Thursday 28 August 2008
Friday 22 August 2008
Children say the funniest things!
It's been a weird week chez dougalfish this week.
Monday's are always bad after the now infamous event at the swimming pool. I was dreading returning to lessons but all passed smoothly. I was feeling virtuous as I'd done a workout at the gym in the morning and then managed to swim lengths for 20 minutes whilst he finally paid attention to the swimming instructor. We then returned to the main part of the pool for 15 minutes 'playtime' before heading home. That's when it happened. I suddenly felt terribly sick. I managed to get him out of the pool and into the changing rooms before I had to make a swift exit for the loos, then had to run in again as soon as we were dressed. I'm sure all parents would agree that the one thing you don't want your kids to witness is you being ill - unfortunately halfway back on the 10 minute drive home I had to pull over.
DS: MUM what ARE you doing?
Me: I'm sorry, mummy's not feeling well, we just need to get home.
DS: That's right we'll get home, you can make me something to eat and then you can lie down and have a rest.
(hmm priorities!!!)
2 hours later OH arrives home to find me ensconced in the downstairs loo and a rather irate son on the door step.
DS: Daddy I told mummy she had to make me something to eat FIRST!
(how inconsiderate of me)
Tues am when OH rang him at grandma's house (thank goodness we moved closer to them) to arrange to pick him up.
DH: 'lo dad. Mum's dead.
He wasn't too happy when he saw me later in the day as I roused myself to take him for his pre-school injections.
On getting home and removing the cotton wool pads (that seemed to catch on his clothes every time he moved) to replace with 'magic' plasters (in our house they have pictures they have Winnie the Pooh characters on).
DS: no don't take them off, the needles will fall out.
On picking him up from nursery on Wednesday I found he had fallen asleep - which is very unusual as my son never sleeps. Because his legs were still hurting I was conned into carrying him out to the car.
DS: Mummy I was only having my beauty sleep. Bobby and Will kept making noises but I shouted at them to be quiet because I needed my beauty sleep before you fetched me.
(Bobby and Will are the ones who call him names ...)
On shopping for his friend's birthday present he demanded a £50 piece of plastic. I calmly told him for the 15th time that we didn't have the money to buy him anything.
DS: That's okay you can go to the machine in the wall, it gives you money.
(If only it was that simple :-p)
Our DVD player started making a strange noise and I commented to my OH that it had been used continuously over the last few days as neither of us had the energy to go out.
DS: yes daddy it's because it's been used consecutively ...
(we'll make an editor out of him yet).
Now we've both got our energy back and the weather is awful. thank goodness it's Bank holiday - my OH will be working full time but grandparents will be around for 3 whole days!
Monday's are always bad after the now infamous event at the swimming pool. I was dreading returning to lessons but all passed smoothly. I was feeling virtuous as I'd done a workout at the gym in the morning and then managed to swim lengths for 20 minutes whilst he finally paid attention to the swimming instructor. We then returned to the main part of the pool for 15 minutes 'playtime' before heading home. That's when it happened. I suddenly felt terribly sick. I managed to get him out of the pool and into the changing rooms before I had to make a swift exit for the loos, then had to run in again as soon as we were dressed. I'm sure all parents would agree that the one thing you don't want your kids to witness is you being ill - unfortunately halfway back on the 10 minute drive home I had to pull over.
DS: MUM what ARE you doing?
Me: I'm sorry, mummy's not feeling well, we just need to get home.
DS: That's right we'll get home, you can make me something to eat and then you can lie down and have a rest.
(hmm priorities!!!)
2 hours later OH arrives home to find me ensconced in the downstairs loo and a rather irate son on the door step.
DS: Daddy I told mummy she had to make me something to eat FIRST!
(how inconsiderate of me)
Tues am when OH rang him at grandma's house (thank goodness we moved closer to them) to arrange to pick him up.
DH: 'lo dad. Mum's dead.
He wasn't too happy when he saw me later in the day as I roused myself to take him for his pre-school injections.
On getting home and removing the cotton wool pads (that seemed to catch on his clothes every time he moved) to replace with 'magic' plasters (in our house they have pictures they have Winnie the Pooh characters on).
DS: no don't take them off, the needles will fall out.
On picking him up from nursery on Wednesday I found he had fallen asleep - which is very unusual as my son never sleeps. Because his legs were still hurting I was conned into carrying him out to the car.
DS: Mummy I was only having my beauty sleep. Bobby and Will kept making noises but I shouted at them to be quiet because I needed my beauty sleep before you fetched me.
(Bobby and Will are the ones who call him names ...)
On shopping for his friend's birthday present he demanded a £50 piece of plastic. I calmly told him for the 15th time that we didn't have the money to buy him anything.
DS: That's okay you can go to the machine in the wall, it gives you money.
(If only it was that simple :-p)
Our DVD player started making a strange noise and I commented to my OH that it had been used continuously over the last few days as neither of us had the energy to go out.
DS: yes daddy it's because it's been used consecutively ...
(we'll make an editor out of him yet).
Now we've both got our energy back and the weather is awful. thank goodness it's Bank holiday - my OH will be working full time but grandparents will be around for 3 whole days!
Another Naughty Step
Typing random things into my search engine today - like 'fed up of the school holidays' and '101 ways to torture pre-schoolers' (joke ;-0) I discover that there was a Naughty Step blog in existence long before this one. My defense is that I did seach for the name before I started out and didn't find it. I've had a quick peek and it's great! So I urge you to head over there too - but promise you'll come back and visit me :-)
Friday 15 August 2008
Painting the Forth Bridge
Back in the late 80s my dad worked for a company that had the contract for painting the Forth bridge. The story goes that because the bridge is so large and every area has to be painted it takes four year to complete. Once it has been completed they need to start at the beginning again. So the phrase 'a bit like painting the Forth bridge' has stuck in our family. (My parents are on their 4th house since that time and even though they only stayed for 3 years in one they have all been redecorated completely decorated at least twice).
Today we have friends coming to visit - one of my BFF (I am lucky enough to have a few - though they all now live a great distance from me - the furthest in New Zealand - and don't necessarily get on with each other) and her husband and daughter (who I'm also 'supporting adult' for - the equivalent to God parent in a civil naming ceremony). Now I don't know about your friends but with mine there is always a bit of 'keeping up appearances' involved - I may have told her the whys and wherefores of why my life is currently falling apart but I still want my house to look nice.
However, with a 4 year old at home it's, well - a bit like painting the Forth bridge. As fast as I get one room clean he's trashed two. As I've said before, cleaning is not my thing and my occasional forays have proved that if I clean it will just be a mess 10 minutes later. So preparation for a 'visit' lasts at least a week. If I say I've picked up books, CDs, DVDs, cuddly toys and pants off the floor at least 10 times a day for the last week you might get the picture!
At his grandparents this aversion to a clean house is the complete opposite. There is nothing he likes better than to help grandma mop the kitchen floor or grandad to vacuum the carpet (my father never used to vacuum but there is currently a standoff about the carpet - mum doesn't like it and wants to replace it is is refusing to clean it! - it is bright red and shows up every speck of dirt, plus they have a white long-haired cat!). Perhaps the fact is that my mum's house is always clean whereas mine is always 'lived in' and he can't bear them to be different from that. When I asked him why he kept making a mess he first blamed his imaginary friends (a baby elephant and a Kangaroo) then he said 'because it makes you cross'. Sometimes parenting is 'a bit like painting the Forth bridge'.
Today we have friends coming to visit - one of my BFF (I am lucky enough to have a few - though they all now live a great distance from me - the furthest in New Zealand - and don't necessarily get on with each other) and her husband and daughter (who I'm also 'supporting adult' for - the equivalent to God parent in a civil naming ceremony). Now I don't know about your friends but with mine there is always a bit of 'keeping up appearances' involved - I may have told her the whys and wherefores of why my life is currently falling apart but I still want my house to look nice.
However, with a 4 year old at home it's, well - a bit like painting the Forth bridge. As fast as I get one room clean he's trashed two. As I've said before, cleaning is not my thing and my occasional forays have proved that if I clean it will just be a mess 10 minutes later. So preparation for a 'visit' lasts at least a week. If I say I've picked up books, CDs, DVDs, cuddly toys and pants off the floor at least 10 times a day for the last week you might get the picture!
At his grandparents this aversion to a clean house is the complete opposite. There is nothing he likes better than to help grandma mop the kitchen floor or grandad to vacuum the carpet (my father never used to vacuum but there is currently a standoff about the carpet - mum doesn't like it and wants to replace it is is refusing to clean it! - it is bright red and shows up every speck of dirt, plus they have a white long-haired cat!). Perhaps the fact is that my mum's house is always clean whereas mine is always 'lived in' and he can't bear them to be different from that. When I asked him why he kept making a mess he first blamed his imaginary friends (a baby elephant and a Kangaroo) then he said 'because it makes you cross'. Sometimes parenting is 'a bit like painting the Forth bridge'.
Sunday 10 August 2008
Difficult Questions
My son has reached the stage where he's realised certain questions are embarrassing to his parents - ***warning this posts contains toilet humour and references to genitalia!**
A friend of mine is a foster carer and she once explained that they are trained that difficult questions are most often asked in the car where children don't have to make eye contact with you. This hasn't been our experience - most are asked in the bath or at the dinner table.
We started with talk of how he wanted a baby sister for his 4th birthday - as 2 of his friends had baby sisters and being the only child at nursery who is an only child he is feeling left out.
At the dinner table he announced - mummy where did you get me from? (my husband was heard chuckling as he ran from the room). I tried to be as honest as possible but I think (hoped?) that the answer was (it was so traumatic I blanked it out) something along the lines of a man and a woman being in love and wanting to share it with a child and having a special cuddle rather than the gooseberry bush flannel I was fed with. However he still seems to be under the impression that we can just go to the shop and buy one - and boy were we in trouble when one didn't appear for his birthday.
The next difficult question concerned where poo-poo came from. Again I launched into a description of how we eat food and the body uses it for energy and anything that is left over is ... well ... poo poo. I'm not sure why I can't just come out with the lines that I was fed - I seem to be unable to say anything but the truth -with the least description as possible (I know I've made a rod for my own back as he's already asked several questions about the detail which I have absolutely no clue of the answer!). I have come to regret this and I have, on at least 4 separate occasions, heard him repeat this information to others - usually complete strangers in a cafe or on a bus.
Then the part a boys body that they are always fascinated with regularly comes up in conversation. He's already quizzed his dad about it but then asked me too. His main concern was my assertion that I didn't have one.
Then his recent question - delivered for full effect just as I was leaving him at grandad's (who had a tough time coping with me breastfeeding let alone toilet questions) - if I didn't have one did the wee wee come out of my bottom? Bless him, my dad did try to explain but it got all confused so my son now has the conviction that 'mummy's telling fibs, she has one really ...'
On the plus side he used the word 'consistently' when talking about why our DVD player is giving up the ghost - which I thought was pretty good for a 4 year old, hmm, wonder if he can spell it.
A friend of mine is a foster carer and she once explained that they are trained that difficult questions are most often asked in the car where children don't have to make eye contact with you. This hasn't been our experience - most are asked in the bath or at the dinner table.
We started with talk of how he wanted a baby sister for his 4th birthday - as 2 of his friends had baby sisters and being the only child at nursery who is an only child he is feeling left out.
At the dinner table he announced - mummy where did you get me from? (my husband was heard chuckling as he ran from the room). I tried to be as honest as possible but I think (hoped?) that the answer was (it was so traumatic I blanked it out) something along the lines of a man and a woman being in love and wanting to share it with a child and having a special cuddle rather than the gooseberry bush flannel I was fed with. However he still seems to be under the impression that we can just go to the shop and buy one - and boy were we in trouble when one didn't appear for his birthday.
The next difficult question concerned where poo-poo came from. Again I launched into a description of how we eat food and the body uses it for energy and anything that is left over is ... well ... poo poo. I'm not sure why I can't just come out with the lines that I was fed - I seem to be unable to say anything but the truth -with the least description as possible (I know I've made a rod for my own back as he's already asked several questions about the detail which I have absolutely no clue of the answer!). I have come to regret this and I have, on at least 4 separate occasions, heard him repeat this information to others - usually complete strangers in a cafe or on a bus.
Then the part a boys body that they are always fascinated with regularly comes up in conversation. He's already quizzed his dad about it but then asked me too. His main concern was my assertion that I didn't have one.
Then his recent question - delivered for full effect just as I was leaving him at grandad's (who had a tough time coping with me breastfeeding let alone toilet questions) - if I didn't have one did the wee wee come out of my bottom? Bless him, my dad did try to explain but it got all confused so my son now has the conviction that 'mummy's telling fibs, she has one really ...'
On the plus side he used the word 'consistently' when talking about why our DVD player is giving up the ghost - which I thought was pretty good for a 4 year old, hmm, wonder if he can spell it.
Tuesday 5 August 2008
Is there a Guinness World Record Entry for the Longest Tantrum?
If there isn't then my son may well make the first entry today!
I thought tantrums were the trademark of the 'terrible twos' not once a child reached four. His capacity to scream seems to outlive his ability to remember why he started in the first place.
After an afternoon with grandad he was reluctant to leave as he wanted to see grandma. So when I picked him up at 5pm he started to scream. Protestations that grandma was at work, that she'd got the day off tomorrow to spend the whole day with him and that she wouldn't be back until after bedtime went on deaf ears as he continued to howl.
The usual tactic of tickles raised a few smiles but the howling didn't stop - though a couple of times it subsided into deep heaving sobs. Eventually he was lulled by the motion of the car to sleep. However we all know a child that falls asleep before dinner is likely to wake at 2am having had a full rest and demand breakfast. Upon waking the howling started again - even before he opened his eyes. My mum rang to check he was okay after dad's report of the tantrum upon leaving their house - he was still inconsolable, couldn't hear her on the phone over his own sobs. Traumatised my mum jumped in the car for the 20 minute drive to my house. He just about calmed down to deep sobs again when she arrived and finally settled to eat his dinner. A 2 hour long tantrum (plus a sleep in the middle) has to be a record - OH has repaired to the pub, mum has gone safely home, kiddo is still running around upstairs and I've just consumed the biggest bowl of ice cream. Let's hope he doesn't make a habit of it.
I thought tantrums were the trademark of the 'terrible twos' not once a child reached four. His capacity to scream seems to outlive his ability to remember why he started in the first place.
After an afternoon with grandad he was reluctant to leave as he wanted to see grandma. So when I picked him up at 5pm he started to scream. Protestations that grandma was at work, that she'd got the day off tomorrow to spend the whole day with him and that she wouldn't be back until after bedtime went on deaf ears as he continued to howl.
The usual tactic of tickles raised a few smiles but the howling didn't stop - though a couple of times it subsided into deep heaving sobs. Eventually he was lulled by the motion of the car to sleep. However we all know a child that falls asleep before dinner is likely to wake at 2am having had a full rest and demand breakfast. Upon waking the howling started again - even before he opened his eyes. My mum rang to check he was okay after dad's report of the tantrum upon leaving their house - he was still inconsolable, couldn't hear her on the phone over his own sobs. Traumatised my mum jumped in the car for the 20 minute drive to my house. He just about calmed down to deep sobs again when she arrived and finally settled to eat his dinner. A 2 hour long tantrum (plus a sleep in the middle) has to be a record - OH has repaired to the pub, mum has gone safely home, kiddo is still running around upstairs and I've just consumed the biggest bowl of ice cream. Let's hope he doesn't make a habit of it.
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