Silent Sunday

Silent Sunday

The end of the day

Picture it. 

You're on the home straight at the tail end of a three hour daily commute. 

The traffic, while moving, had you cursing under your breath and fighting against the urge to lift your finger in salute to the git who pulls in without indicating, catching you by surprise and spilling your drink leaving you with a wet patch embarrassingly akin to that last oblivion induced by gin when you didn't wake up and get to the loo quick enough. It happens. As do overly long sentences. 

Picture this. 

You're frazzled. Meh, if you will. 

You arrive at nursery, battling past the punters double parked in the bus stop by the chippy. At the door, the key worker   lets you in on first ring. You relax a little, this last hurdle to getting home to get supper on is easing... the high velocity stress of a badass Monday will soon be at an end. You know you're going to be in and out in five mins with a child under your arm, hopefully your own, and be back in the car on the final leg. That's how you plan it. 

That's not how it rolls.

Grace has today mastered several arts. 

1. Hanging a coat on a coat hanger. Taking it back off again.

2. Putting said coat on. Taking it back off again.

3. Buttoning up, wrong, correcting, admiring handy work in the mirror, undoing the buttons again and then prancing round the room showing off to her friends, their unwitting parents and a wildly bemused keyworker.

My overriding joy and pride in this display evident.

 The first time. 

On repeat, Grace runs through this flamboyant developmental milestone of a display until not only is she the last kid in class, but I am on my last deep breath before wanting to pop her in a stuff sack, throw her in the boot and make for home at high speed. 

Instead I take a picture, one for the album. The day Grace did 'all of it'... 

...all by herself. 

The day it took me half an hour to extract my child from pre-school. 

The day I necked a double gin before even hanging up my coat when we got home. 

The day that Grace. Did. This.

Grassington 40's Weekend

I won't lie, I'm a little peeved. Today the sun shines gloriously. We went yesterday in the low mist and drizzle. I went with locks straightened to within an inch of their life, came back with a hair span of almost three feet. That's the way life rolls.  But frizz aside, we had a great day out up in the Dales with Grace, riding on a vintage bus being her first of many highlights!

Typically there was a strong dose of Mum-support as we ventured out in a new environment. Spitfires parked up in the village square just aren't events you encounter everyday. Neither are ladies in green singing to a crowd in the rain. 

We got over our nerves and had a little dance on the cobbles, bumped into someone we knew (how random) and headed back down the hill to look round the reenactment area. 

It felt strangely nostalgic. I know I'm stating the obvious. But a feeling of pride and relief that we aren't in wartime Britain. And a sense of community: wonderful seeing the women in the square belting out songs from the days at the top of their voices. Mum would have loved it.

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. 

  

Wales weekender

Making a dash for the border on Sunday we managed to miss the bank holiday traffic and kiss goodbye to the torrential rain that was blighting Yorkshire. Grace didn't make a peep on the way over the Pennines, focused solely on Peppa Pig DVDs and a snack pot of fruit. 

Hitting the hills around Wrexham we hooked up with Laura and Matt who kindly laid on the picnic of Kings at Erddig National Trust park and ordered us to sit and eat. Grace might have let out a weeny 'no way Jose' to the sitting down, but she did munch her way through a fair portion of carrot sticks before stuffing her face on mini pork pies and sausage rolls. I'd like to say I ate like a fairy and had nothing but crudités and the delicious beetroot and sesame dip, but you know me better than that by now and I do believe I polished off just about everything edible. Gannet.

Anyway, I digress. Apart from finding we'd parked the picnic blanket on a lonesome dog turd (much annoyed), we had a lovely wee while sat by the stream, watching Grace play in the water and watching Husband Matt look like a fairy when he tried and failed to walk on water crossing from one side of the steam to the other on the stepping stones. Funny as! 

Grace was treated to a ladybird cake handcrafted by Laura, and we all got a solid nights sleep, helped along by a few bottles of vino and a beef casserole. Zzzz.

Turns out we didn't sleep all that well. Grace woke in the night for the first time in memory and insisted Daddy slept in her bed on the floor. Thermarested up with a kids duvet, the Husband was snoring within minutes leaving me to wrestle a child who was relishing in the novelty of being in bed with her Mummy. Eventually she fell asleep but I retreated to the foot of the bed to nurse my bruised ribs from being kicked and whacked from a sleeping child.

That said, it didn't dampen our day as we headed out to Cilcain for the summer fete, complete with Teddy Parachuting. Ice cream and a brass band later, we strapped up Mr Ted and sent him up for his virgin jump off of the church roof. What a brave bear....

Fortunately Grace slept all the way home which was a godsend considering we sat in a jam on the motorway for over an hour. We were soon home though and back to reality of life, work and childcare, eat (eat some more), sleep. Repeat. 

Smashing weekend. One happy Grace Bear, one daredevil Teddy. Two knackered Parents. Night all...