Really? My Child?

Now that my firstborn is in full time school he frequently comes home with his jumper generously spattered with stickers in recognition of his good works and impeccable behaviour.

Obviously I always feel a smug glow of pride when he comes out adorned with stickers while other parents pick up their kids who aren't so beautifully decorated. (No doubt that'll be me next year picking up Eli, he's just not all that bothered about making people happy like our Thomas).

Of course in school I was always the model of perfect classroom etiquette (when I wasn't idly chatting to my classmates and ignoring the teacher of course) so I think Thomas is just following in my footsteps.

The other day as we were collecting his coat I enquired as to why he'd received a sticker of a dinosaur that said 'excellent-saurus'.

"I had the tidiest pile".

"What?"

"When we got changed for PE and had to leave our clothes tidy my pile was the very tidy one".

(Completely bewildered) "Oh, right!"

"Cos some of those kids just are not good at being tidy".

And that behaviour he did not get from me.

But I'm hoping it's contagious because my house would really benefit from a healthy dose of that.

(On a tangent I just barely got around to removing the 'your pregnancy' widget. Imagine my horror when I just checked it only to find I'd neglected it so long it was telling me I was 7 weeks pregnant all over again! I'd rather fracture my other shoulder than be pregnant all over again).

Giving a Bit of Credit Where it's Long Overdue

For Father's Day this year we happened to be off by the sea enjoying some sunshine on our family Summer holiday.

On Thomas's last day of school before we left Rob wasn't working and so he went to pick him up. I tried to talk him out of it because I knew Thomas would be coming home with some top quality hand crafted card or gift and I had wanted to keep it as a surprise for the big day itself.

But Rob went nonetheless and really I should have just been grateful that someone else was doing the pick up for a change. Because really after the 212th pick up of the academic year the monotony really started to kick in.

Thomas came home with this card.

I knew right away what the drawing was. It couldn't have been more obvious.

It's Rob playing his Xbox. Priceless.

I looked at Rob, he seemed crestfallen, he said with a tinge of sarcasm, 'Oh it gets better!'

So I looked inside and there recorded by his teacher is what in the eyes of Thomas his dad liked doing the most in all the world.

Rob was both gutted and concerned that Thomas's teachers would have a far less than top notch opinion of his fathering prowess.

Behind a chuckle I tried to comfort him by suggesting that it could have been far, far worse.

After all It could have said my dad likes to play Grand Theft Auto or some Zombie killing game.

So should Thomas's teachers ever fill their spare hours randomly googling parents of their pupils for the record I'd just like to say what a fab dad Rob truly is (and that his Xbox generally only enjoys the wonder of electrical power when they kids are fast asleep in bed).

I don't give him nearly enough vocal credit (or probably non vocal credit either) and I don't devote nearly enough blog posts to him (really I should cos the guy has hilariously killer OCD and what's not entertaining about that?).

On Father's Day when he was well within his rights to demand a nap and maybe even breakfast in bed (which I'm pretty sure were my Mother's day demands) he was instead doing this with his two biggest fans.

Plus one things for sure you'd never catch me doing stuff like this with them.

I'm impressed I even went outside to take pictures of it.

Mummy's are for warm, indoor and clean activities only.

Oh and for the record Rob actually didn't even think the Xbox tennis was that special.

30 Weeks: A Four Year Old's Perspective

Months ago Thomas came home from nursery with this picture.

In case you're wondering that's me on the right. (But isn't that completely obvious?)

Apparently my most striking feature is my gigantic googly eyes but please do pay attention to (and even envy a little) my stick thin body and arms.

It's like me and Victoria Beckham were separated at birth or something.

If you happen to be wondering who the rather round and squat person is on the left of me that would be my mother. She was visiting at the time and lucky for Thomas she was so thrilled by the knowledge that he could write his very own name that she got completely distracted from the fact that he had drawn her with an uncanny resemblance to an Oompa Loompa. Though I have to admit to being rather amused myself.

Roll on to last Sunday when Thomas drew this beauty of a family portrait in his Primary class at Church and oh what a difference a few months makes.

Again that would be me on the right.

Long gone is my stick thin body, (though I do appear to have maintained a pretty good set of legs).

Shrunken are my eyes, stupid pregnancy insomnia.

Imagine my horror to find out that this is a representation of how I'm looking these days.

Please note our baby girl dwelling comfortably within my gigantic body cavity, pigtails et al.

So do you think he did me justice? Here is a picture of me yesterday at 30 weeks gestation.

Oh and please don't hate me for not being enormous.

Or for the fact that this is by far the most near to being enormous I have been at this stage in pregnancy.

Bring on the next 10 weeks and somebody hide all drawing materials from the 4 year old.

Some things I should have blogged about but didn't because I was just too lazy.

Remember how my boys always had hair that looked something like this?

(Though I admit Eli's is particularly insane in his picture.)Well around Christmas Thomas started asking to have his hair cut 'all spiky' just like his dad. So I eventually relented and took him and felt saddened the entire time as I watched him grinning from ear to ear as the stylist cut off all his hair.

He looked SO grown up but also super cute so I quickly learned to live with it!

A few weeks later Sabbath day boredom kicked in and we decided it was time to bid farewell to Eli's hair too.

Rob somehow managed to persuade him and we pulled out the clippers and went to town on his head. In fact Rob went to town with a little too much ferocity and mistakenly put the number 3 guard on instead of number 6.

Which resulted in hair so short that we had to resort to shaving our hairy boys forehead because his forehead hair was longer than the hair on his head.
Eli wasn't so impressed with the outcome. He asked several times for his hair back and confided to anyone who would listen with disgust that 'my daddy did it to me!' Fortunately it's growing back now and we'll be keeping it long (but not so dishevelled looking) in the future.
Thomas who didn't escape the Sabbath day boredom also got his hair buzzed off and at the end of January turned 4! (Yes I am ashamed I'm blogging about this 2.5 months late.)

He chose to go bowling and somehow even with the bumper bars up he managed to beat me. Well, more precisely utterly thrash me considering he whooped me by 30 points or so. Clearly all my bowling prowess on the Wii just didn't transfer into real life. Gutted.

Blasted Nintendo people giving me a false sense of confidence and achievement.

February saw England get its worst snowfall in 18 years. Usually we get a mere sprinkling that leaves within a few hours but this snow kept on coming and lingered for a week or so.
The boys (including Rob) of course were thrilled and made the most of every snow filled day.
I on the other hand put on as many clothes and possible and waited for it to pass.
Whilst wondering why on earth I wasn't born somewhere warmer and how come global warming hasn't actually made me any warmer at all.
After months of watching from the sidelines Eli recently officially started football training for the West End number 5's alongside his big brother. For the most part he has zero clue what is going on and runs around aimlessly which is far from productive but on the bright side it is very amusing to observe.
Today is our 6 year anniversary. I'm actually not even at home with Rob. I came to my mum's with the boys for a few days this afternoon. 6 years has flown by. But I am grateful for the husband I have and the time we have spent together.

We all miss you already Rob!

Because lately I'm just too lazy to Blog but my kids are really cute!

The Moment When I Wondered if I bought the Right Baby Home from the Hospital

Remember Christmas Morning when you were a kid?

Tearing wrapping paper off with wild abandon and getting thoroughly stuck in (Ok so that is still what I do now but thats not the point people)?

Joyous, right?

Fast forward to Christmas 2008.

Where my firstborn child carefully unwraps each individual present before taking care to add it in a very orderly fashion to his tower of presents before moving on to the next.

I only caught a photo half way through but he repeated such shameless tidy shenanigans the very next day at my mum's house.

Heaven knows he didn't get the tidy or self restraint genes from me.

I hope it's not contagious.

Angelic, Really?

On Friday I was absolutely swollen with pride as I went to see my firstborn in his first ever school Christmas concert.

A couple of weeks previously we received direction that the Nursery Class were gonna to be a choir of angels in the production (which I quietly found highly amusing because the furthest thing you can probably find from an angel is a three year old) and that in aforementioned role my son would be required to wear an angel costume.

I explained it to him and he responded promptly and with disgust, "No!"

Turns out angels wear dresses and as he is very much a boy there was no possibility of him wearing a dress ever.

After convincing him to trust me that angels are actually men (despite them being depicted in nativity plays worldwide as sweet little girls) and they wear 'special robes' and not dresses he finally agreed to participate. Though there is a possibility he agreed to participate solely to shut me up so he could concentrate on more important things, you know, like Diego.

So here is my very own little angel pre-performance. It is amazing what you can accomplish with a pillowcase and some tinsel (my sewing machine conspired against me dressing my son in a dress too and refused to work) when needs must. Crazy face courtesy of insisting on saying cheese with gusto.

The concert was so lovely and I only caught him picking his nose once (his new hobby) and fortunately he was far from the only one.
And for 30 entire minutes 39 3 and 4 year olds actually were angelic.

Too bad it didn't extend to the two year old I had to take along.

So That's Where Snow Comes From

This morning Thomas gave us an extensive discourse on where water comes from as only a 3 year old really can.

So I asked him if he knew who made the snow (I like to be topical you know).

'Yes' He promptly replied.

'Santa and Jesus'.

I couldn't help but think the world would be a sublimely nicer place if Santa and Jesus were responsible for everything, not just snow.

What Exactly Goes On In Those Little Brains?

A couple of days ago as Rob pulled onto the drive Eli started yelling with excitement "Poo-Daddy, Poo-Daddy!"

Thomas corrected him and said "No E-I (which is exactly how he pronounces his name, I am doing you a phonetic favour here) it's not Poo-Daddy it is Who-Daddy."

I'd like to take this opportunity to correct them both.

It is actually Ho-Daddy, Ho-Daddy and if you have no clue whatsoever what I am referring to then you obviously have been deprived of the 217 hours of Backyardigans that parenthood has forced upon me.

The Ho-Daddy reference is from the Surf's Up episode. I totally recommend it BTW. Anyhow that is a massive tangent so I'll get back to the point.

Eli responds, "No Daddy is a giant like mummy!" (I'm 5 feet 10 inches hardly giant proportions but I guess to a little person it could appear that way so I won't take offense, much.)

"NO daddy is bigger than mummy because he is the boss!"

How on earth did my three year old form such a politically incorrect opinion? I'll have you know Rob is neither the boss of this household (or anywhere else really) or even taller than me.

I am an actually an entire inch taller. So there, Thomas. I must be the boss if height is the only requirement.

As if that wasn't a treat enough last night when I thought both my boys were sleeping somewhere around 10pm Thomas unexpectedly shouts my name out. He didn't sound upset so I chose to respond from my seat on the sofa (the benefits of dwelling in a teeny tiny house) wondering what he could be wanting at such an hour when he should have been in a peaceful slumber for hours.

His response?

'I am getting big boobies like you'.

Cue near death by laughing fits for both Rob and I whilst Rob explained that boys don't have boobies.

And for the record I think he is the first and no doubt the last person to ever use the word big in connection with my boobies.

Because we all know when God was handing out the boobs I was obviously in the queue for a zippy metabolism instead.

A girl can't have everything.

Wanna Hear a Good Joke?

What's a pigs favourite snack?

Popcorn.

What do you mean you don't get it and you're not laughing?

Apparently you have to be about 3 and three quarters to fully comprehend the true hilarity of this joke.

Also Thomas finds the joke can be endlessly revitalised by swapping the word pig for just about any other type of animal imaginable should the laughter start to dry up using just pig.

Yes it is a chore to force out a sincere laugh to a non funny joke 213 times a day.

Fortunately he is always guaranteed a laugh in this house because Eli thinks finds the word popcorn highly amusing indeed.

Too bad he has no clue what popcorn actually is.

What a Charmer

In a recent post I mentioned Thomas in connection with the words 'chronic constipation'. Thankfully those days are long long gone. They were not happy times.

My (maybe vain) hope is that my boys will have such incredible senses of humour when they're older that they will see the very funny side of my having shared such intimate details of their bathroom habits years previously.

If not? Well I guess it'll just be too late and they'll either have to live with it or else legally change their names and move far away from me and my Internet ramblings.

You can see now why I'd prefer the first option. I am pretty attached to my little chaps after all.

But anyhow, very occasionally for old times sake Thomas will take a walk down constipation memory lane (so to speak) and take himself off to sit on the toilet for an hour or so. I'm not complaining my life is pretty low maintenance while one of the kids is on the loo watching the day go by with no real intention or need to poop. Eventually boredom sets in and he gets down and returns to whatever he was doing before the urge took him. I consider it a gift of sorts. Like a self inflicted time out that he gives himself.

Recently before boredom had the opportunity to set in I had to use the bathroom and for those who are mothers you'll no doubt sympathise that bladder control sadly isn't what it once was. So I asked Thomas is he would temporarily take a break from his non-pooping so that I could quickly use the toilet.

No!

But I'll only be a minute.

NO!

(More urgently) Please Thomas I'll be really quick.

My said no. You go outside in the park like those dogs do.

Can I just take this opportunity to apologise to whoever has the good fortune of marrying my firstborn because apparently a boys toilet is his castle and there is just no parting him from it.

Even in an emergency.

Letters, Laxatives & ?

Dear Thomas,

Lets make ourselves a little agreement. From now on unless informed otherwise by your good self I'll just assume that you would like every toy on every advertisement you see between now and Christmas. Not having the same conversation 3681 times every day will help keep me on the verge of sanity which I'd greatly appreciate.

I have to say when you told me you wanted that shampoo for Christmas, that was a low point.

I think you might have fallen over the materialistic edge of Christmas. I think it is time to overdose on our nativity books to get you back on track.

Love mum

*******

I am intrigued by the laxative effect playing with cars appears to have on Eli's bowels. Without fail if he plays cars for longer than a few minutes it kicks his intestines into overdrive. If only we had known what we know now when Thomas suffered with excruciating constipation for 18 months. Ah well, you live and learn.

*******

Not to brag (well maybe a little) last night I got Christmas wrapped up and all stored in the loft. The kids were beginning to get a bit suspicious of odd shaped packages appearing around the house. Only 4 more presents to buy. Yay!

******

Dear Sweet cute brown eyed but incredibly devilish Eli,

If you could not throw a massive tantrum every single day when we have to leave Thomas at school I'd really appreciate it. Especially on those days when just ten minutes before I was picking you up from playgroup after a 3 hour stint where you got to do all the exact same things you are so enamoured with at Thomas' school, on those days I find your behaviour beyond unreasonable.

Frankly I could live without my hefty daily dose of humiliation. Nobody else's younger sibling gives an ounce of resistance about leaving. Clearly you are trying to make up for them all.

I don't really appreciate the fact that everybody stares like we're a car crash as I have to physically remove your screaming, crying self from the building while all the parents are no doubt thanking their lucky stars that you're not their child and the staff are probably making a mental note to look for new employment by January 2010 when you'd be in their class.

Come on kid, give me a break.

Love mum

*******

Tonight we start choir rehearsals for our Carol service at church. I signed up immediately. Don't get me wrong I am not a great singer. I know that. But still I can be found in my car belting the hits out like no ones business. But if nothing else at least my paltry singing talents will make the rest of the choir look good. Plus biggest bonus of all I have to it on the stand in church for the duration of the Carol service, so when December 21st rolls around I will have a child free church experience. Bliss!

*******

Dear Santa.....

Halloween and Rob's birthday both behind us we enter into my territory.....

Christmas.

Having pulled out my Santa card on Thomas weeks ago I am gutted to admit the novelty has started to gradually wear off. Santa's all powerful gift control no longer makes my 3 year old stop in his naughty tracks. I guess naughtiness is just more alluring than gifts to this child. (Lucky me when he is older).

Last week was half term from school and Rob was away in Scotland with work so the kids and I went to stay at my mum's where I got to share bunk beds with Thomas. (I am actually thinking that bunk beds are the way forward, having returned last night and slept in my own bed I sadly missed the bunk beds. I am thinking we need some for our room. All the convenience and company of having Rob close by but without the inconvenience of his cover hogging and trampolining style turning over, maybe I'll just have to suggest it.)

Anyhow during such visit we ended up in a shop that sold toys. To which Thomas reacts by requesting one by one each and every toy on their shelves. To which I respond like I always do, "well we can't buy any right now because if we do Santa won't know what to bring you" the combination of too many late nights at nanny's house and pure greed resulted in him not being completely satisfied with that response.

Finally he was happy to buy nothing if we could write his list to Santa right away when we got back to Nanny's house, just to be sure he didn't forget anything that he really needed Santa to bring him.

So I present to you our gift lists to Santa.......

Thomas: (FYI 'mash up' is what the boys do with their dad roughly translates as wrestling)

Diego Rescue Pack

Golden Coin Maker (thank you Nickelodeon for putting this idea into his head BTW)

A Game with Monkeys

A new DVD of a stagecoach

A mash up stage

A jigsaw with an animal picture

A water squirting game

A kicker man to mash up

A mash up turtle

New pictures

New Plates

New Door

Teapot

Peppa Pig Ball (Previous 5 are due to him getting slightly distracted and just naming whatever he saw as he looked around Nanny's house, he does the same thing in his prayers, very entertaining to get an inventory of his bedroom each night)

Brand new white car (which I am hoping is actually for me)

Fire shooter

Fire engine

Peppa Pig house with beds

A shop

Eli:

Dora Back Pack

Diego Rescue Pack (not that he's completely obsessed or anything)

So there we have it.

So now that it is officially Christmas I am off to break out my Frank and Bing CD's and the kiddo's are watching Mickey Mouse's Once Upon a Christmas as I type.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Happy Halloween from my favourite Pumpkins

Nutritional Advice from a Three Year Old

Sunday was Rob's birthday and we were at the in laws for Sunday lunch.

I found myself starting a familiar conversation with Thomas.

"If you don't eat all of those carrots you won't get any cake."

Which we were all secretly hoping would be the outcome seeming as my mother in law had whipped up a super yummy looking chocolate fudge cake in honour of the super spoilt birthday boy.

"Carrots aren't for boys!"

And before I could respond,

Very matter of factly.

"Carrots make boys sick!"

Well you have to give him an A for effort, right?

But he did eat all his carrots that day, and managed to do so without getting sick.

If only I had chocolate fudge cake on hand for bribery every day.

Check back later for the result of my giveaway.