Milk for the calves

Wahey, my first photo. Now at first glance you may think this is a bit random. But not so. What you see before you is powerful evidence of the immense power of the imagination - aged 3 and a half and six.

Each of these containers has been carefully filled with bathwater up to a designated level. Apparently this is milk for the calves. It is most definitely not for sale.

I love it.

Now that I have shared that with you I suppose the sensible grown-up in me must go and pour the water away and tidy the pots so I can get into the shower tomorrow morning..... oh, ok, not just yet.

Big bangs, sparkles and an accidental willy.

Bonfire night. Both girls had been promised a trip to a bonfire which, as it turned out, was cancelled for reasons not worth going into here. So, in an attempt to keep things calm I looked into local bonfires.

Up until now the girls have not been to a bonfire - six year old has always been mightily terrified of the bangs and anyway we live at the top end of a valley and can usually get a great view of at least three or four big firework displays from behind the safety of our bedroom windows.

I was told there was a local pub that usually has a small (and earlyish!) bonfire so made plans to go, despite reservations about taking a 6 and a 3 year old out after dark and having to suffer the repercussions of tiredness and post-bedtime giddiness alone. We talked about it, I asked several times if they really wanted to go, even offered the get-out that it had been rather wet during the day so maybe we didn't have to go.... But no, we still wanted to so we layered up to keep warm (although by this point 6 year old was already saying she wanted to watch from inside the pub) and opened the door to the dark, at which point several fireworks happened to go off in the near vicinity.

"Noooo, Mummeee I don't waaant to go!" says 6 year old. Hmm, thought this might happen. Ok, so we don't have to. "But I do want to go Mummy," says 3 year old. Oh, hadn't anticipated that one. 6 year old decides she would like to go, but only if we drive to the pub. Obviously it goes against the grain to drive to something so close, but we had been talking about going for days and maybe this would ultimately help her reduce her fear of the big bangs. So we climb into the car for the short ride down the hill. Stop the car, climb out.

"Nooo, Mummeeee I still don't waaant to go!"
"I doooo"
Bollocks. This is obviously one of several drawbacks to being a lone parent, or to being any parent who does most of the parenting alone, because if one goes somewhere you all have to go. Sometimes this can have advantages, and I am certain that it has helped my girls develop their wonderful relationship with each other. But at times like these it means choosing between them. Tough call.

Of course in the end I had to respect the genuine fear that my 6 year old was displaying over the disappointment shown by my 3 year old.
"Why don't we go home and drink hot chocolate by your bedroom window and see if we can see fireworks from there?"
Luckily that worked for both girls.

We went home via a shop that sold both milk for the drinks and sparklers as an added appeasement to brave little 3 year old.

It must be the first time I have held a sparkler in years so I enjoyed it once we got home, as did they, and in the end I reckon we had a more enjoyable time watching the show from indoors than we would have done standing in the cold or fighting through a busy pub.

Slight concern on my part though as I left the girls to run their bedtime bath and heard: "Mummy, I saw a man's willy!"
Erm, that wasn't supposed to be part of the show.... Hmm, the man who lives in the house behind us was getting into the shower in his fully-lit bathroom. Oops. All perfectly innocent, but somehow I know that's the bit of information that 6 year old will be sharing when she goes into school tomorrow... Yikes.

Ha ha bonk

Six year old: Why did the cow cross the road?
To get to the udder side.

Three year old: Why did the poo and wee cross the road?
Because they wanted to see the giraffe.

Mortality for the younger mind

I wonder sometimes whether all young children have as keen an interest in death as my two?

We have recently acquired a hamster - a birthday present for my six year old daughter who had been asking if she could have a pet for about two years before I finally caved in. Three year old has asked on numerous occasions: "When will Emily die?" in a fairly matter-of-fact way.

This morning at breakfast the topic was extended a little.

Three year old: "When will Emily die?"
Six year old: "You can tell when she's dead because she won't move, look she's still moving so she's not dead yet."
Three year old: "Oh."
Six year old (in a very matter-of-fact tone): "When Emily dies will we have to take her back to the pet shop or can we bury her in the garden?"
Me: "Erm, well I don't think they will want her back at the pet shop so I guess we can bury her."

Six year old (after a pause): "Can we bury her in the stony bit?"

More hummous please

Six years on I still struggle to understand why the two things my children rally against the most are two of the things I would happily spend the majority of my time doing, i.e. sleeping and eating.

I try to cook most of the food I feed my children myself and am fairly determined that one day our tastes will coincide more frequently, but we do still have a lot of discussion about food. And we do currently eat a lot of pasta.

Personally, I do not eat meat, but as the girls' dad does, I have never tried to enforce my vegetarianism onto them. Obviously now that I am the only adult living in the house I tend to cook less meat than I did, but occasionally I will buy some form of meat - mainly to make up for the fact that I struggle to get them to eat enough variety of vegetables and pulses to get all the vitamins and nutrients I reckon they need in order to keep growing.

On this particular occasion I had bought chicken breast (free range and organic to make up for my guilt at buying and also to avoid feeding my children the horrible things that are fed to non free range chickens). I cut it into strips and rolled it in breadcrumbs, and baked it alongside some chips cut from potatoes dug up from the remains of this year's half-hearted vegetable-growing efforts. Home-made chicken nuggets and chips. A rare treat for my children who mainly live on tomato-based pasta sauces and things with cheese.

Three year old tucked in heartily (in itself quite a rarity): "Mummy this is delicious can you make it again please?"

Six year old was more reluctant, dipping into the chips but avoiding the chicken.

Now, as a vegetarian it does gall me to be having to persuade my children to eat meat, but I had bought it and cooked it so didn't really want to be throwing it out just due to pickiness.

Finally resorting to bargaining tactics. Me: "Just eat one piece for me then."
Six year old replies: "I'll only eat some chicken if you give me some carrot and hummous first."

There's no pleasing some people.

Panic? Moi?

Just had a mildly scary experience. My 6 year old went for tea at a friend's house and I was due to pick her up with little sister at 6pm after finishing work and feeding said little sister.

Except when it came to setting off to collect her I realised I'd mislaid the piece of paper with the address on. No need to panic, we all have mobiles these days don't we? So I texted the mum in question and set off towards the road I thought she lived down. Arriving at the end of the road there was still no reply. Ok, let's try ringing then. Answer phone. Oh poo. Try again in a few minutes. Answer phone. Little sister asking over and over again: "Where does C live Mummy?" "Erm, I'm not quite sure honey."

Ok, don't panic, she'll call back in a minute. In the meantime I text three other parent friends to see if they know the address. No answer. Ok, so now fifteen minutes have passed and there's still no answer. Should I start knocking on doors? No, probably too soon for that.

The thing is, in the greater scheme of things fifteen minutes isn't really all that long, but when you have realised that you have no idea where your baby is it can seem like a very long time indeed.

Looking at it rationally there was nothing to worry about it, but I can happily admit that when the mum did finally call me back ("Oh I'm so sorry I'd left my phone on charge etc etc") there was an enormous surge of relief.

Funny thing is though that these kinds of things make me realise how far I've moved on emotionally in the past year or so. Something like that would have thrown me into a complete panic last year, whereas this time I was able to rationalise and sit it out without losing it.

Still, next time she goes for tea I'll tattoo the address somewhere completely indelible. Just in case, you understand.

Communication

I need to work on my personal communication skills.

Ironic, given that I have spent the last 11 years working in various sections of the communications industry. My CV claims that my written and verbal communication skills are second to none.

However, it seems my personal and working life continue to be hampered by a long-standing inability to make people understand what I want.

Somehow I am perfectly able to turn other people's stories into readable prose but trying to ensure others get me is where I fall down.

Today was a perfect example. I won't bore you with the details of my employment situation, suffice it to say I am not exactly feeling on top of the world. Time to move on definitely. All I need to do now is work out where to.