Silent Sunday

It's all going swimmingly

You blink and another fortnight passes. Blink twice and Grace has burst our of her four month long swimming regression to chalk off a few widths without batting an eyelid and proudly claiming her first Certificate and badge. Brimming with pride she clutched it to her to chest for most of the day. 

I'll ignore the episode in the pool this week where I hauled her out half way through the class for refusing to let go of my cossy and being generally obstructive... we can't win them all. Avoiding all eye contact with parents in the pool and more on poolside waiting to go in, I'm still torn over whether it was the right thing to do. The ensuing tantrum lasted long enough to make me feel guilty and smart sufficiently for Grace to promise to behave in the pool next week. Little madam.  

Sanity and patience back intact, we've been out to the local village charity event for Yorkshire Air Ambulance. Enjoying the last of the summer sun and a late birthday present from our dear friend Wendy, Grace redeemed herself and I felt human again. 

  

Silent Sunday

Stop talking, I'm telling a story...

The bedtime routine used to be simple. Clean cut. Bath, a story or two (three on a bad night), kiss kiss, sweet dreams and retreat. Clean. Straight in and out, no messing. 

Not so anymore. Grace has taken charge. 

I can thank preschool for this change. Story circle I think they call it. Where they sit and listen, quiet as a lamb while the reader holds the book a certain way so the whole class can see the page.

Yes, I have preschool to blame. 

For I'm in the throes of 'a squash and a squeeze' last night, the flavour of the day, and all of a sudden I get told to stop! Stop!

"What's the matter?" I enquire, nonplussed.

"You're holding the book wrong!" She tells me, moving my fingers to the spine and turning the book to face the room. "Like this Mummy!" She nods, satisfied.

I pick up where I left off, adjusting to the new position, enjoying our time together. As I draw to a close, I'm aware that Grace is looking fidgety. 

"My turn now Mummy!" She declares, peeling the book from my grip. 

"Really?" I concede, half an eye on the clock.

"Yes, now sit down cross-legged and be quiet. Listen!"

And so I sat. And I listened. So endearing hearing her interpret the pictures in her own way, pebbled with the odd 'be quiet!' aimed at me for joining in or laughing, or something. One book led to two and more. More! MORE! A moment to be cherished.

A bit like the moment at the end of a long day between a child's bedtime and your own. 

It was short last night. A bittersweet combo of Grace finding her storytelling wings and me needing to hit the sack early. 

Night all.

Mr Skinny Legs

If ever there was an arachnaphobe, it's me, with Matt the Husband close behind. I'm the quintessential jibbering screaming wreck who won't rest a wink until that 8 legged critter is sent packing. 

Not so Grace.

So I'm called into her bedroom the other day, summoned if you will, to inspect the mid-range monster slowly cruising the wall at the side of her bed. He's dawdling, no sense of urgency in light of the pending doom. It riles me he just saunters back and forth, that irksome hairy beast. 

I call down to the Husband who comes bearing the power of a Dyson upright. My Knight in Shining Suction. Explaining to Grace that the spider is nothing to be scared of (even though she's clearly not) while we suck him up into a whirl of dust bunnies, Grace looks shocked and concerned. We've crossed the line.

"Where's Mr Skinny Legs gone?" She asked, bottom lip quivering.

Stumped, us grown ups, we look at each other.

"Where's he gone Mummy?" she prompts me.

So we lie. We cover the fact we are shit-scared of Mr Skinny Legs and his many cousins, and we lie. We tell Grace that Mr Skinny Legs had come to the wrong house and that he lives in another village. He's getting forgetful in his old age and can't remember the way home. So the Hoover sucks him up and when we send the dust and Mr Skinny Legs along with it out into the bin, he can get his bearings and find his way back to his own home. 

Big fat liars. 

I'm not proud. But I got away with it.

Mind you, Grace isn't daft. At bedtime that night she peeked down the side of her bed to see if he had made a return. He hasn't of course. And I'm grateful that she hasn't seen through the bravado to the fearful me as I don't want to prejudice her. Yes, I know sending him up the Hoover isn't the most passive ways to remove him from the house, but the scooping him up in a glass thing never worked for me as I'd usually drop the glass before I got to the door or window by shaking so much! No, I'm grateful though. Grateful that she hasn't seen me back in my single days when Mr Skinny Legs would have been met with the crash of the cat scratching post slamming against the wall. 

God bless Mr Skinny Legs. And God bless me!

Self-portrait

A few weeks short of three years old, Grace pulls off her first self-portrait....

Silent Sunday

Dirty rotten scoundrels!

And the winner of the muckiest feet award goes to........ Grace! 

At the end of a day out to Anglesey Abbey, Lode Mill and Thetford Forest, Grace had turned a grubby shade of dust and the wrinklies were tired with running around after Grace. Uncle Frank took turns with Grandpa running races on the lawns at the Abbey but Grace won and has a National Trust medal to prove it!

Alas on the day Grace declared her knees fully heeled from the previous wipeout, she takes another flying tumble and scrapes both knees and palms again. Poor Mummy's little soldier, a few tears but nothing a gingerbread man couldn't fix. 

We're off home tomorrow, the end of a super week away from the treadmill as we know it. It's been great spending time with family, makes you realise that Yorkshire isn't all that close to Norfolk after all....

Taking cover

Seeking respite from the heat wave currently blessing our shores, Brandon Country Park proved the perfect hideaway. A short walk from the visitors centre, Daisy-woof was off running through the forest with Grace on the back foot, taking the trail out past the lake to the Mausoleum and heathland beyond. Temperatures hitting 30c we were grateful for the shade in the trees and particularly by the giant redwood dominating our view to the sky above. 

After a spell at the adventure playground for young and old alike, we enjoyed lunch before rounding off the day with a well earned ice-cream. 

Castles by the sea

Up and out with the lark, we made a fleeting visit to Cambridge to see Uncle Frank and then headed up to the north Norfolk coast at Wells-next-the-sea. A beautiful afternoon, warm with a sea breeze and a beach to die for. Mile upon mile of golden sand hosting castles and moats for little imaginations as far as the eye could see. Grace approached the feeling of sand and water between her toes with a little trepidation but soon shook that off and then there was no stopping her enthusiasm for it! 

Twilight Sundae

Well into the swing of our summer break in Norfolk, it feels like we were never away! The drive down was perilous and slow, a crazy combo of motorcyclists oblivious to oncoming traffic on the red route into the countryside, and mind numbing tailbacks at Sutton Bridge while the boats came through. Grace chilled out in the back watching Peppa on loop, patient with the promise of fun with Grandpa and an ice cream sundae bigger than anything she's seen before. We made it in time for lunch and Mummy made good on her promise....