "kiss the skies above" bit.)

If any one of these steps is missed, Harry complains. In fact, once he fell asleep in the car. He was snoring as David carried him up the stairs. David laid him down in bed and, as we sneaked out of the room, a little voice ordered, "Sing!"

It sounds like a lot of faff, I know, but I really love it. I used to get very bored of the whole bedtime routine, but I enjoy this one almost as much as Harry does. Which probably means it'll all change soon...

(This isn't an April Fool - we really do do all this!)

Er, thanks...

You know when you're working away and you're in a world of your own and then your lovely son comes up and he's saying something and holding something out to you and you're concentrating so you just say something like "That's nice" without actually listening or looking?

And then your lovely son keeps saying it so you have to pay attention and that's when you find he's saying, "Look! A chicken pox!" and holding out a tiny scab?

Yeah, I hate it when that happens.

Is there MSG in Thai food?

Cos I'm up at 2am!

I woke up with this mad buzzing feeling (it literally felt like a phone on vibrate in my pocket, but I didn't even have a pocket, let alone a phone) and then got the fluttering eyes sensation I usually associate with MSG (I want to close my eyes, but when I do they flicker and flutter and pop right back open again). I checked for the other reason I sometimes find myself up at stupid o'clock and it's not that and then I started thinking about the Sophie Lancaster murder and I just had to get up.

Then there's also the fact that I guess if a toddler coughs directly in your face enough, you might end up catching that cough yourself.*

So the final Sex and the City is on, I've made myself a cup of herbal tea and here we are.

How've you been?

I also managed to buy a new keyboard and it's blissful. Of course, it's a Microsoft keyboard that works perfectly (except I can't cut and paste) and cost just £20. If I'd bought this when my Apple keyboard broke (instead of assuming that I needed an Apple keyboard) then my Alphie would still be alive. Poor Alphie. I loved you. But I feel like I'm going to love your replacement (soon, my pretty...) even more.

* I took Harry to the docs yesterday - did I mention he's burst a blood vessel in his eye with the coughing? - it's pox related, but there's no infection so he's just on a couple of meds which seem to be making him sleep, sleep, sleep. So given the first chance for a full night's sleep in over a week ... here I am. Sigh.

Chicken or small?

Harry's got the pox. Chicken pox. We knew it was coming since the first case at preschool was before half term (i.e. weeks ago), but he seemed to be holding out.

Yesterday I noticed three tiny red pimples on his face. I took him in to school and asked what they thought and they said they didn't look like pox, so he stayed. When I picked him up, they pointed out another one on the back of his neck. Last night in bed he was scratching away at his head and his ear.

This morning there's one more on his neck and one in his hair, but the three on his face are gone. So he's got three, um, poks*. Three's enough. This epidemic began with just three poks - the mum of the little girl who was first down admitted to me that they'd taken her in to preschool even though they knew about the pox because her husband said he couldn't cope with looking after two kids. For one morning. Sigh.

He's fine in himself, a little whingy, but mostly fine. And I'm glad he's getting it out of the way. Of course it will be his first "proper" illness so I might wig out a bit. (I already have - I've just eaten a Toblerone for breakfast. Chocolate - the first resort of the neurotic...)

*surely the singular? Like "Twik" and "Weetabik" (both coined by my nephew, Toby).

 

Anyway, it's not all doom because it gives me a chance to quote my favourite ever Friends episode, from which the title of this post comes.

RYAN (played, brilliantly, by Charlie Sheen): Hey baby, I'm back... [Phoebe is sitting by the window in a veil.]

PHOEBE: Hey Ryan, what's up?

RYAN: What's goin' on?

PHOEBE: Well, no no, you have to stay back. I, I have the pox.

RYAN: Chicken or small?

PHOEBE: Chicken. Which is so ironic considering I'm a vegetarian.

RYAN: Why aren't you at home in bed?

PHOEBE: 'Cause my, my grandmother's never had chicken pox. Please, please tell me you have, 'cause oh my God, I forgot how cute you are.

RYAN: I'm sorry, I never had 'em.

PHOEBE: Ohh, ohh.

RYAN: If I had one wish, it would be to build a time machine, go back to when I was 7, when Jimmy Hauser had the chicken pox. I would grab that kid and rub him all over my face.

PHOEBE: Yeah, or you know, you could just wish that I didn't have them now.

RYAN: Can I please see your face?

PHOEBE: Nope. You don't want to see a face covered with pox.

RYAN: Your face could be covered with lox, I wouldn't care.

PHOEBE: And you hate fish. Oh. That's so sweet, alright. Ok, alright, you can see. This is me... [she unveils herself right as a huge lightning bolt crashes outside. Ryan screams in terror.] Oh, I am scary!

RYAN: Sorry, the lightning. Lightning was an unfortunate coincidence. You look lovely, lovely.

PHOEBE: I hate this. 'Cause I tell you, I had the most amazing two weeks planned for us, and almost everything I had in mind, we had to be a lot closer than this.

RYAN: Phoebe, I have spent the last eight months in a steel tube with men, thinking about this moment. I am not gonna let a bunch of itchy spots stand between us. [He walks to her and kisses her.]

PHOEBE: Ok, this is the most romantic disease I've ever had.

[Source]

Gaygle

Harry keeps changing my Google homepage header to this:

Do you think that means he's gay? ;)

Why?

Harry's just sat down next to me and, apropos of nothing, said, "Kiss this foot? Yeah. Okay." And then he kissed my foot. And returned to playing with his trains.

It's half term...

... so posting will be erratic (I've set some stuff on timer, cos you know I can't leave you hangin').

I'm actually surprised by how much I'm looking forward to a week with Harry. Makes me feel sad for September when he's off to school. I'll be so lonely... (don't say it!).

But this week's not going to be all fun and games, oh no. On Tuesday, a friend who's training to be an ... er ... electrolysiser (that's the word, surely?), is going to, er, electrolysise me. Armpits, legs, the hag whisker on my lip, it's all going. Fingers crossed. And then, when I get back from that, I'm off to the doctors to have that thing done that women have to have done every three years. And that ain't fun.

Oh and I'm reminded because Rachel's just got her in-line skates out on Friends, that I finally went out on my in-line skates today. Remember? The ones I bought at the car boot sale so very many moons ago? Well, I've skated up and down the hall in them, but I was afraid to go out on my own in case I fell, broke something, and was left floundering like a turtle until someone came to my rescue.

So off I went down the road with David and Harry holding my hands. As David said, he probably looked like my carer. It was hard work. And exhausting. But really funny. "Are we having fun?!" Harry shouted halfway home. And we were. But there's no way in hell I'm going out in those things on my own.

Harry cards

The "thank you for my Christmas present" cards I made this year (and actually managed to get out before the end of January).

Unfortunately, the scanner was broken upstairs and I am lazy, so I had to take photos, which doesn't show them very well. If you point at them you can see them in full. The "spaceman" is my favourite.

And, yes, I do take commissions :)

 

Cool Britannia

Harry's very interested in the flags on top of the factory around the corner from us. One is the Union Jack and the other is the German flag.

This is Harry in the car yesterday, saying "Britain" and "Gernamy" [sic] and, for some unknown reason, combining them with the Goodbye song from Bear in the Big Blue House - "The moon, the flag, and the big blue Britain."

His dad also seems to have taught him to say "Britain, cool." I suppose it could have been worse...

Argh!

Does anyone have any tips for getting a kid to stop hitting?

Harry's just started doing it (I'm blaming preschool) and it's fast become his favourite hobby.

I've tried a time out - he cries for about 10 seconds then wanders off and amuses himself elsewhere ... soon as he's back in the first thing he does is hit me again.

I've tried smacking him back - much as I hate doing it and the message it sends (I can't really tell him not to hit me and then hit him, can I?), but again, he cries, gives me his hand to kiss better and then belts me.

I've tried putting him in his room. He must have been in there at least six times today, for longer and longer periods. Same again. Goes in quite happily, plays, I let him out, he hits me.

I've even taken stuff off him - earlier today he used Buster (the toy dog) to hit me so now Buster's been confiscated.

And, yes, David and I have both given him numerous talkings-to and explained that it hurts us, makes us sad, etc.

Nothing seems to work.

And I'm at the end of my rope.

About ten minutes ago, he gave me a huge cuddle and then held my face in his hands and said, very seriously, "I wuv you" - the first time he's ever said it. I got a bit tearful, cuddled him some more, pulled back to tell him I love him too and he smacked my glasses right off my face.

You know how I want to finish my novel by the end of this week?

On the way home from Morecambe yesterday (we had fish and chips, sitting in the car, staring out to sea ... heh), Harry, who'd been on great form all day, suddenly said his ear was sore. He fell asleep for a little while, but then woke up very grumpy.

We put him in bed, but he kept waking up, boiling hot and complaining about his ear. He's never had an ear infection before, but that sodding cough's been back for the past week or so, so I thought an ear infection was possible.

Last night he slept with me, boiling hot and waking frequently to complain about his ears, ask me to sing Truly Scrumptious to his toy dog, and to recite the alphabet (poor kid should give himself a break - the SATs are years off!).

Today, of course, I kept him off school, but he was incredibly delicate and I couldn't get near the computer (he was too ill to even yell his favourite new saying, which, yes, he's learned from me: "But I just said NO!") because he was watching DVDs and whimpering about his ears, eyes and nose. (So horrible when he was saying, "Kiss it a-better" and offering me his ears. I could kiss them, but I couldn't make them better, poor lamb.)

We took him up to the pharmacist this afternoon and finally managed to get both Calpol and cough med down him and by bedtime he'd perked right up, but today was a write-off.

That stupid kid

Yesterday I took Harry to his soft play place of choice and off he went to play while I read The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl (fabulous) with a cup of tea.

After a while Harry appeared accompanied by a bigger boy with a mullet. Seriously. A mullet.

"Come on, Boo!" said MulletBoy as Harry started eating his biscuits (they come with the entrance fee).

"I'm 4," said MulletBoy, "But I'm big."

I asked him his name, but I couldn't work out his reply. I said, "This is Harry."

"Harry?" said MulletBoy. "He told me he was called Boo!"

"Boo," said Harry, smiling at me.

"Have you been playing together?" I asked.

"Yeah. I've been playing with Harry," said MulletBoy. "Not with that stupid kid in the green t-shirt." He turned and frowned at the kid in the green shirt. I half-hoped he'd shake his fist in his direction, but no. "He's a stupid kid," he said again.

Makes me laugh every time I think about it.

Harry update

Harry's new favourite phrase (apart from "Middy!") seems to be "Look at me!" although it sounds more like "Look-a me!" He says it when he's doing something he wants me to look at (unsurprisingly), but he also says it to get me to tear myself away from the computer (the shame).

They're learning about rockets and the solar system at preschool (!) so it's all "10, 9, 8 ... 3, 2, 1 BLAST OFF!" Then he says "Up in-a sky! To the planets!" Planets? What does a 3-year-old know about planets? Mind-boggling.

He's rather concerned at where all the Christmas decorations have gone (not ours, our tree is still there, waiting for me to ring the council...). There was a massive snowman at the end of the road and every time we drive past he says, "Snowman gone! What we gonna do now?!"

David's away and Harry's definitely missing him. This morning he said, "Daddy still a-work." I said, "Yes, he is." And then he said, "It's okay. Middy here." Sniff. But then he cried when I tried to leave him at preschool for the first time in months (he cried for the first time in months, I wasn't leaving him for the first time in months).

Oh and his other new favourite thing to do is to pretend he's going to kiss me and then lick my face instead. He likes it when I go, "Bleurgh!" and I don't even have to act. It's revolting.

Oh and can I just add that I've just watched a preview DVD of Relocation, Relocation to review for TV Scoop. How cool am I?!

Christmas Part I: um, Christmas

Yep, Christmas was in three parts this year! (Actually, probably more than three parts, but I'm combining so as not to bore you all *too* much...)

We actually celebrated Christmas the weekend before because David's brother and his wife came down from Scotland. We had Christmas lunch, lovely presents were exchanged and drink was taken (but not too much, surprisingly).

On Christmas Eve, we decided to take Harry to church. I know! Since the Nativity, he's been saying, "Church again?" and "More church?" and David's parents thought he might like the Blessing of the Crib, since it's a short service aimed at children. And I know what you're thinking. Yes, I'm an atheist. But Harry's not. And, as Stephanie Merritt wrote in the Observer at the weekend (pretty much perfectly articulating my feelings on the subject), "Christmas does become naff without the God bit."

So off to church we went. And I actually enjoyed it. In fact, I had what I suppose you could call an epiphany. No, not a religious one. But standing there, singing hymns, I decided to let go of my bitterness at being taught religion as fact rather than belief and instead to accept it as a good story. I mean, I write and read fiction for a living (okay, I read it for a living - but fingers crossed for 2008!), why can't I just enjoy it for what I believe it to be and let others enjoy it for what they believe it to be?

(Of course, if Harry asks a teacher where rainbows come from and that teacher answers "God makes them" as happened to another child of my acquaintance, my stance on the subject may well revert.)

Anyway, Harry wasn't too taken with the service, mainly because he doesn't like other people singing. He's always singing himself. In fact earlier this week he woke up singing Blockbuster by The Sweet. Seriously. David taught him it. Our alarm was Harry peeping out, "We just haven't got a clue WHAT to do!" But everyone singing hymns in church? He kept whimpering and putting his hands over my mouth. Eventually, I won him round by draping my beads around his neck and dancing with him. I bet we looked a picture.

It was pretty funny too since when we sang We Three Kings, the congregation kept coming in before the organist (I say organist, the music was actually on a laptop. A laptop!) so each chorus went, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ... star of wonder, star of night." Yep, me and Harry dancing and me and David sniggering. We weren't very churchy...

Christmas Day we were back at David's parents. This time for a curry cooked by David. Boxing Day we went to my family's annual party and ate and drank more than was sensible (but not as much as two years ago when I went to the pub with my little cousins - now in their twenties - and got so hammered I walked home carrying my boots, crying because it was far and trying to get David to carry me. I then, when we got back to the house, woke up an 18 month old Harry and passed out, leaving David to spent the next five or so hours trying to get H back to sleep. Oh and I spent the next day throwing up...

[The first two photos were taken on the Santa train, which was fantastic. I don't know where Harry gets that cheesy grin from, do you?]

Harry sings The 12 Days of Christmas

It's not a very clear picture, but the sound's great...



In case you can't understand him (and generally me and David are the only ones who can) then at the beginning he says, "No! I sing!" in response to me trying to take his pajama bottoms off him. He needed them for his interpretive dance moves, you see. It then goes "Five golden things, four storybooks, three topknots, two fluffy birds and a Rocket in a humdinger tree."

Oh yes, of course

So when you've only got one morning left to get all your work done and you haven't even started writing your Christmas cards yet, it's inevitable that the kid'll get sick and have to stay home from preschool, isn't it?

Poor Harry's cough is getting worse, plus - remember when I did that story for Practical Parenting that mentioned "eye infections caused by snotty little fingers" and asked if that was a real thing? - well it is a real thing. Cos Harry's gone and got one. Yuck.

Last night he was so hot and his breathing so shallow that I didn't think I'd be able to sleep for worrying, so I put him in bed with me instead (and David got in Harry's bed). That was a mistake. Between the coughing, the tucking of the toes into my crotch (why must he always tuck his toes there? Why?), the 4am chorus of The 12 Days of Christmas (Fimbles version - see video tomorrow) and a request to go "upstairs" (he gets upstairs and downstairs mixed up), the patting of my face and stroking of my hair (which was very sweet, but not when I was so, so tired), I had an appalling night's sleep and I don't think Harry's was much better. We slept in until 8am though.

Looks like he'll be missing his preschool Chrismas party. Pah.

Sent from my Blackberry Wireless Handheld Lounge

So a couple of weeks ago I brought my (very heavy) computer downstairs and found it much easier to write my novel without the distraction of the internet.

This morning I brought it down again and planned to leave it down all weekend. Got a chunk of writing (okay, rearranging) done this morning and within a couple of hours (okay, minutes), started having internet withdrawal. I didn't want to cart the computer back upstairs just to check my stupid emails, but then I had a thought...

Where was the internet connection coming from? Yes, it was in my office, but where did that wire actually go? I followed it to the connecting thing in the wall and wondered if I could just connect downstairs. I pulled up all the wiring, brought it downstairs and tried to plug it into the phone socket. It didn't fit. I took it all back upstairs again.

Then I realised that the connection upstairs was an extension and the wire actually ran down the stairs. To what? And where? I couldn't remember. I wandered around the lounge a bit, scratching my head and then remembered... It's connected to the sodding cable box, isn't it. Obviously!

So then it was just the small matter of getting the wire, pulling out the telly, changing the connection, bringing the computer into the living room from the front room, restarting everything... And here I am!

Of course, the first thing Harry did was bring me a DVD to play on the computer. Despite the fact that he's already watching a DVD on the TV. If he really thinks he's going to watch two at once, he's got another think coming. (He's sitting next to me now, mouth hanging open in front of the Tweenies Christmas while clutching Baby Shakespeare hopefully.) (He's just said, "Baby d'Einstein? No, not the TV. The 'puter!")

Oh and I only had one interesting email. And 12 boring ones.

(But it will actually be useful for getting ahead on some work over the weekend - I realised this morning that I've only got one morning to work next week and then it's the Christmas holidays!) (Also for finally finishing watching those Rescue Me DVDs that won't play on the TV.)

Things That Make Me Happy No. 6: Harry (obviously)

Yesterday morning was Harry's first Nativity service and I ... didn't cry. I know! To be fair, I couldn't see him for most of it. We tried to keep our heads down because we thought if he saw us, he'd want to come and sit with us. He was a shepherd and he was very cute, if a little bewildered...

Since then he's been saying, "Back to church? More church?" and I've been saying, "Not til next Christmas, mate!" :)

He is being particularly cute at the moment...

Yesterday, he was watching an alphabet thing and it got to W. "What begins with W?" I asked. "Wocket!" said H. Do you think he's a genius?

This morning, he stubbed his toe. I lifted his foot up, kissed all his toes and said, "There. That's better." About 20 minutes later he stubbed his toe again. Lifted his own foot up, kissed all his toes and said, "There. Tha' better."

In WH Smiths yesterday he wanted me to lift him up to look at a "cave". (It was actually a hole in the countertop.) Once I lifted him up, he leaned over and shouted into it, "Anybody there?"

The other day when I was lying on the sofa feeling sorry for myself, Harry brought me a cushion and my book.

He is, quite literally, a total joy.

And, as you all believed I would, I've started to think another child might not be an utterly heinous nightmare. Don't get excited, the idea still doesn't fill me with bliss, but it doesn't want to make me throw up or cry either (and yet the thought of giving birth again still does).

David's cautiously excited and the other night I was looking through the Ikea catalogue (one of the other Things That Make Me Happy) and there was a picture of four kids jumping on a sofa. Holding it up, I said to David (sarcastically), "Hey, why don't we have four kids?" and he, snuggling up against me, said, "I did always imagine us with three." "Oh for god's sake," I said. But the thing is, I always imagined us with three too.

Pray for me.

The joys of motherhood

This afternoon I went to pick Harry up from preschool. He ran up to me, smiling, and grabbed my hands.

Then, holding them out in front of his face, he threw up in them.

In case you're interested, it turned out to be some sort of organic crisp and apple skin combination and not actual vomit, but frankly that was little comfort...

Typical (and Elmo's World)

My photo software is playing up so I can't post any pics today. Sorry.

I promise faithfully I will tell you all about my trip tomorrow, pics or no pics (but there'd better be pics).

This morning Harry took his Elmo book (about potty training) to preschool and when I picked him up he said, "Where d'it go, the Elmo's World?" and it transpired it had been put away with all the other crap toys.

Later, in the park, I was talking to another mum about the Elmo obsession and Harry piped in with, "Tidy up time. Oh no! Where d'it go, the Elmo's World?"

So. Cute.

How can I...

... bear to leaf him. Ha ha!

Okay, a plan is in place. It involves cake, a Night Garden magazine and me hanging out and chatting in the car...

... and then, once Harry's gone, weeping and caterwauling in the shower, followed by frenetic packing and organisation.

He seems cool with things, actually. He's probably thinking I've been talking about it for so long, why don't I just go already.

So I'm going! Bye! Be good while I'm away. :)

Bye bye, baby

No, not me. Not just yet, anyway.

No, Harry definitely knows I'm going to disappear at some point. He just has no grasp of when.

When he wakes up in the morning, he calls, "Middy" and then, in panic, "MIDDY?!" as if he thinks I'll have snuck off during the night.

At preschool yesterday, he couldn't stop hugging me and I was only permitted to leave when he was firmly installed on his favourite toy.

Last night we ate dinner with one of his legs hanging over one of mine.

It's all very sad. Of course, when I mentioned going away again, he yelled "ELMO'S WORLD" loud enough to bust an eardrum, so it's not all bad news.

What we need to decide now is whether it's best for him to be taken away from me (i.e. I stay at home and Daddy takes him to Grandma's) or for me to leave him (we both take him to Grandma's and then I go home). Any idea?

Harry lives in Elmo's World

Conversation with Harry as we lay together on the sofa this morning:

Me: So do you remember that next week I'm going away? On holiday? Without Harry?
H: Look! Boats! [On Balamory]
Me: Yes, boats. So you'll be here with Daddy and you'll have lots of fun, but Middy won't be here. Middy will be away. On holiday. In America. Without Harry.
H: Beebies?
Me: [Switches over to Beebies] And you'll miss me and I'll miss you very much, but then on Tuesday - so I'm away Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday - but then on Tuesday, you'll come with Daddy to the airport and I'll be so happy to see you and I'll give you lots of kisses and lots of Elmo presents.
H: Elmo's World!
Me: Yes. So is that okay?
H: Elmo's World!!
Me: Yes. Elmo's world. Is that okay?
H: Elmo's World!!!
Me: [Laughing] Is that okay?
H: Elmo's World!!!!
Me: [Laughing] Is that okay?
H: Elmo's World!!!!!
Me: [Laughing] IS THAT OKAY?
H: Yeah.
Me: So will you miss me?
H: Elmo's World!
Me: WILL YOU MISS ME?
H: No.

Takes after his father, that kid.

Harry's mug shot

I mean, school photo.

We won't be spending £8.00 on a 10 x 8...

My favourite middy moment

Last night, after I put Harry in bed and sang him a selection of requested songs (In the Night Garden theme, Peppa Pig theme, Pingu theme, Postman Pat theme ... do you sense a theme?), I said, as I always do, "Night night, sweet pea. Love you."

And Harry said, "Love oo."

I said, "Pardon? Did you just say 'Love you'?"

And Harry said, "Love oo."

And I had a little cry.

This week's dancing reviews...

... can be found here (Dancing With the Stars) and here (Strictly Come Dancing). My favourite dance from both shows was, I think, Mel B's jive (although there were so many great dances it would be hard to pick just one), but my favourite dancing overall (dancing overall?) was Harry's.

He became frenzied from the opening titles of the Strictly results show and by the end of the 45 minutes we were both exhausted. We rumba'd (pointing our toes, stretching our arms, even doing back bends), we quickstepped (running and hopping up and down the room, holding hands) and I took a breather and filmed him for your viewing pleasure.