To my little big boy

The day you were born seems like so long ago.  Today you are 5.

This year you have;

Learned to swim without armbands, mainly under the water like a fish

Learned how to ride your bike without stabilisers and joined the big boys on the BMX track

Joined a football club which makes you smile like the Cheshire Cat

Learned some scooter skills on the half pipe at the skate park

Started school. You’ve made new friends and are learning to read, write and spell

Had a second operation on your ears so now you can hear like everyone else.  It’s given you bags of confidence.

What on earth will 6 bring?

Time doesn’t seem to move as fast as you’d like but I’d like to slow it down.  I think it’s going quite fast enough thank you!

Happy Birthday my special boy.

Love Mummy xx

PS – Happy birthday also, today, to The Husband and, last week, to My Sister xxx

He went to an awful lot of trouble, even getting a butter knife from the drawer to get to the goods quicker. He proudly went upstairs to show The Husband his new toy saxaphone and got a telling off.

When I returned home, after our secret birthday present shopping mission, it dawned on him that I was also displeased and that he would have one less present to open this morning. He sobbed for a while.

Later when he was getting ready for bed he may have unexpectedly ventured into my bedroom where he may have seen another present, this time unwrapped.  A Toy Story lunch bag, to replace the torn and battered Ben 10 one. A practical addition for his birthday.

As I was saying goodnight to him last night he said “Why did you buy me a Toy Story lunchbag?” in a disappointed tone. I said in an upbeat tra la la voice with a beaming smile that he would have to wait and see what his birthday would bring, whilst thinking “Oh shit”.  Poor disappointed 3 year old.

Anyway, that’s behind him now because today is his birthday and he’s 4.  Who cares that he knows he has a toy saxophone which will be utilised as a gun or a method of torturing his parents and sister with?  Who cares his mother bought him a boring old Toy Story lunch bag? I for one love Buzz and Woody and in the cold light of day he was actually quite pleased with it. Now, he also has a new scooter, to replace the rusty old one … and this one has lights that flash along the footplate a bit like the ones that some chavs attach to the underside of their car.

I sit here shell shocked wondering where the last four years have gone.  I’m sure The Husband is equally confused, for it is his birthday too. 41 today. I’m sure he is wondering where the last 40 years have gone. Ahem.

This weekend we have a birthday party for the 4 year old with some of his friends from nursery.  Later the husband and I will go out  and meet our friends in the village. We may even drink a beverage or twenty two.  I’m sure there will be lots of laughter … and cake.

To infinity and beyond ….

See you on the other side.

She got in the pool and after a while the instructor told her to take one of her swim rings off each arm (she started with 3) because she was doing so well and congratulated her on her breast stroke.  I swelled with pride, she cried and refused to take a ring off.

At the end of the lesson he asked everyone to put their faces in the water and blow bubbles. He told them to do as much or as little as they wanted.  She blew bubbles without her face in the water, then cried.

After the lesson she was fine, said she didn’t like putting her face in the water.  I reassured her that he wouldn’t expect her to put her whole face in the water if she didn’t want to.

So, this week we set off for swimming, she was happily babbling on about something or other in the car.  As we got nearer to swimming she got quieter, then she started weeping.

I managed to get her into the changing rooms, into her costume and to the side of the pool where her sobs got louder and louder.  With everyone staring I quietly started the bribery process.

For a month now she has been coveting a doll’s pushchair in a local shop.  At £25 I told her she’d have to save up.  We’ve been giving her money here and there for little chores and as a reward for good behaviour. Our little version of payday loans.

Pushchair of her dreams ...

I started with “Two fat golden coins towards the pushchair of her dreams” if she’d get in the pool.

She continued sobbing louder, everyone stared, all the other children were in the pool.

“Two fat coins and a big piece of Mummy’s flapjack after swimming” I proffered.

Then, she gripped onto me like a chimpanzee and I went in for the kill whilst trying to loosen her vice like grip around my neck …

“OK, I’ll buy you the pushchair tomorrow if you will get in the pool”

To my shock the final bribe didn’t work, which was when I realised any more attempts to get her in were futile.  She would not be getting in that pool then or any other time for swimming lessons.  I dragged her back to the changing rooms.

I was annoyed.  Annoyed that she wouldn’t get in.  Annoyed that my confident girl had bought a ticket to Sobland and couldn’t give me a reasonable explanation for why she didn’t want to get in the pool.  Annoyed that I’d spent £40 on swimming lessons that were never going to be used and wouldn’t be refunded. Most of all I was annoyed that I’d tried to bribe her to do something she quite clearly didn’t want to do.

I told her I wouldn’t make her come again.  I also told her that her get out of jail free card had been used. She would still be going to Rainbows every week … and of course school every day.  At this news she was ecstatic and reverted back to my happy go lucky sing song girl. We went home and had a scooter ride with the dog.

At bedtime, she told me she was sorry for being naughty at swimming and making me cross.  I felt bad.  Awash with mother’s guilt* I gave her a cuddle and told her I wasn’t cross with her, that she hadn’t been naughty and that Grandpa would teach her to swim instead (Sorry Grandpa).

The good news is that I have managed to get the 3 year old lessons in place of the 5 year old so the money isn’t wasted.  Bad new is that because he’s under 5 I have to get in with him.

Now, where can I get one of those burkinis?

As a side note, I would like to add that at the point of leaving the changing room to take the 5 year old to the pool I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  Before leaving the house I had dryed my hair in a rushed fashion.  What I saw in the mirror staring back was an Afghan Hound, not dissimilar to this one.

* I decided this week that Mother’s Guilt should be bottled and inflicted on the bad people of this world thrice daily.

I had another birthday last month, I am now 31 years old. Of course with this quiet passing of birthdays I discovered that I like Emma Bridgewater mugs and that I have bingo wings. The latter was more of a shock than the former. When I pointed out my wingage to the husband he said that it may be more the shoveling of excess food into my mouth than my turning another year older. I can hear you all saying ‘HE SAID WHAT?’ and limbering up for some man bashing, but actually he’s right.

Whilst I work out how best to tackle my shovelling problem without having my jaw wired I have decided to wrap my bingo wings in cling film at night. This will surely reduce them if it is tight enough and the heating is cranked up

With my birthday came the dawn of the pyjama. I haven’t worn pyjamas since I left home at 18, opting for nakedness and then when I had children just plain old big pants. I am now going for comfort. I perused Marks and Spencer online and clicked the wrong button because I was confronted with one of my worst fears … ‘older’ ladies wearing quilted bed jackets. Recoiling in horror I decided that it would be best to go to a real shop where I could avoid such atrocities.

I had some time off last week to bridge the gaping childcare hole. It was lovely to spend some quality time with …

The 5 year old, who was suffering SHF (Summer Holiday Fatigue). Being passed from one form of childcare to the next all Summer has not done her any favours. She has loved the school holiday club which was a relief. She did have to be peeled off me each morning, but then each evening I had to drag her screaming to the car because she didn’t want to leave.

She has more imaginary animals. We have the two dogs, Molly and Sarah who walk with us every night with our REAL dog and then there are some unnamed cats. She still wants a real guinea pig and I am still refusing. When I suggested she get herself an imaginary guinea pig she looked at me as if I were mad. Other than that she is continuing to stalk the neighbours ten year old daughter daily and is now getting the …

… the 3 year old involved in peering in their front windows too. There will be a restraining order arriving shortly.

He has acquired a new noise, a cross between a guinea pig squeal and the screeching metal brakes on the 08:45 Northern Rail to Leeds. This noise is fairly random and I’m not sure if I should worry. He starts nursery at the 5 year old’s school next week which couldn’t come fast enough because he wails each morning as we pull up outside the OAP childminders and can’t understand why he can’t go to ”big boy school’.

We discovered that he had been weeing in the bidet a few weeks ago. After much berating he has ceased this activity and now favours cleaning the bidet with the 5 year old’s flannel instead. Apart from that he is obsessed with Mario Kart on the Wii and has probably said the phrase “can I play on the car game” 40 times a day for the last six weeks. This isn’t the only time he repeats himself either “Can we go on a scooter ride”, “Can we go on a scooter ride”, “Can we go on a scooter ride”, “Can we go on a scooter ride”, “Can we go on a scooter ride” gets a bit tiresome too. In fact if he wants something and gets the answer ‘no’ he will attempt to wear me down with asking the same thing over and over to the point that …

… the husband is now worried that the 3 year old is actually part goldfish.

The husband has taken to swearing excessively recently, but understandable seeing as he managed to kill his computer last week, which as a graphic designer is integral to his work.

The TV is currently tuned to ‘cricket’ and only ‘cricket’ which the children find disgusting especially as it clashes with Mister Maker. He’s going to the One Day International at Durham next week to meet up with ‘Glaswegian Jim’. We met Glaswegian Jim and his lovely family when we went camping in August. Their friendship formed over their love to drink alcohol and talk b*llocks into the early hours of the morning. One of our neighbouring campers got quite razzed by the early morning discussions. She came out of her tent and shouted angrily at Glaswegian Jim “I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR YOUR SCOTTISH VOICE AGAIN TONIGHT” . Over the last few weeks by medium of text and email the husband has taught Jim everything there is to know about cricket.

He mentioned the word ‘vasectomy’ in my presence last week. I laughed it off nervously. I am of course still holding out for him having an accidental head trauma and subsequently the revelation that he would in fact like more children. This isn’t going to happen, but a vasectomy? It seems so final. Usually it is the woman pushing for the man to have the vasectomy, surely not the man openly willing to have his bits hacked at with a machete snipped. To be honest I think if he could do it himself with a pair of garden shears he would.

The dog… is mostly moulting. She is looking a bit thin, which for a Labrador is unheard of, I’ll have to start supplementing her diet with her favourite past worktop steals … pomegranates …. candles … frozen mince … whole loaves of bread … tubs of margarine. Maybe she’s dog-a-rexic?