Alfresco

Grandma picked up a great little toy kitchen at a thrift store and Grace had a wonderful time amusing herself opening cupboards, turning the microwave on and laughing when it pings and loading and unloading the fridge with fake tins of beans. So Grace is cooking...

Me, I went for a run this afternoon. That's 3 out of 3 committed runs done although I don't know how far one has to run to be classed as a runner... 1.5 miles feels a little damp around the ears when I say it out loud. Nevertheless its a start and more than I did last week so keep it coming Mama!

For both of us today then, fresh air and a spring in our step. Super smashing great!

Moo! said the cow!

Grace and me have had a jolly good chinwag today. It went something like this (and it's still tickling me now):

"Grace, can you say Mama?"
"Mama"

"Can you say Daisy?"
"Baisy"

"Can you say Grace?"
"Base"

"Can you say Cow?"
"Moooooo"

"Grace, that's the noise a cow makes. Can you say Cow?"
"Moooooo"

Love it. The things children say...

Once I was a Pixie...

"Once upon a time I was a Pixie. For 12 months I was safe in the knowledge I was a Pixie. I am a Pixie no more."

Grace has moved up class in nursery to the toddler room or 'Imps and Sprites' as they call it. Cute. But not smooth.

Grace is resenting the move somewhat having got very comfy in the room at the end with her pals Sandy, Doromey and Lydia, and we're experiencing a bit of drama on a morning when we drop her off. By the time I phone at half eight, she's settled in fine and eaten her breakfast but for that nanosecond when I leave her it does rather tug at the old battle-hardened heart strings. Awwww.

She'll be fine.

I just wish she wouldn't cling to my leg for dear life.

Early for Grass Stains?

Is there such a thing as a regression for walking? I have heard of sleep regression in toddlers, but never a walking regression. Often said to accompany development in one area, a regression can spring at any time. Sleep I was prepared for. But this?

Three days on the trot now, Grace has finished the day with a grass stains on her backside bolder than our old friend 'Katherine' from Judy Blume's controversial 70s 'Forever' novel. I'm nonplussed, until today I catch her in the act.

We're out at the RSPB reserve again, feeding the birds and generally making a little bit more noise than one might get away with if it weren't for the three toddlers in tow. Tucking my noisy-pass in my back pocket, I watch as Grace trots off into the sunshine with her friends Berry and Grace-Rebecca. All is well for a time, they're picking duck poo off the deck with their finger nails and feeding each other mealworms. And then it happens.

Grace plonks her bottom on the grass, and starts bum-shuffling across the floor. Fast. I'm stunned into silence for a moment - she's covered some turf. And her pink spotty leggings have a very telling green streak right across the backside.

Just you wait till your Father gets home, I tell her.

She repeats this grass-skimming several times throughout the day for no obvious reason other than to put my sketchy-at-best laundry skills to the test.

Let's hope Vanish lives up to it's name.

The Entertainer

I have today experienced the children's party entertainer. I am alive. Just.

Dressed as Snow White with a perma-tan to rival Jordan and a cleavage to match, Juicy Lucy worked the room with what can only be described as full control. In awe, I watched as she snapped her fingers, commanded a rowdy bunch of five year olds into an orderly circle promising to give each of them a balloon animal if they did as they were asked. Nicely done.

Almost immediately the cacophony of sound that had been hurting my head since we arrived at the village hall for Evangelia's birthday party, stopped in an instant as the children listened and obeyed. I remain unsure if it's the promise of gifts or the fact that she is dressed as a Disney character holds the power - if it's the dress I may invest as I rationalise this will reap dividends on both Grace and Matt the Husband, double whammy, money well spent. That said, my boobs aren't a patch on Juicy Lucy's so I may abstain.

In the meantime I am reflecting on how an hour of my life (which I will never get back) was spent watching the new generation of party games let rip on the unsuspecting ear drums that I took along with me. Whatever happened to good old Dead Lions or Pass the Parcel? I gather parents nowadays lean towards the party entertainer to avoid having to put a prize in each layer of pass the parcel, considerable expense if you're like Evangelia with what looks to be a full class of friends. I dread to think of developments come the time Grace reaches the dizzy heights of five years old. Will we play Pass the iPad, I wonder?

Instead Juicy Lucy has them playing Beans. Runner bean (run around the room), Jumping bean (jump up and down), French bean (ooh la la) etc etc. It seems like fun and I confess I'll try this on Grace if ever I am at a loose end. The kids loved it, made a whole heap of sound, burnt loads of energy and left me feeling the need to run into the hills in search of a quiet place. But I endured.

An hour after she waltzed in, Juicy Lucy with basket of goodies slung casually over her arm, dished out the booty to the kids for being well behaved and skipped off home with a bundle of cash tucked safely into her bra. I don't know whether it's magic or tragic. She's certainly the only thirty-something this side of Disney that can pull off Snow White in daylight without looking like she's off on the razzle. I decide praise where it's due.

Grace found the whole affair rather overwhelming. After clinging to my leg for most of the party games while the bigger kids did their thing, Grace eventually ventured out from behind said leg (sturdy oak by current standards), when the bigger kids scarpered to stuff their faces on the party food leaving the dance floor empty and strewn with unwanted balloons. Merrily kicking up a storm, I realise the beauty of simplicity. A few balloons, someone to play with, and a child is content.

Grace slept like a lamb all the way home in the car, utterly spent, happy.

We both survived the party entertainer.

Spring has sprung

I know it's Spring when I see the first lambs of the season, and there's nowhere better to see them than at our local farm. Grace and her little friend Scarlett had a wonderful morning exploring the farm animals, with the chickens and the donkeys being firm favourites. For the time being, the cow shed is off limits for us as Grace appears to be terrified of the collective Moo as the sound bounces off the walls and makes a right racket. Most scary indeed!

Talking of Essex

Pot kettle black. That's what my family are thinking.

I must confess there's not a lot wrong with Arg a.k.a. James Argent or TOWIE for that matter. Agreed, the photos of him in the recent release of NOW Magazine aren't the most flattering (catching his good side, his bad side and in the beach shot, his backside too) but I don't care much for picking on folk so I thought I'd pop back and set the page straight. He's ok. Like I said yesterday, not my cup of tea, but ok.

As for Essex, I shouldn't chortle too much. Southern bird that I am, spent the first 18 years of my life in the TOWIE stomping ground - I am after all Essex born and bred. That's half my life.

Now I feel old.

So yep, cards on the table... there's nowt wrong with Essex folk or anyone darn sarf for that matter. I still get the willies when I think about Grace dating someone like Arg though. Give me an Olly Murs any day. Fortunately I have another 18 years till I really need to worry about that one. Hopefully.

Anyway, just so Arg knows there's no hard feelings and the Essex crowd don't put a bounty on my head, here's a relic or two from the past (that in all likelihood should have stayed there). My friend Kim will hate me for this!

Essex.... 18 years ago...

Oh, and while I remember - an update on giving up swearing for lent. Going good here.

I did have one major setback when I spoke to my cousin Christina on the phone - also from Essex - and a potty mouth if ever I heard one. Chatting away as one does, I found myself slipping into the conversation, an F here, and F there simply to keep up with her. I had to get off the blower quick before there was any permanent damage to my lent committment. As her Husband pointed out later - you can take the girl out of Essex, but you can't take Essex out of the girl. Damn right!

Christina and me 2010