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Archive for March, 2011

Budding

Spring is coming.  The washing is drying on the line (oh the domesticity), the tulips are budding, the daffs are blooming.

No longer will I slip and slide up icy path to nursery.  It was so darn icy and snowy this winter that I even considered buying crampons, much to the husband’s amusement.  Mind you, it didn’t help that he thought I was talking about some form of sanitary wear.  No longer will it take an infuriating extra fifteen minutes to bundle everyone in a ridiculous number of layers.  Fifteen minutes that could have been spent in bed getting an extra fifteen minutes of sleep or even at second best awake with a large mug of tea.  Not that I feel bitter.  No longer will the big girl be sent out into the chilly morning transformed into some mutant form of mini Michelin being.

Today was the first day I walked to nursery without a coat and the little boy even wore a sun hat.  I felt warm, I felt spring.  My mood feels so much better, though some members of the family would say it is still affected by the recent torture of sleep depriving snot filled colds and coughs.  I might even consider putting away the paraphernalia of chilliness – the hats, gloves, scarves (multiples of them all as they seem to get mislaid on a regular basis), the welly socks, the long johns (not mine I hasten to add), and the vests.  Is this just too hopeful?

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Feet

The small boy is on the move.  Nope, not crawling but a very determined, purposeful bum shuffle.  While at the moment he favours the snail pace, over the last couple of days he has upped his speed especially when tempted with his toy of choice – the electric cable, any variety, he’s not fussy.  When getting ready for bed one of small boy’s favourite games is blowing reciprocal raspberries and he loves having his feet kissed and raspberried.  These little feet are growing apace and soon won’t be cutely curling baby toes. 

Big girl’s feet were measured recently and to my shame were a whole two sizes too big for her shoes.  Oops.  The new shoes lasted in a pristine state for all of an afternoon.

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Beach heaven

I love our beach.  A mile or so of waves, water and sand.  How much happier could a young child be?  Further round the coast is a lighthouse island attached to the mainland with a causeway and rock pools.  What ever the weather we go there and the big girl has a great time while the small boy sits in the backpack looking enthusiastic.  We even went one lovely cold Christmas when the sand was frozen and yes it was more than a wee bit chilly.

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The witching hour

That time between tea and bed.  That long, long, loooong hour or so.  That time when the children are tired and crotchety.  That time when nothing goes to plan.  That time when I am desperate for them to be in bed and to enjoy my small moment of still and calm, when the fire hisses and the house is soundless. 

The big girl has a talent for negotiation and bargaining.  While I am hoping these skills will help her to go far in later life, at the moment they are driving me round the bend.  Tonight the list of procrastination ranged from wanting a drink (predictable), to the batteries on her torch were fading (hum, predicting later shenanigans), to a final push with her bed socks being too slippy (?).

I love my kids but the time before bed is my nemesis, my nightmare moment.  The time when I need to count to ten on a very frequent basis.  Can I confess that I put the small boy to bed at half past five one night (or is that day) when he was just unbearable.   The cat, however, calmly sleeps through the chaos and noise, studiously ignoring the turmoil of bedtime.  I so wish I had his powers of detachment.

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Illness

Both the husband’s mum and mine have long-term sicknesses.  At the moment both mothers are more ill than not; mine is in hospital for the third time in as many months and the husband’s isn’t faring much better.  I feel a long, long way from them.

The husband took the big girl over to the Netherlands for a weekend aimed to cheer Oma and Opa prior to a potentially nasty meeting this week at the hospital.  I think the mission was accomplished with the added by product of cycling induced exhaustion.  The weather was lovely and the Dutch contingent spent the weekend ‘op de fiets’ (on the bike, for those non dutch speakers).  I’d like you to note just how elegant and continentally chic Oma is even when viewed from the back.  Whereas I would look like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards.  In fact I probably would have been though a hedge, mud and puddles both forwards and backwards in the pursuit of young children. 

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The perennial question

To work or not to work. 

I have a return to work meeting tomorrow.  Nuff said.  I sorted the childcare bit a while ago and then have blindly ignored, buried my head in the sand, willfully looked the other way, stoically not thought about the actual fact of going back to work. 

I know that actually (depending on what they find for me to do) it will be a Good Thing.  A bit like castor oil and vitamin supplements.  No, really, I know last time I felt slightly more human, its only a couple of days, think of the money, it keeps my hand in for when the kids are finally a bit more independent and I can finally get a more interesting job  … hum, who am I trying to convince here?

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