SunFun – Co-sleeping

Anyone who practices attachment parenting, especially co-sleeping, will appreciate this.

It’s funny because it’s entirely true.

But despite how uncomfortable it can be at times, when more often than not, the smallest person in the bed has the most room, I wouldn’t change it for the world.  I miss my children’s warm, snuggly little bodies when they are not there.

I reckon whoever invented that song “there were ten in the bed and the little one said” was a co-sleeper (and a staunch believer in the family bed at that).

Wot So Funee? A Three Year Old’s Perception of the Tooth Fairy

I quite often find money on the street, usually just very small change, but sometimes the nice heavier coins, and once or twice, I’ve even spotted a note (£20 once – SCORE).  I always pick them up, well, it’s not like the owner is coming back for 20p, is it?

“Find a penny, pick it up, and all the day you’ll have good luck” and all that jazz. Continue reading

A Reunion

I am not one of those parents who allows their child time off for no good reason.  Unless she has a temperature, or has been puking, or a broken bone, or a contagious rash, if it’s a school day, you can bet she’ll be there.

Kicking and screaming, perhaps but there nonetheless.  I read a statistic somewhere that children of stay-at-home parents tend to have worse school attendance than children of working parents, and so I have made it my personal mission not to be part of that statistic.

Having said that, today, I did allow Roo to skive off school Continue reading

Wot So Funee? When Three Year Olds Get The Words Mixed Up

Lately, my Granny has taken it upon herself to teach Ruby little nursery rhymes. It’s really quite sweet, she used to teach me the same ones when I was a little girl, way back in the late eighties.

One particular rhyme is about Little Jenny Wren, a bird who gets sick and is nursed back to health with cake and wine by some kind of Florence Nightingale of the bird world, Robin Red Breast. Continue reading

Wot So Funee? Logic from a three-year-old.

Last night my husband was in Birmingham over night at some kind of worky-style conference thing. Ruby reckons his absence gives her licence to stay up late, muck about,  make diva-eqsue demands of chocolate Nesquik in her Little Mermaid cup, and generally be a bit of a monkey about going to bed.

It’s the same every single time. Continue reading