Today I’ve mostly been dealing with this little face of woe and anguish.
That is not the face of a little boy who was appeased with chocolate chips on his readybrek, no sir. Elliot made that face today when:
- I asked him to step into his snow suit, before the school run. Wrestling a wilful toddler into a snowsuit at 8:25am is horrendous.
- I suggested we find some stories to read.
- I told him it was time to go to Sainsbury’s. To be fair, I sometimes make that face when it’s time to go food shopping.
- It was time to get off the travelator at Sainsbury’s. He lay, face down, at the bottom and narrowly missed getting run over by a trolley.
- I asked him (nicely) not to double (triple, quadruple) dip his slobbery, half masticated pitta bread into the pot of houmous at lunchtime.
- I sang the wrong verse of The Wheels On The Bus…
- … And then Row Row Row Your Boat.
- He realised he’d eaten all his sausage at dinner time, and there was, infact, no more. Only potato.
- I wouldn’t let him drink my (much needed at that point) glass of wine.
- It was time to change his nappy at bedtime.
Kid, I get that you’re learning to talk and your little brain is going into overdrive making all those new synapses. I think it’s great you have said three new words today (chocolate, work, London). And I know it must be very frustrating when it’s difficult making yourself understood, but please cheer up. It’s NOT the end of the world if the doors on the bus open and shut before the horn toot toot toots, and double dipping your pitta bread is frowned upon in polite society. You’ll thank me when you’re older.
So, parents of small children. I know I’m not the only one who has had days like that. What makes your toddler cross? And, do they have a hilarious angry face?
This morning we woke up to the pitter patter of raindrops on our bedroom window. Boo, we collectively thought, today we had planned to go for a jaunty hike somewhere. Ross got up with the kids, and I rolled over and promptly went back to sleep, toasty warm.
When I was woken up an hour or so later, by my small son clambering over my face no less, the rain had stopped. All was not lost, and the idea of a jaunty hike was revisited.
“Let’s go to Moors Valley” Ross exclaimed. Capital idea, chum! Two hours later we were zipping up the M27, walking boots donned.
Moors Valley is possibly my new favourite place to go. It’s situated just outside Ringwood, and just inside Dorset, about a twenty-five minute drive from Southampton. There is no admission fee to the country park itself, but parking is charged, although very affordable – we were there for three hours, and spent £5.40.
Today we walked the play trail – a mile long trail through beautiful pine woodland.
Today is your birthday. You are two years old, and don’t you know it? Last week I taught you how to tell us your age and you’ve been practicing a lot.
“How old are you, Elliot?”
You find talking a bit of a chore, but that’s all right.
Every morning Roo and I have a stand off, over getting ready for school. You see, like most four year olds, she is easily distracted. I’ll ask her to go upstairs and put her cardigan on, and go up, ten minutes later, only to find her immersed in a playing with her doll’s house, or her Barbie dolls – her cardigan where it was left the night before, and very definitely not on her body.
This morning, our stand off is about her school shoes. To be able to get on with my morning routine of breakfast, shower, packed lunch assembly, etc, and get us all out of the door by 8:30, I quite often let the children watch a bit of TV. It’s twenty-seven minutes past eight, and Roo is parked on the sofa. Her shoes are on the floor next to her. Her coat is hanging on the banister. Elliot is in his buggy, ready to go. I am buttoning up my coat, and pulling my hat on.
“Roo, please put your shoes on, we have to go”
On Thursday, shortly after publishing my post about making changes this year, I ushered my children into their coats, strapped my son in to his buggy and walked up our local shops. Our neighbourhood has a little triangle of shops ranging from a greengrocers, a butcher (where I purchased our Christmas meats, and fully intend to utilise more from now on), a bakery, a wide array of takeaways, and a couple of cafés, to a hairdressers, nail bar, and an incredibly well stocked charity shop.
The other thing our neighbourhood has is a vast number of families. It’s not uncommon at all to take a walk to the park, and come across a few people you know from either the school playground, or a dance class, or similar. Indeed, on our half mile walk to the shops yesterday we encountered two families we know from ballet class.
Anyway, had I not taken the kids up to the Triangle, I wouldn’t have happened across what can only be described as the bargain of the century. It was truly serendipitous! We had popped into aforementioned charity shop to donate some baby toys, and there, sitting by the cash desk were two mini micro scooters in blue. They’d only just been donated, and I’d been idly perusing ebay and gumtree for a second hand micro scooter in blue for Elliot but hadn’t seen anything much under how much they sell for brand new in the shops.
We left with a well loved, fairly battered scooter that has seen better days but definitely has loads more life in it (as Roo proved by happily scooting all the way home) and all it set me back was £2.99! It’s great for my rambunctious little toddler son who has had his beady eyes on his sister’s scooter for the last few months.
Like a lot of little girls, Roo is quite keen on prinking and preening infront of the mirror, which is fine – with supervision, otherwise this happens. So, when I am dolling myself up to go out, or even just putting on some mascara and lipstick so I don’t look like a corpse on the school run, she can usually be found hovering nearby.
Last Saturday, Ross and I went to a wedding. We didn’t take the children but got ready at home before dropping them with their grandparents. I wore a grey mini dress, with thick tights and my ridiculous burgundy platform wedges which are almost impossible to walk in but that I love nonetheless. The tights I wore don’t fit amazingly well, and to stop them falling down, I tend to squeeze into my Spanx and hoik them up, superhero style, over my tights.
Ruby thought this was both amusing and perplexing. We had a conversation that went like this: