Jenerally Speaking,

A letter to my children in 2040

Dear Master R and Miss O, 

I'm sorry. If you're still alive and well now, you're 27 and 25. Are things bad? I'm afraid, with the way things are going right now, they're very likely to be. 

I'm sorry, because right now, as I type this in 2020, I know. And I have known for some while. Back in 1995 I learnt about pollution and climate change in my Year 6 geography lessons. Lots of us did. I was frightened. Really, truly frightened. But I didn't know what to do. I was just 10. What could I do? 

Now and then, as I was growing up, I would remember that the planet was dying. No, not dying. Being murdered. Being deliberately murdered by a small group of people in order for them to become enormously rich. I'd remember and it would land on my shoulders like a mountain. I would feel depressed and hopeless and couldn't see the point of anything. But then I'd push it to the back of my mind again so I could carry on living. Most of us did.

What were your teenage years like? Was it hot? I imagine it was. The last couple of summers have involved heat waves which have pushed us from the garden to the lounge, to stand in the slightly cooler house, moving as little as possible and still sweating and uncomfortable.

How were the storms? They've started blowing with more energy recently. Our back door has been broken by a gust of wind. My car has needed repairing after I drove over a huge branch which had been blown down by Storm Dennis. The fences are going to need repairing again. I know that's nothing compared to what other people are facing. Floods have submerged homes and cars alike. And that's just in the Global North. 

How's Australia this year? We watched in horror as it burnt this year. The Amazon is on fire too. Even the Arctic Circle has experienced fires. Are koalas extinct yet? Do you remember koalas? 

Today, Master R, you did your homework. You've been learning about Ernest Shackleton, so your challenge was to design your own animal evolved to survive in polar habitats. You created a Snowtropolis; a bird with webbed feet and a hooked beak. Apparently it eats Arctic hares, can live on sea and land and is about the size of an Arctic Fox. We managed to talk you out of letting it breathe fire. Your creativity knows no bounds!

Is there anywhere left that your Snowtropolis could live? Are there polar bears? They're clinging on by a thread at the moment. I don't think they have long left. The ice is melting faster than even the most pessimistic predictions. Feedback loops are speeding it up. 

Are you hungry? I'm sorry if you are. I'm debating whether we should start stock piling food, but we can't stockpile food for the rest of our lives. And anyway, it wouldn't be fair. Other people can't do that. People in Global South are already suffering from famines. I keep trying to warn people here that famines are coming for us soon. These heatwaves are eventually going to cause the wheat crops to fail. And by eventually, I mean fairly soon. But folk look at me like I'm bonkers. Or look concerned, but then push that scary thought away so they can get on with their week. I don't blame them. It's terrifying. 

I'm also wondering if we should move to a house with a bigger garden, so we can grow fruit and veg in our own garden, rather than having it at the allotment. I love the allotment, but when the food shortages comes, as scientists say they will, we won't be able to protect our crops there. They'll be stolen before we're able to harvest them. 

Are people stealing? Is society surviving thus far? Are people managing to go to work and be civil to one another or is it all falling apart? I lie in bed and wonder how we'll cope. I wonder what will get us; the hunger, or the civil unrest... or some almighty storm, blowing down the house. I wondered the other night, as Storm Ciara whistled round the rooftop, whether we should build an Anderson shelter in the garden. The hobbit hole is going mouldy again. Maybe we should just replace it with something more practical. 

I'm so worried for your future. I am fighting for it, I promise. I've spent too long feeling the despair and grief, but not doing anything. Now I will fight. As much as I can fit it in around raising you and studying. I do wonder if it's worth spending three years studying to be a midwife. How long will I get to practice before the NHS crumbles under the weight of either the conservative government or climate and ecological collapse? Would it be wiser to just spend the next three years working for Extinction Rebellion full time? In 2040, if I'm still alive, will I regret that choice? 

Will it be enough? Are we doing enough? We are trying. I'm sorry if it hasn't been enough. I hope that now, things aren't as black as they are currently on track to be. I hope that Boris Johnson and Donald Trump have been consigned to the history books alongside such names as Adolph Hitler, as crazy nutters who somehow conned people into voting for them. I hope your leaders are forward-thinking people like Greta Thunberg and Jacinda Ardern. I hope countries have started working together, caring for one another rather than becoming increasingly isolated and suspicious. I hope people woke up in time and started living in a truly sustainable fashion.

Talking of fashion, is that over? Please tell me people aren't still making money from arbitrarily choosing "looks" that are key for a given year or season, and persuading other people to pay money for this fast fashion. Please tell me that clothes are made sustainably, patched up and re-purposed when damaged and then recycled in a circular system. And GDPR. Is that over? Do we measure our countries success based on how much carbon is being absorbed and how happy people are? 

At the moment, it's all hanging in the balance. I'm trying. We're trying. We're shouting at the top of our lungs that we need to CHANGE NOW. If we failed, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry that you won't have the chance to live in peace. I'm sorry you're hungry. I'm sorry you're scared. You may not even get to live as long as me. I imagine you probably won't have children. How could you bring them into a chaotic, collapsing world? I don't regret having you. I never could. But I am sorry for what you're likely to go through. I will fight for you. 

With all my love, rage and hope, 

Mama

On my Camera

I like to photograph you while you play. Firstly, it's a challenge to try to capture your fast, excited movements without ending up with blurry photos. I've been playing around creating my own custom settings to try to cope with this winter light (although I am considering a camera purchase in the not-too-distant future, so I can have a higher/bigger aperture). It's an improvement... but still a challenge.

Secondly, and far more importantly, because you change so fast. Only a few weeks ago I was photographing 1 year old Master R as he crawled and cruised around this lounge. Capturing his dimples, his cheeky smile and his laid back play. Days ago I was photographing newborn Miss O, snuggled on a crocheted blanket, pink and new.

But I must be mistaken, because here you are. My six-year-old. My dude with classes, floppy hair and only one front tooth, owing, not to your age, but to a disagreement you had with a bench at school. Oh the blood. Oh the hugely swollen lip. That trip to see the dentist so she could numb your gum with a bit of gel and wiggle that totally misplaced tooth out. Thank goodness the tooth fairy paid you double, for such a traumatic first loss. You'll be gappy a long while, I imagine. Your bottom teeth aren't even wobbly yet, so that adult tooth is going to take some time about growing through.

And this newborn baby of mine... she's quite old enough to invent games with you. She contributes her ideas readily, eagerly and passionately. Not such a newborn, I guess.

What I love to see is how differently you react to the world, but how beautifully your personalities work together. You're not polar opposites, but you are very different. Master R, you are the idea generator, when you're together. You invent the worlds in which you play, giving them names, meaning and rules. Miss O is happy to join you in those worlds, but she brings her own ideas with her, challenging you if you disagree and often declaring "Then I'm not PLAYING with you!!" when you try to refuse her suggestions. When you dig your heels in, she's quite likely to lash out physically, her negotiating skills tapped out. Then you come crying to me in indignation and sadness, and I have to play the peacemaker. Other times you collaborate with cheerful flexibility and I can smile as I listen from another room. Your loving compromises make my heart happy.

"Ok, O___, why don't we do this..."

"Yes, R____, what I good ide-yah!" (Because enthusiasm makes the word idea a whole syllable longer)

We had some flour out the other day, and the Chinese number kanji. I was dragged unwilling from my bed to come and "help" because you, Master R, were crying that you couldn't spread the flour out evenly to draw in it with the paintbrush. I'll be honest, drawing in any kind of powder or similar substance always looks great on Pinterest, but it's never really worked for us. You were frustrated that you couldn't get it to do what you want. We had a good go, and I think you were comforted by the fact that I couldn't get a clearer figure in it that you could. We preferred copying the kanji on paper with crayons. You could work out the numbers, first because 1, 2 and 3 are obvious, then because you realised I'd put them out in number order. We looked at the kanji for the animals in the Zodiac story, as you've been inspired by learning about that at school. You tried the Ox kanji but declared the rest "too hard". Your letter and number formation has improve a lot, but there are still some numbers you reverse, or letters to start at the bottom. You have to work to learn how to write those symbols, so I can see why a complex kanji was unappealing. Visual patterns aren't an area of strength for you. Jigsaws baffled you for a long time.

Miss O, you ignored the invitation to draw and instead painted yourself with flour. Why the heck not? The invitation to enjoy sensory play was right there. You love writing your name and doing pages of pretend writing, but on your own terms. Your fine motor skills are pretty advanced, and you're a natural visual learner. You had jigsaws nailed young. You just "see" where the pieces belong. Although you do still try to put edge pieces in the middle! You love to craft in the afternoons before we collect your big brother from school. Crafting and physical play; they're your go-to activities.

And freestyle imaginative games. You were pleased that the toilet roll order had arrived today and helped to open it. You demanded I tip it out and then you threw yourself bodily into the pile of 48 super-size rolls of Who Gives A Crap paper and tried to swim through it. Then you rang your "bell" and told me that when you rang it, I had to comply with various instructions. (Can I just mention what a hideous noise it makes when you bang those two pan lids together? It goes right through me and Master R, but you don't seem to mind, for all that you're highly sensitive about so many other things!)

We played for about half an hour with the toilet rolls. We build a staircase, a beach, filled a bath, made a bed... and you kept coming up with new ideas all the time and telling me what to do. "Pretend you saw me make you a lovely shiny bath." "Pretend you made a cot for me." "Pretend you saw a sad, lonely puppy on the beach." One-to-one, you are the boss of the games, and you love not having to compromise.You play your role earnestly... a sad puppy, a helpless baby, a baby pirate. You like to choose the baby role for yourself whether you're playing just with me, or with Master R. You like to be cared for and pandered. But then sometimes, you let him be the baby and you take care of his so thoughtfully.

You're so full of energy and zest. Whatever you do, you do it with passion. It amused your nursery teacher, earlier this week, to spot you tearing round the playground before school, chasing the older children with absolute confidence. Compared with the slightly hesitant, quiet child she sees in her classroom, the contrast surprised her. We chatted, and I suggested that it was a sort of bravado. That when you are in role, or performing, you feel confident and able to be loud, be brave, be sociable. You know how to play with children your brother's age... you've been doing it all your life as you found your age-peers to be not as interesting or advanced. But in the classroom full of children your own age, you're not sure of your role. You hang back to watch what the others do, so you can learn how to be in this new environment. I don't think your confidence in the playground is false... it's just a different social situation.

Oh Master R, you were so rightly proud of this stethoscope you created from Squigz. You got it absolutely spot on. And when I told you it was great, you agreed. No false modesty there. If you agree you've done something well, you agree, which I LOVE. We've tried to raise you to be proud of the hard work you put in, and it seems to be paying off. You told me today; "I was born to be a ninja," which is a bit fixed mindset, to be honest, so I said it was great you were working so hard in karate on your ninja skills. You agreed, but said: "Yes, but I had ninja skills even before I started." It's true. You've been doing amusing break-dancing/marshal-arts moves for several years now. That's why we enrolled you in dance and karate lessons... to see if we can separate the two skills!

Yes, you are each unique. You have different interests, ideas, favourites (except for that blasted pink bowl, which you have to argue and negotiate about every day), areas of skill and emotional temperaments.
And  what a great team you make. You go together like chips and mayonnaise.

Utterly different, but utterly complementary.

P.S. About the pink bowl though, arguments about which often result in both children sobbing with fury because, obviously, it is FAR SUPERIOR to every other bowl of identical size, material and strength. Miss O had a brilliant idea today. "Yesterday (she meant tomorrow) R and I can BOTH have the pink bowl. We can put the cereal in and we can have two spoons. Then a spoon for me, a spoon for R! We can SHARE!" She told me about this plan on the way home from nursery, then repeated it to Rachel later. Let's hope Master R is up for sharing his breakfast tomorrow!!

Today

Today it was just Miss O and I, pretty much all day long. After we'd dropped Master R off at school, we returned home for some hide-and-seek. This is a current daily necessity, and always quite easy, as she has a handful of traditional hiding spots. Beside the sofa, under the poof, inside the blanket box, behind the IKEA chair, or in the cupboard under the stairs. She threw us all a couple of weeks ago by discovering that she could squeeze behind the guitar next to my bedside table. We couldn't find her for minutes!

I put on a load of laundry (she helped me choose dark items to go in) and then we grabbed our swimbag and two packets of crisps (traditional post-swim snack since the days I needed Master R to eat something noisy so I could hear that he was still alive in the back, on dark winter afternoons) and headed out. It's quite a drive out across the Suffolk countryside to get to our pool. Nice views though, except for the agricultural fields being systematically ploughed up to make way for industrial units. Miss O allowed me to have the radio on for half the journey, which was a treat, then requested Moana, which I really enjoy anyway. There was a bit of an incident when she was asking me an obscure, confusing question during the Voyagers song, so I missed all the best bits and had to re-start the track so I could fully enjoy singing loudly in some Polynesian dialect. But it was a nice trip.

Swimming itself was fab. It usually is. Miss O is a born swimmer. She's just always loved it. Always. A few months ago, at just about 3, she earned her 5 metre independent swimming badge. It was just after our holiday in France, actually. Because we said she couldn't swim as far as Master R until she learnt to lift her head out to breathe. So she did it. She's like a fish/dolphin/mermaid in the water. Totally confident and at ease. 

"Hold my hand Mummy!" she demanded as the lesson before us finished up, so eager was she to climb down the steps into the none-too-warm water. Once she splashed in, as always, there were a couple of minutes of maniacal splashing and giggling. We were focussing on breathing correctly, then learning backstroke arms, then practising breaststroke arms to emphasise that some strokes require alternating arm movements, and other synchronised. It's getting quite technical, with lots of instructions to listen to and modelling to watch. She ACED it. She does need frequent reminders to keep her head above water in order to see and hear instructions, but she's so confident in the water than she imitates the teacher's movements with relative ease. She loved it, and I loved it. I'm really going to miss swimming with her when she graduates up to independent lessons in September. WaterBabies has been such a solid part of my week for the last 6 years non stop.

We munched our crisps on the way home and stopped to collect some bags of horse manure from a house in a village we pass by, as we often do. This week there were plenty, so I put 4 bags in the boot and then, at Miss O's request, one in front of her seat and one in front of Master R's emtpy seat. Cue giggly declarations that it was stinky!

Lunch was re-heated shepherd's pie from the freezer... the last one of that batch. We need to do a batch cook again because these are a fantastic lunch for us two. Since Master R and Rachel abhore mashed potato, we hardly ever get it, and we LOVE mash. So we've been relishing having quick and easy hot lunches with mashed potato. While it was heating up, Miss O had me read a lovely book about Frida Kahlo three times in quick succession.

She was asking such thoughtful, pertinent questions about it. Why is there blood? Was there a hole in her? How big was the hole? Why is that girl running that way? Why is he bigger? (that prompted a demonstration of perspective, using Master R's minion clock, which was helpfully on the table) Loads of questions bubbling from this child at the moment, and she really considers your answers carefully.

I was tired from a bad night's sleep, so I popped on Moana after lunch so I could snuggle under a blanket on the sofa and have some shut eye. Miss O is very used to this routine by now. In fact, the other day she looked over at me and asked "Why are you still awake, Mummy?" when I happened to be watching an episode of Maulwarf with her! I was interrupted by a fellow coming to check the level of insulation in our loft, and two toilet trips for Miss O, but I managed to rest a bit nonetheless. We had a bit more running-around-tickling-play after that. This is an important part of Miss O's day. I read somewhere that you can release emotional tension two ways; laughing or crying. Miss O requests running/hiding/chasing/tickling games several times a day and I always oblige. Not just because it's cathartic for her. She's utterly adorable so as much as it is repetitive, I do enjoy it. I know this stage will be gone before I'm ready for it, so I relish the regular rhythm of our routine.

Usually after our afternoon rest period, it's time to go and fetch Master R from school, but today he went to a friend's to play and have dinner, so we were oddly at a loose end. It felt SO weird not to be heading out at that time and walking to school. Really unsettling! We togged up in warm clothes and headed into the garden, because the rabbit hutch needed cleaning out. Miss O helped me to fill up the bird feeders first, then discovered some large logs in our nature corner and got to work building a "house" for Willy Pig on the path.

I got on with hutch cleaning, pausing now and then to admire the construction, the bucket of food and to fetch out various toys she wanted. I was keen to get on with some gardening jobs really, because the lawn needs raking to get bits of plastic bark, rocks and twigs off, the pebble area needs clearing of rabbit droppings (again) and the little fir tree is still sitting in the front garden covered in lights, and even I feel that it's now far enough from winter solstice to clear that up. But Miss O wanted to go to a park. So I locked up the house and off we wandered to the nearest park, which we call "The Train Park", because it's near the train station and has a toy train in it. The other park is referred to as "The Far Away Park" because it's a much longer walk. In fact, I walked to that park after my stretch-and-sweep when 9 days overdue with Miss O, to try to get labour started. It worked.

But this park is closer, so after a quick bike ride, we were there, swinging on the swings "Faster! Faster!" and whirling round on the swivelly toy that nobody seems to know the name of. She was loving having my undivided attention. On the ride home, she kept demanding that I watch her; "Look how fast my legs are going! Pretend you're looking at me and you see I'm on an icy puddle." I love that stage when they ask you to pretend to say something or pretend to see something. Something that you then ACTUALLY have to say or can ACTUALLY see. The irony.

We popped to the library on the way home so I could collect this book:

Which I'm going to be reading to get some advice about parenting this sensitive child of ours. Although for the last two days she's been in a terrific mood, her emotions and sensations are still very challenging for her to cope with, and sometimes I don't know how to help her. It helps that I can empathise because I'm highly sensitive myself, but there are times that I'm still at a total loss. So off to the books I go!

At home, Miss O was so excited for Mummy Rachel's return that she stood on the stool by the front door to await her routine. So cute. We had jacket potatoes for dinner, which was ideal for Miss O, since, as previously mentioned, mashed potato is about her favourite food. Maybe second, after "pampakes".

Master R was delivered back to us after dinner. Just as Miss O was on the toilet and Rachel was taking a work phonecall. Some minutes of chaos ensued, but it was manageable! It was a nice calm end to a really lovely day. Children in good moods. Simple, easy day. Happy Mummy. Love days like this. 

 

P.S. Plus, I finally took photos of a blanket I recently finished...

Gorgeous, no?

Our Holiday en France

Check me out! Not quite a month since we returned from our holiday and I've "already" got photos from the camera to the laptop and onto typepad. Ninja speed! 

Overall, we had a brilliant time together exploring la Vendée, although as with any holiday, there were stressful moments/hours/days and most of these for us centred around being lost or hungry and being unable to find our destination or somewhere which served food not composed entirely of dairy, which three out of four of us can't tolerate. However, I didn't bother to stop and take photos of my hangry face or my miserable, whining children, so we don't have any photos of the crappy moments to share! 

We were all excited when we packed up our car and headed to Folkestone to catch the train under the sea. 

I had a Giant Folder of Organisation, containing every document, map and piece of information we'd need for the next 9 days. Most thrilling for an organisational freak like moiself!

And we made sure we had plenty to keep the children busy in the back of the car. Retrospectively, crayons would have been wiser. We got MOST of the pen off her before we arrived in France, leaving just a faintly green tinge to her skin. 

I was really excited to see Master R and Miss O's faces when we got on a train in our car and then went into the darkness under the sea. What a cool experience! Unfortunately, due to a "no, you can't have diddy right this second now" tantrum, we brought out the borrowed tablets just as we started queuing for the Eurostar. I'm not convinced the children looked out the window for more than 3 seconds, despite all my enthusiastic narrating of what was happening. Standard!

Instead, they were transfixed. Ah well, Rachel and I had a stretch and a chat as we traversed the Channel Sea. (Can you say traverse if you're travelling under something?)

The rest of that day was spent driving through France. That evening we managed to find a roadside diner that we could have a basic burger and chip type meal, and pretend to be Ancient Gauls. Winner. 

The next morning, we woke up in our beautiful French gite and ate cornflakes we'd smuggled in, as we weren't due in the breakfast room until 9:15. We learnt that the French do everything much later than us. Sleep in later, eat later, sleep later. Everything later. Even changing time zone didn't help us out that much!

It really was a beautiful place to stay. The evening before, we stretched our travel weary bodies by running round the garden playing ninjas, and looking at the alpaca, sheep and goat that the host keeps. 

Then it was more driving! With the borrowed map of la Vendée I tracked our progress from one page to the next. I know, we had a SatNav too, but I wanted to KNOW where we were. Plus, Master R and I were drawing our route on a map we'd stuck in our summer holiday scrapbook (yes, I am THAT kind of mother), and the previous day's route had been vague, because I honestly wasn't sure where we'd travelled!

And finally, five hours later, we arrived at Saint Jean de Monts, on a cloudy but warm afternoon!

Sand! So. Much. Sand. Seriously, this beach is 10 times the width of Felixstowe. And the sand is so much softer. It is exquisite. We had a great run around, dipped our toes in the Atlantic Ocean and relaxed for a while.

The rest of this afternoon was really arduous though, as we'd skipped lunch and hoped to eat in town. But of course, all the restaurants were closed until the evening, so we decided to find our campsite. With co-ordinates which didn't work, an incorrect road address, a vague memory from Google maps of where it MIGHT be located and no roaming internet to check. We were lost and hungry for some considerable time before we finally arrived at our campsite. We may or may not have gone around one mini roundabout in the wrong direction. We may or may not have lost our tempers. The key point is we did get there in the end and we found sausages and sweetcorn to accompany our pesto pasta. We even made it to the splashpark to play and swim before bedtime. 

The next day we found the nearest beach, which, rather than being an 8 minute stroll through a clearly marked path, was a 20 hike up really high dunes on a path we couldn't find for about 10 minutes. Suffice to say we visited this particular beach just the once! See how exhausted Miss O was? She had a lovely 40 minute snooze in the sand to recover from the trip there. It was quite a challenge removing all the sand from her face afterwards!

Meanwhile, Master R and I communed with the sea... 

...  and dug a HUGE hole. We do love a beach day. And a wonky horizon. Oh, and it was on this beach that we were Selected For Time. You know, when someone chooses you as the most responsible person nearby likely to have and be willing to share the time. In French, and using Rachel's watch, because mine broke in January and I haven't successfully acquired a new one yet. I have tried, but I've returned two and given up. Anyway, I was proud that I was able to A: tell the time accurately and B: translate it into French. 

We visited lots of local attractions while we were there, and that was what the Vendée does really well, in my opinion. So many tourist attractions and each one exceeded our expectations. I don't know if that's because, being from South-East England, our expectations is that tourist attractions are painfully expensive and pretty crappy, or whether they are just particularly good in this area. 

This was the Dino Park in St Giles de la Croix (or St Hilaire de Riez... one of the two). I love having a go at some cave painting! Tried to keep it authentic!

Our hatchlings. 

Car based picnic. Every picnic of the week involved a baguette (we tried le tradition, le rustique and le normal), salad, crisps from a mega family bag we acquired at the Super U and some sliced meat. Sometimes some leftover pesto pasta. We did miss pork pies and scotch eggs, but we didn't go hungry.

The dino park had a great little play area with some fab inflatables (Miss O was too scared to climb in the giant caterpillar obastacle course, but got to grips with one later in the week at Youpla'land). 

In think this was later that day at St Giles de le Croix. We were thrilled to find a TWO STOREY carousel. Rachel and I managed to chose horses that didn't go up and down and only noticed once we were going round! Oh well!

We saw a fair few quaint docking areas in the local villages. 

The Ile de Noirmoutier was a great day out. We started at the Aquarium, where the sealion show was very entertaining (and looooong), but their narration was so fast I could only pick out every 10th word, so translating it for the children was more guesswork based on my own knowledge of sealions!

 We explored around the outside of the chateau...

... and, at Master R's request, inside too. It was very reasonably priced actually, and both children were free! Bonus!

The higher up you climbed, the better the views became:

And on the way back from Noirmoutier, we took "le gois" rather than "le pont". It was really thrilling, mostly because we were well beyond lowtide point, trusting the chef in the place we'd eaten lunch to know how late we could safely cross and all the signs make it seem really hazardous!!

But the sea was MILES out. Just miles of mud flats. I imagine when it comes in, in comes in fast. And the tall "safety points" along with way (basically a big ladder to a small platform) added to the air of danger!

We got a great view of the bridge we'd taken on the way there too!

My favourite day out was to the Biotopia which was in Notre Dame de Monts. Terrific interactive museum about the dunes and the forests of the area, then you followed and iPad through the different parts of the landscape to the coast and back, meeting animated creatures like butterflies and wild boars, watching videos and completing challenges.

It was awesome!

This ringsling came everywhere with us, because Miss O is very much into being carried even when she isn't necessarily tired, just for the comfort factor. I think my rainbow ringsling might have been out on hire with the sling library, so I used this instead. It was very long though. I had to tuck my tail in!

These two can't resist the lure of a good climbing tree. Little primates. 

These snails live all over the place... it was so funny seeing hundreds of them resting on plants and posts. 

Another day we went to Youpla'land, which was a big outdoor inflatable park for chiddlers. Master R surprised us by climbing up to the top of a huge slide and whizzing down. Usually, he is very cautious about any ride or equipment which might "go too fast", but he was so confident! It was complete role-reversal as he persuaded Miss O, who was very worried about it, to try it out. Every other time it's been the other way around!

Another surprising thing was that they loved playing the simple giant Connect 4 game. We played it over and over. Master R was beginning to understand the tactics, but Miss O's only tactic was to put one on top of his, and she's very resistant to taking advice, so she was frequently disappointed. Never for long though, because there were so many things to do. And a little train which ran every half hour. A bell would ring and all the children would run from all over the place to get a seat!

The golf course we visited that afternoon was the scene of the Most Incredible Moment of the holiday. On this tremendously challenging hole, representing the dunes on the local beaches, a hole which it took me no fewer than eleventy billion attempts to even reach the "green", Master R GOT A HOLE IN ONE! Unbelievable! 
Miss O quickly realised that golf is frustrating and difficult when you're only 3, so put herself in charge of the scorecard instead. 

On our last morning, we returned to the huge beach of Saint Jean de Monts to take in the sun, sea and sand. 

We built the most magnificent walled town we've ever attempted, inspired by the castle of Noirmoutier. Master R and Miss O were so patient and helped as carefully as their little hands allowed. 

How awesome is this?
Then we went for another ride on the ferris wheel. We'd gone on it already, but that was on a very grumpy morning during which we'd left both the camera and both phones in the little house. The children LOVED the ferris wheel. Miss O kept talking about "when things went smaller, smaller!"

Fabulous views. And a great place from which to check out all the restaurants with the zoom function!

One the way home, we stayed at this gorgeous little gite, overlooking the Seine. We had a hilarious surprise when the SatNav announced as we turned a corner "turn left and let's take that ferry!" (The SatNav is currently a male voice from New Zealand, which is fun. We've yet to work out what the "jandles, togs and chillibun" we're supposed to collect before we exit the car at our destination are!! We're thinking sandals, clothes and SOMETHING ELSE... Update: Rachel has Googled and it's a chilly-bin - a receptacle to keep drinks cold! In that case, I'm happy to report that we took those with us on each occasion that we exited the car!)

To our astonishment, our gite was the other side of the Seine, so after a quick chat with the ferryman (don't worry, I didn't pay him. Free ferry.), we did indeed, take the ferry! I have hilarious photos of our astonished faces, but they're on my phone. 

It was a beautiful old house, and we were in the attic room, up a secret staircase behind a locked door, which was utterly thrilling for the small people. (It was pretty thrilling for me too!) And the view! It was incredible. In bed that night, we collaborated on a story about the cute baby owls that live in the attic of the haunted house on the top of the opposite hill. The next morning, complaining that that story wasn't scary enough, we collaborated on a more thrilling story of how the Ninjago ninjas freed the trapped spirits and made it a happy, inhabitable place once more.

For me, one of the best parts of the holiday was probably the few lazy evenings we had. Just chilling in the empty camping space beside our little house. 

Much maniacal chasing, shrieking and giggling. 

Much, much colouring. We finished the colouring book we took with us and some of the pictures are so beautifully shaded we've put them in the "keep forever" box.

Rachel and I also managed to spend some time trying to master ludicrously complicated card games, and crocheting on the odd occasion the children went to sleep and a reasonable hour. 

Dear kiddiwinks, 

Thanks for being you during this holiday. I've made some great memories which will be with me for life. 

Master R, I hope you remember some of the things we did together. Maybe you'll remember watching me eat mussels with grim fascination. Maybe the rides on the ferris wheel, or the adventure round the castle. I hope you remember the fun we had exploring the dunes, building sand sculptures and splashing in the pool. You learnt to swim with your head out of the water, which you're so pleased about. And you can easily swim 5m underwater now, lifting your head to breathe. You played football with a French family staying opposite (and were deeply impressed by how skilled little Yannick, aged only 3, was). You said whispered "merci"s to waitresses and kept saying "people are going to wonder why I'm eating my necklace!", when your treat at the end of a restaurant meal was one of those edible necklaces. 

Miss O, I hope you're left with a "feeling memory" of going to a strange land where we lived in a little house and swam lots. You do keep asking when we can go back to our "little house", and I have to explain that it's a 10 hour journey away. Maybe you'll remember feeling shy when we arrived at the first B&B at the same time as three other people and all the adults around you started jabbering in fast French. Maybe you'll remember all the croissants and learning to like baguettes, which is incredible, because until this year you've never really eaten bread full stop. 

Happy holidays, kiddos. 

Miss O's Big(gest) Shouty Day (thus far)

Yesterday. Wow. It was Some Day.

Having refused to sleep until nearly 9pm the night before (for, may I say, no good reason), Miss O was over-tired from the get-go and seriously over-wrought. (What does wrought mean? Why do we only ever say over-wrought, and never just wrought? And can you be under-wrought?)

Getting Master R to school wasn't too arduous, but on the playground Miss O became suddenly angry. I think one of her crocs fell off. She is already banned from wearing flip flops, because she develops "flip flop rage". Initially, the dreaded rage was prompted by the elastic strap (designed to hold a flip flop onto a child's foot) repeatedly slipping down. I could totally understand why that would drive her to the verse of hysteria and beyond, so I cut the elastic off. Then she would instead become infuriated that the flip flops wiggled about slightly and on occasion had the audacity to fall off entirely. So no flip flops for her. But now it seems like crocs are going the same way. 

Anyway, filled with rage, she decided she didn't want to go home, nor go to sling library which we had to attend. She didn't want to use her scooter (I love pulling a scotter home, don't you?). She wanted to walk to sling library, which was far too far away. She wanted diddy (her word for breastfeed). I could tell I was in for a tricky day.

Trying to settle her fractured nerves, once I'd hauled all the bags and suitcases out to the driveway and squeezed them into the car, I snuggled her in my arms, and she had her beloved diddy. I even prepared her some halved grapes and cheese biscuits when, having fed, she proclaimed that she was still hungry.

Placated enough to cope for the meantime, I bundled her into the car and we set off for the sling library session, which was to be held at the monthly gathering of an APUK group. (FYI, APUK is the UK's Attachment Parenting network.) Miss O was happy to help me with the first two loads from the car, then I left her happily doing a jigsaw whilst I fetched the final suitcase. But within minutes of us beginning to set up, she spotted packets of biscuits on the side and was demanding them. Having fed her two breakfasts (see above), I felt this was unreasonable request and informed her she'd need to wait a while. The whinging, crying and constant shouts of "I'm still hungry!" lasted about 30 minutes. During this time, Rosie and I managed to set out the carriers on rails and table and I decided it'd be a good chance to get photos of some of the newer carriers we still hadn't photographed. You'll see I was laughing hysterically, because trying to get a photo including me and the carrier (containing wee babywearing doll, Murphy), but not containing the furious red-faced toddler was proving challenging.

Thinking maybe a short nap would help her to restart the day more positively, I wrapped her and breastfed her. Nope. She stayed awake, and once she was done, got down and demanded a biscuit. Since other children were now scoffing biscuits in front of her, I allowed her one. She played contentedly for fifteen minutes or so. I managed to help a mum choose some carriers for a holiday. Then she requested a second biscuit. Ok, I replied, but two is the maximum. Two is ALWAYS the maximum number of biscuits in our family. She enjoyed biscuit number two, but then wanted a third. This would have been in clear violation of the two-biscuit rule.

Cue next tantrum. This one was mega. She repeatedly climbed into my lap to try to help herself to diddy. When I tried to get her off my lap and playing, she fought me. I stood to remove myself from her raging arms so she tried to climb up my body. I restrained her in a big bear hug. She spat, kicked and screamed. For the sake of the other parents and children, I removed her to a hallway in a bustling community centre where she snarled and random strangers (many of them adults with additional needs who were there for a socialising group), repeatedly tried to sneak away from me into the children's centre and refused to follow any instructions. Every time I brought her back to the hallway she attacked me with furious fists and feet. It was a stand off. The only thing likely to soothe her at this point was diddy, and since that was the CAUSE of the argument, I was unwilling to concede. I sat there, smiling wanly at passers by, wondering how in merry hell I was going to get the slings packed back into my car. I honestly didn't know how I would get through the next half hour.

Eventually, I convinced her to have a shoulder carry back to the room we were stationed, but while we packed away the sling library, she removed her clothing in protest. Twice. She refused to walk with us back to the car, so I had to abandon the suitcase of carriers so I could drag her along by her wrist. At this point I decided to strap her into her carseat where she could do no more harm to herself or others, while I got everything jigsawed into the boot and backseat. Phew. I was able to leave in one piece. I suspect the APUK group may be so traumatised by the behaviour of this wayward child that we may not be invited back. The health visitor who kept walking past may well have filled in pink forms about the physical battle she had witnessed between parent and child. It was about the worst place to pull that particular stunt. But it was over, and we could go home and try to calm her before her stay-and-play session at the school nursery she'll be joining two days a week from September. At this point, I was prepared to cancel going if she was A: asleep at 1:30 or B: still behaving psychotically.

I really expected she'd fall asleep during the journey, but she was awake and totes emosh when he got home, so I suggested we put on a film while I sorted myself some food. We don't often have screen time in the middle of the day, but it was a worthwhile investment on this occasion. She giggled along to Olaf's Frozen Adventure and we even had time to play at being a family of foxes. Daddy fox tickled her a lot to try to giggle those difficult emotions away.

Since she was neither asleep nor hysterical, we went along to nursery. She played nicely, involving me in her cooking, listening to several stories and making some lovely play dough cupcakes. She was mesmerized painting layer over layer of colours on one sodden sheet of paper. I think she found that quite therapeutic. But all the while I could sense the underlying tiredness and tension, which she was just about holding in check. I had already warned the nursery teacher that Miss O is highly sensitive; she, like me, gets more feedback from her senses than most people, so slight irritations are unbearable. We spoke more about how shoes, clothing and her hair can drive her to distraction. I explained that she cannot cope with being outside on even a hazy day without sunglasses (and often wears them inside if the sunlight is streaming in). We talked about how sounds are either too loud or too quiet. How small frustrations can provoke an eruption of fury. It's so hard, when everything BOTHERS. Being highly sensitive is basically having ALL the feels, ALL the time.

We made it the 70m walk from the nursery door to the playground before she found a new outlet for her anger. She wanted to collect her scooter from the bike shed NOW. I insisted that we wait for Master R to come out first so we could collect them together. At least a dozen times she broke away from me and marched rigidly towards to shed, pumping her angry arms and alarming parents and pupils alike. I chased and returned, chased and returned and prayed for Master R's class to appear.

Once he did, I told Miss O we could go and get her scooter! Hurray! Of course, she didn't want her damn scooter anymore. The conversation outside the bike shed went something like this:

Me: Let's go and get your scooter. You can scoot home with Master R.

Miss O: NO!

Me: Ok, I'll get it then.

Miss O storms off. I fetch her back and hold her by an arm.

Me: Right, well, I can't get your scooter if you keep running off. It's not safe. Will you stay standing just here?

Miss O: Mm! (while shaking her head and frowning)

Me: Ok, we'll leave your scooter here and collect it tomorrow. Let's go!

Miss O: NO! I want my stoota!

Me: Then will you stay standing here while I fetch it?

Miss O: NO!!

Me: Then it'll have to stay here.

Miss O beats the side of the bike shed in rage.

Me: Will you stay here sensibly?

Miss O: Mm. (with the smallest, barely discernible nod)

Me: Great! Thank you.

I fetch the scooter. Miss O stays fairly close. Another child, a friend of Master R's, appears. We'll call him Master T.

Master T: R's Mummy... can you put on my helmet please?

Me: Of course I can! You asked so nicely!

I put on the helmet, while watching Miss O gradually edging away from us.

Master R: Mummy, O is going.

Me: I know. She's not going far. There you are, T. Are you going to go back to find your mum on the playground? See you tomorrow!

I slide Master R's bookbag, lunchbag and Miss O's helmet onto the handle of the scooter and follow her down the path, pulling along the scooter.

Master R: What is O angry about?

Me: Everything R. Just everything. She's having a very hard day and she's angry with the world. How was school? Did you like your lunch?

The trip home will be seared into my memory forever. We've had many a challenging school run previously, but this was on another scale. People 100m away were turning around and craning their necks to see who was removing a child's toenails with rusty pliers. I genuinely saw one mother spot us coming, and quickly cross herself and her child to the other side of the road. I absolutely commend her actions. At this point, getting hit by a swinging limb was a genuine and unpleasant possibility!

The whole way, I was having to do the infamous parent "wrist pull" to keep Miss O walking with us. Every time I let go, she turned and stormed in the opposite direction. Furious that I was holding her, she kept prising my fingers and thumb up and bending them back, which actually really hurt. By the time we reached our road, she'd decided the best ploy would be to bite my fingers, so I had to slide my hand up to her upper arm to steer her across the road. I unlocked the door, ushered her in, and shut the door behind her.

At this moment, Master R said: "Shall we just lock her in, Mummy?" Poor, long-suffering Master R! I declined, however, to lock his sister in the house. We took the vehicles to the garage and by the time we returned, this had happened:

Yep. More protest stripping.

The rest of the afternoon was totally manageable. We got both children into clean clothes (Master R appeared to have painted himself rather than the paper at school, as usual!) and I let Master R play on the Wii, while Rosie and I described our morning to Gina on WhatsApp, and I read up on the newest Brexit-related fallout. Yes, I nearly wept when the Wii controller demanded fresh batteries and, later, Master R accidentally hit Miss O in the head with the Wii remote, then had a melt down when I said it was time to turn the Wii off, but that's just a regular day at the office. I think Miss O was simply out of energy to be angry anymore.

This was a pretty marvellous sight though, I can tell you.

This morning, Miss O chose "My Big Shouting Day" to read. It's a brilliant book by Rebecca Patterson, which I highly recommend. It's been one of Miss O's favourites for over a year.

I wonder if she knows it's about her.

Conversations with my girl

Dear Miss O, 

My talkative little toddler. Our engaging little explorer. How I am enjoying getting to know you. You are an astonishing mimic, parroting back complex words and phrases eagerly, gobbling up language so that you can tell us exactly what you think about everything (and you think a LOT). I find myself startled daily by the conversations I'm having with a 16-month old. 

You weren't keen on being a tortoise for Hallowe'en and kept pulling the hood down, but the next day you brought it to me. 

O: Tortoss.

Me: You want to be a tortoise?

O: (beaming) Yes!

Me: There you go. One little tortoise.

O: Hat!

Me: You want the hood up this time?

O: Yes!

And off you trotted, happily disguised as a reptile. 

When Little R was a nursery on Wednesday and we were still housebound because you've had hand, foot and mouth, you dug these colourful scarves from your sensory box to play with. Lots of "boo!" and "where?" play. Lots of hiding and giggling. I love that you know what you want to play with and invite me to join you in your world. You also love to sing songs together. Wheels on the Bus is still your favourite, along with Row Row Row. You're a fan of Wind the Bobbin Up too. 

You love to care for your babies and animals. "Tunty" (monkey) and "Bilba" (Baby Wilbur) are your favourites. You give them cuddles, shoulder carries ("dowdas") and plenty of food and milk. Here, I'd brought through some melon as a mid-afternoon snack. You carefully selected a piece, but then took it straight to monkey. Later that day, you were walking round the downstairs with "Bilba" wrapped in your arms. 

O: Milk! Milk! Mummy... milk?

Me: Oh... does Wilbur need his milk?

O: Yes.

Me: Can't you find it?

O: Where?

Me: Hmm... I'll look upstairs. (found it, brought it to you) There you are!

O: Tan-to! (Thank you)

You still haven't 100% got the hang of drawing and crafting. You do like a bit of "painting" with chalk or pens, and on this day, with paint. But inevitably it ends up in your mouth. This gory looking mouth was quite apt, as we were doing Hallowe'en craft at the time! Earlier today you appeared in the kitchen with purple chalk running down your chin and in between your teeth. You just do have a thing about eating weird textures. And you're very honest about it. You'll secretly nibble something, then come and show me your big wide mouth. And when I say "You shouldn't eat crayon/chalk/paint/pencils/sand/mud, should you?" You reply "No!" in a really serious voice. 

It's ok though, these eyeballs for our Hallowe'en potion mixing were edible!

You're quite bonkers a lot of the time. Out in the garden in your dress and wellies (LOVE a dress and wellies combo) you chose to slide as far down as you could and balance. You thought it was great fun. Other gymnastic tricks you like are bouncing so high on your trampoline that the whole thing bounces off the ground, and putting one hand on the toilet seat and one on the boxed in piping next to it and lifting your feet off the floor. You can even hold yourself on a bar with your hands by your waist and your feet off the floor! You have some serious core muscles, and you're so motivated to learn new tricks. 

Having had enough of the sliding game, you invented a game which kept you and Little R engaged for a good ten minutes. Run to the dry riverbed. Select a large cobble. Run to me saying "eee eee eee". Present me with the cobble. Rinse and repeat. In the end we were all laughing, but none of us were quite sure why!

(Irritatingly, we've got to that time of year when photos get all blurry again, because the light levels are too low for a fast shutter speed. Boo.)

And this I love. Both of you sharing your love of books. Little R knows your favourite books so well that I often spy or hear you from afar. 

R: O! Come here. Sit by me.

O: Yes. Book.

R: I'll read it to you. Sit down. 

O: Duck! Quack quack!

R: Yes! It is a duck. Well done! 

O: Cow. Mooooo.

R: Good girl!

Love you two.

The Longest Summer

 

Well hello!

I think this may have been the longest break between blog posts ever... except maybe when I was feeling awful early on in Master R's pregnancy. 

What a summer we have had! I honestly think it's the longest, summeriest summer of my adult life. Partly, I think, because we went to Ibiza in May, so the sunshine and warmth seems to have lasted forever. Partly, of course, that because today, the 16th September, is the first cold-windy-and-rainy-day we've had for some time. It looks like Autumn might FINALLY be planning to make an appearance.

We've had so many wonderful adventures during this long, long summer. Lots of them have been simple, garden based adventures. Cornflour, for example. That was a great afternoon of goo and fun. Actually, it turned into a whole week of cornflour, because I kept leaving the cornflour outside to dry, but we had a few showers that week, so it kept going gooey again, so I had to wait AGAIN for it to dry and become sweepable. 

Make your own beach afternoons, using the tuff tray, sandpit sand and shells collected during our real beach days. 

Random fill-a-jug-with-pebbles fun that you have to be under 5 to understand. 

Dinosaur land, which I put up some warm evening for Master R and Miss O to discover in the morning. There were tyrannosaurs on the pebble patch and herbivores grazing in the heather garden. There was even a tractor load of penguins trundling down the rubber/bark path. That ended up staying up for a week too, and much fun was had, with dinosaurs chasing one another, climbing mountains, making friends, traversing the bridge etc. I have relished having a garden that we can get more creative in. 

A little frog moved into the dinosaur tuff tray, actually. And yesterday, when we were watering, we discovered he is still living in the garden. I'm tempted now to turn our old ceramic kitchen sink into a miniature wildlife pond instead of a fairy garden. Just weighing up the pros and cons of pulling Miss O out of the pond multiple times each day!

We were eating cherries in the hobbit hole one day (Ok, I was. My children and soft fruit... kind of a waste of money and effort!) when Little R asked what the pips were. We talked about how they were seeds which could eventually grow into an entire cherry tree. Little R asked if we could plant them, so we washed them, dried them in the sun and planted them in a pot on the patio. We'll see if they germinate in the spring. 

I've been working, in fits and starts, on dismantling the first of four pallets. Turns out those things are REALLY well put together. Miss O adored the pallet and decided it was her own personal bench/bed/horse to play on, in and through. Many a happy hour pootling about. Naked, obviously. Who needs clothes on a day so hot?!

The rubber/bark path makes an instant digger world. Just add vehicles! (Then spend the evening trying to smooth out the rubber which is heaped up randomly.)

Painting has happened too, and not just the lazy here's-a-paintbrush-and-some-water-go-mad-and-paint-the-patio brand. Real painting with paint!

Standard. Boy child with self-painted toenails. Not bad for his first attempt!

There has been the odd wet-weather day. Maybe a couple of weeks in total. But it's been the warm kind of wet, so we've enjoyed plenty of wet adventures. On this one, Miss O was wearing her ONLY pair of shoes. Felt a bit guilty looking at her, soaked through to the skin, while Master R was snug and dry in waterproof trousers and wellies. Well, he was, until he weed in them.

Note to self though; children wearing plastic waterproof trousers will travel down wet slides at considerably increased velocity! Even with my friend holding his hand he zoomed down and smacked his face on my knee! Whoops! Miss O, meanwhile, did not succumb to pneumonia. I was in flip flops and shorts. It was August. Pah.

We searched for the Gruffalo, and found mouse holes, rabbit warrens, owl roosts and very tall trees. 

At West Stow, we counted THIRTY-SIX slugs in one area, which was fascinating. And Miss O demonstrated her intelligence and wicked streak when she decided that her big brothers hood was the perfect place to wipe her dirty hand. Genius child. At least he had his hood up - I think she'd have used his hair if not!

I just love outdoor adventures with my two. Gamboling about talking about leaf shapes, weeds, how plants self seed, why butterflies eat nectar, where rabbits might live and what that imaginary monster looks like. We've done plenty of that this summer. 

And at least once a week we've made it to one beach or other. We have ADORED our beach days. 

Just look at that sky, and the perfect sea beneath. This was our day with Chris in Aldeburgh. A perfect combination of windswept picnic, pebble gathering, ice-creams and...

... our first experience of model boating! They both loved it. 

We've jumped in waves, bobbed in a giant inflatable boat, swum and built many a pebbly sandcastle. 

We discovered a glorious hidden beach along the River Orwell and climbed trees. I had a wonderfully bruising (both to my ego and my buttocks) You've Been Framed moment attempting (and failing, obviously) to swing on a branch swing which was clearly designed for more nimble people than I POORLY CONSTRUCTED.

Miss O and I conducted some beach yoga (she did have her leg up too, the moment before Mum snapped this photo). Ahh, beach goodness. My beach cup runneth over. Unfortunately my photos runneth over not because Mum took most on her camera, and although I have a beautiful album of memories on paper, I do not have the digital files yet. 

We've had other outdoor adventures too. We've been gymnasts:

 

Giggly pirates:

Intrepid explorers:

Curious scientists:

And wildlife spotters:

Including some REALLY wild-life!

All three of them enjoyed the 3D maze at Thrigby, during our stay up in Norfolk:

And we've been farmers too, harvesting a bountiful crop of plums. 

We've made plum ice lollies, plum crumble and we still have more stewed plum in the freezer for later. 

Not everyone enjoyed the flavour fresh from the tree!

We've also been blackberry picking and we've been harvesting and eating lots of courgettes from the garden, where they have grown to gargantuan size. Happily, my children both like stuffed courgette if I use plenty of curry spices. "Curry courgette!" Little R calls it!

I haven't even included photos from our trip to the Dinosaur Adventure Park, or the BBQs we've enjoyed. There have been playdates, bouncy castles, library visits (Master R completed the Big Friendly Reading Challenge and received a certificate and medal), trips to the park and lots of paddling pool splashing too.

It's been an immense summer. Last night we enjoyed our probably-last outdoor dinner and now the rain is pouring down on my parched garden and we're trundling merrily into Autumn. Master R has begun his nursery school life and getting  into the routine of gymnastics and ballet, Miss O is enjoying some time alone with me while he's away and we're contemplating getting a rabbit or two in the nearish future, since it's been a year since Honey passed away, and Auntie Kirsty's rabbit is SOOO cute and made them both so happy. 

Life is good. 

 

P.S. Life is particularly good now I'm on anti-depressants to combat my  insomnia which had become HORRENDOUS. Not only do I now sleep, I'm in a much better mood every day! 

P.P.S. More on further garden developments and some exciting superhero costume sewing later. Hopefully. 

Dear Baby O... always be you

Dear Little One, 

You are so small, and so utterly dependent on us. Me, in particular. I am sorry that I spend so much time complaining, to myself, to you and to others about what a challenge you are. You are you, and I love you entirely for it.

I love your cuddliness - the way you toddle up to me (or Little R, or Rachel), demanding a "duddle", with your arms outspread. I love how you tuck you chin over my shoulder and wrap your arms around my neck, trying to melt into my body. We are still two halves of the same whole. 

I love your determination - you have such firm ideas about what you want to do, and you communicate so clearly with us, signing, speaking and pointing until we understand. I understand your frustration when you are not allowed. You run off your fury, charging away and growling your crossness. Sometimes you stamp furiously on the spot. That absolute single-mindedness will be such a strength and I'm proud to see it. 

I love your playfulness - you love playing peekaboo around the door, chasing Little R, tickling us, bouncing on your trampoline, splashing in the paddling pool, exploring the woods, and following Little R and his friends around, watching attentively and then joining in their games. 

I love your caring nature - whenever Little R is hurt or sad you stop what you're doing and come to help. You peer into his face, making curious noises to try to work out what the problem is. You pat his head, giggle in his face to cheer him up and "duddle" him until he stops crying and starts laughing and playing with you. You can cheer him up much faster than I can. He adores you. 

I love your movements - you are so non-stop you've perfected walking (although you still stagger like a drunkard sometimes) and you can walk backwards and even run a little. You loved being in the water at Centre Parcs because you could hold onto the side and jump under the water. You'd love to be able to really properly jump on your trampoline and I think you'll be doing it before two. You can climb up stairs, but not down them yet. You can climb onto the sofa and slide off carefully. You are agile and quick.

I love your talking. I've been keeping a list of all the words you can say and/or sign and it's being added to every day. It's so exciting to have conversations with you and you try so hard to make us understand. 

Mummy - "Mimmy"

Little R - "Ra-Ra"

Trees - sign and "tees"

Keys - point and "dees"

Bird  - sign and "burr"

Duck - bird sign and "duck" - you genuinely perfected this word at Centre Parcs. Your most accurate pronunciation.

Cow - "moo"

Sheep - "baa"

Dog - sign and "dok", then you try to woof

Door - "doooor"

Milk - "diddy"

Shh - with a cute finger to your mouth

Shoes  - "sh-ss"

Finished - sign and "ish"

Mine - thumps chest and "miy" or "mine"

Tickle - action and "di di di"

Giraffe - "dirah"

Row your boat - "ro ro ro" with action and sound effects for the lion "rah", the bear "brrr", the mouse "eek" and the crocodile "aaah!"

Ball - sign and "baaaw". Often coupled with...

...Where - sign and "wair?"

Cuddle - arms out and "duddle!"

Yes - "yesh" or "yah yah yah!"

No - "noooo" or "nah nah nah"

This - "dis", often with a point. You sometimes say "dese". It's either PLEASE or THESE. Surely you don't understand plurals yet?!

Bell - sign and "ding"

Apple - "bubble" - but you've said it many times while pointing at Little R's apple. It must be shared. 

Pull - "bull" - while tugging at your highchair straps when you're finished. 

Bee - sign and "zzzzzz"

Again - sign and "den!"

Swing - "wee" or "wing"

Slide - "weee"

Wee - "wee-wee" You're even starting to say WHEN you need a wee. But since you only wee standing up, we've had no success with a toilet or potty. 

Elephant - sign and sound effect "wooo"

I love all of your characteristics.Yes, it'd be easier if you would cry less and more quietly, tantrum less often and sleep in your cot (a trick that you forgot how to do a few weeks ago), but you are YOU, from the tips of your nimble toes to the top of your busy busy brain.  Always be you, Little One. Be the best version of you that you can be, but be YOU. You're making me a better version of myself. Or at least, that's what I hope. I'm having to dig deeper and deeper inside myself and find new levels of patience and grace. Sometimes I fail, and then I feel crushed and frustrated that I am not the Mummy you need and deserve. But I'm so much better than I was before you. You're taking me on the most challenging and rewarding journey of my life. 

I love you, baby girl, 

From Mimmy

A Girl of Extremes

Little O's 365ish Project - Update One

Beautiful girl, in your birthday dress, just relaxing. Suspiciously.

On this afternoon, we dashed out for some fresh air between the showers and found this little glade in a corner of our little village. Gently sloping grass and tall, tall trees. We were grateful for the tall, tall trees when the rain came down again. We talked about leaf canopies as we sheltered. Little R found a long twig and pulled me out of the sea. You sat in the tree and giggled, and ran between them, exploring. It was such a lovely half hour or so. We didn't even mind getting wet walking home. 

I'm not sure what you were eating, or what you were so happy about, but I love how your smile lights up your entire face. 

You got this little bassinet for Baby Wilbur for your birthday. Currently, you prefer to tuck yourself into bed though. So Cute. You love wrapping your shoulders with fabric, and covering your legs, then wiggling them. 

Open, shut, open, shut. Little fingers mastering the hinge on this train. 

No, I don't know why you are crying. I seldom do, to be honest. Our days have become a bit of a battle, trying to cope with your crying. Because you are a girl of extremes.

When happy, you are the life of the party. You giggle, tickle, snuggle, cuddle, race about cackling wildly, dance, clap, and play so exuberantly that we just have to join in. Little R and you make each other laugh so much, which I love to watch.

Unfortunately, in the last few weeks, I feel like we've only seen Happy Miss O for about 40% of the time. The rest of the time Grumpy O turns up and she is no fun. You wail, roar and scream. You follow me around, literally trying to climb up my legs and shrieking wildly when I can't, or won't, pick you up IMMEDIATELY.

You eat about two bites of any meal or snack I prepare for you, push it away and demand to breastfeed instead. Then, within the hour, you're hungry again. So you wail. The pattern repeats. All day. Today I prepared you ready break, toast, pancakes, bread sticks, slices pear and melon and then Rachel made you pasta for dinner.  The only things you ate much of were the pancakes and pasta. And even then, not much. I wouldn't mind you eating like a bird if you didn't demand "diddy" (your word for milk) every 20 blinking minutes. You are not a newborn anymore!

You need help to get out of the lounge and garage doors. You get yourself in fine, then stand on the doorstep asking for help to step down. Which is fine, except the way you "ask" is to shout in an increasingly angry, ear shattering voice until someone comes. I'm demonstrating "help me, Mummy", with the sign time and time again, but you prefer the shriek. The shriek also comes out of you are not permitted to play with a perfectly appropriate toy like a pair of scissors, a tenon saw, a bread knife, a glass or a sharp screwdriver. We're so unreasonable. And if the shriek doesn't make your point articulately enough, you throw yourself on the floor for a proper knock-en-down-drag-em-out tantrum. Nice. Not at all tiresome. Fifteen times a day. 

That's not what you're doing here though. This is a Happy Miss O relaxing and giggling in the little patch of sunlight we enjoy around midday in our lounge. See? Happy girl! 

Busy girl, exploring some "goo" we got you for Christmas. You warmed up to it very slowly and we spent most of the time arguing about whether you should eat the goo or not. I thought no. You thought emphatically yes. Your determination is admirable, but frustrating at moments like this. 

You LOVE balls. You shout "baw!" every time you spot one, or even something vaguely spherical. You love our foam skittles and were determined to carry both of them simultaneously.  You determination is a great strength at moments like this. I see you working and working at new skills until you master them and that is something I'm delighted to see. 

Tummy! You love revealing and tickling your own tummy. You giggle, which makes me think maybe your tummy isn't ticklish at all and you just know that when you tickle your tummy you're supposed to giggle. Either that, or you are able to tickle yourself. 

I love the necklace phase. 

Oh dear. Another not good moment of Mummying. On Fridays now, Little R goes to nursery all day. A friend recently asked how I liked having the day to myself. Ha ruddy ha ha. I get less done on Fridays than on any other day, because without Little R to distract you, you are harder work. On this particular Friday I literally got nothing done, because you wouldn't even NAP in your COT. I tried and tried to settle you and lay you down but you went rigid and screamed in fury. I was trapped, sitting on the edge of the bed while you slept. It sucked. You were miserable. I was miserable. Only once Little R was home did I manage to frantically paint some 3.6 metre lengths of timber. (More about the garden LATER!!!)

Sometimes you quietly amuse yourself independently for a while. It's nice to see you concentrating on a puzzle. When it's not a climbing-on-a-stool-over-a-tiled-floor-in-great-danger-of-falling-off puzzle. Or an eating-toilet-paper puzzle. 

Ah-ha! A garden spoiler. You totally understand "processes" now, like washing up, running a bath, picking strawberries (we have a dozen totally unripe strawberries sitting on the kitchen windowsill right now - you just need to perfect the "judging ripeness" part of that process) and screwing up screws. Yup, that handle is well on. 

Ta-da!!! So SO happy to see this playhouse/hobbit hole completed at the weekend. It's been a long time coming. The other side of the garden is coming along nicely too. I'll show you that later. I'm planning a grand reveal post once the whole garden is done. Very exciting!

The next day - peekaboo with your big brother. 

And today. After a fairly cheerful couple of days, Grumpy Miss O reappeared. Sigh. I wish I knew how to make you happy. Well, a method that doesn't involve breastfeeding you non-stop all day. 

Baby, I love you, but this year is proving to be such hard work. Not physically. Sleep deprivation I can cope with. Washing up, laundry - I'm a pro! It's the psychological torture of listening to crying for so much of every damn day. Add that to Little R's non-stop narrating, play demands and "why?" questions, and you have the perfect storm of demands, which today led me to bellow "Put the hose OUTSIDE!!!!" at the top of my lungs, then retreat upstairs to do meditative breathing with my fingers rammed in my ears to block out all the crying (Rachel was downstairs with you, I wasn't completely abandoning you). It wasn't even the hose that was bothering me that much. It was Miss O's screaming combined with the fact that Little R  had point blank refused to remove the offending hose to accept that it was not yet time to water the plants THREE times in the row. 

Sheesh.

And now you are one

358-364/365

(No, I don't know what went on with my numbering either. Boddle.)

"Pizza is nummy. Num num num."

"Mmm... ice cream very good too. Keep it coming." 

You've taken to adorning yourself with necklaces and this is your favourite. The strap of the now three-and-a-half-year-old changing bag. Probably the grubbiest strip of fabric in the entire house! But it becomes you very well. And it jingles. All good jewellery should jingle!

It's all about in and out at the moment. Good concentrated thinking.

And climbing. It's also about climbing. This face is "Help! I'm stuck!" (for the fourth time in about thirty seconds!)

More in and out work. 

And here we are, Little O, on your birthday. I'm sorry to say you experienced driving rain and what it is to be soaked to your skin. Unless we really do decide to elope to warmer climbs to escape the cruddy British weather, this is something you'll experience a fair amount in your life, but hopefully not on many more of your birthdays.

You enjoyed your birthday, I think. Master R helped you to open your presents (it was quite a challenge to rein in his enthusiasm). You love your skuttlebug, which was his gift to you. He pushed you along and you beamed happily. You can push yourself backwards, but you're frustrated that you can't quite work out how to go forwards yet. You like to "brrm brrm" on it. You loved your wooden blocks - you stacked them, shared them out, then tidied them back into the box (girl after my own heart!) You cuddled your baby doll (we've named him Wilbur) and sort of got the hang of putting him into his sleeping basket and putting his blanket over him. You were perplexed initially by the Elefun game, but you've worked out the fun bit is putting the butterflies back into the elephant at the end of the round. You liked your new dress, which you're going to wear for your party tomorrow - you kept scrunching the fabric over your legs. And you LOVED your music CD. We found and burnt to disc the songs from the Mini Disco on holiday, along with some other songs we know you like. You love to clap and bop to music. Especially the Hokey Cokey. At toddlers, you have recently taken to charging on foot into the middle for the "oooooh!" bit rather than letting me fling you in. You do it very dramatically, mouth wide open shouting "oooooh!" and your arms held back. 

Let's be honest, you do most things dramatically. I think your eighth tooth is finally coming through, because you've been Miss Shouty today. Happy enough one moment, then roaring with anger the next. You found it extremely difficult to wait through Master R's swimming lesson (yours is right after). When I pulled you back from throwing yourself eagerly into the water, you clenched your fists, pummelled your chubby feet against the floor and screamed with frustration and disappointment. Several times today a disappointment had you collapsed in my lap crying bitterly. It's hard being one. And I sense it's going to be quite a challenge to help you through these challenges, with your determination and passion. But I watch you, marching around in your little size 2 sandals, showing off the goggles you've wrestled from your brother and I think of all the things you can achieve with that fiery spirit and persistence. 

A year ago I knew everything about you, but that wasn't much at all. Now I have a much clearer idea of the person you are. And I look back at those early days and see the clues that were there at the time. It's been an incredible year. Incredibly beautiful and life-affirming. Incredibly exhausting and testing. We're learning and growing together. Thank you Baby O, for joining our family and making it the gigglier, crazier and better. We love you for everything you are.