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!

Oh Bovver!

I'm living with Eliza Doolittle. I am Professor Higgins in reverse.

One night my little sweet natured dot went to bed, slept and woke the next day with a Cockney gene. Or Essex perhaps. Not water, wa-er. Not Peter, pe-er. Not later, la-er. Not a friggin T in sight. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I'm sure the little blighter is only doing it for effect but apart from the occasional visit from family darn sarf, I've no idea where it's coming from. Certainly not me.

It's a pet hate of mine, poor enunciation and I'm exasperated. We started off ignoring her. Now we're correcting her but I'm in two minds as I think we're reinforcing the negative behaviour and should be rewarding the good? I'm sure she's doing it on purpose - the freedom of choice to say words one way or another.... I can see it in her eyes, the triumph that she knows she's getting one over on me and I suppose in the grandest scheme of things it could be something worse but my goodness, it riles me!

At breaking point yesterday I wanted to reach for the gaffer tape and stop the noise. I did threaten but she told me she wasn't bovvered by my threats. Wotever.

I'm hoping it's just a phase.

Silent Sunday

Tea-towel sun hats... cousin Eleanor and Grace

Toad in the Hole

She'll not thank me for writing this, but Grace has reached a new milestone. I'm marking the occasion with a rare pic of Grace and me. Why? To capture that look on her face - slight concern, intrigue, awe... 

Minding my own business as one does, I become acutely aware that Grace has made a discovery. She's found a 'hole' and she needs to know what it is. Quickly. I turn to see her pointing at her nether regions and appealing to me with a quizzical look that says 'am I broken?' and 'what is it?' all at once without uttering a vowel.

I ignore her. Just this once - I excuse myself and carry on drying myself - we're in the changing room after swim class.

She doesn't let up. She asks me again - 'what is it?' and then 'have you got one Mummy?'
Gritting my teeth and with hushed tones, ignoring the other mothers I can hear masking laughs with coughs, politely dressing their own children who don't ask such questions in the changing room at swim class.

'Well', I tell her, 'its something mother nature put there when you were born'.

She nods, seemingly satisfied with my response and content to step into her knickers, hiding the offending apparition.

'Show me yours Mummy!' she demands, tugging at my towel. We argue the pro's and con's of this for what seems like an eternity until she eventually settles for modesty and let's the conversation move on. My negotiation skills were hammered. Out of the woods and with a sigh of relief, I go back to mentally checking off the online grocery order I plan to do when I get home in my head.

'Has Daddy got one?' she brings me back to the hear and now. Toddler Adam in the next cubicle giggles, Grace stifles a yawn. The discovery trail is tiring.

'No sweetie, Daddy is a boy. He has something different'.

'A sausage Mummy?'

And at that moment I realise, amidst the sniggering from the Mum next door, that not only is Grace inquisitive and bright, she's a mind reader as well. Sausages off the shopping list, I make a note to substitute the Toad in the Hole I had planned for supper. It's enough to put you off your food.

Sundown Adventure

 

Saddling up for a day out with the Kings, we strode off into the lowlands for a fun-toting, fun-slinging day out in the wild wild west at Sundown Adventure Land in the shire of Nottingham. Grace was characteristically reserved to begin with, a fair dose of leg-hugging endured. After a while though she gained confidence, broke free of my leg and encouraged by Evangelia and Dimitris let loose full bore, driving tractors, trains and pony's with about as much life left in them as me after a long week at work. Such a great day out! I must confess I had no idea what to expect and I enjoyed it a whole lot more than I'd though I would. Absolutely money well spent.... thank you Sundown! I even managed to sweet talk the grown ups into a wheelbarrow race which I haven't done since my wedding night, and a little headstand/handstand competition. Woo-hoo!

Christina & Evaneglia... WANTED!

Driving tractors with the Kings...

Grace in the driving seat

 

 

Racing away from the ball after Prince C and my slipper!

Hunting for rabbits

Being a rare occasion to see sunshine on three consecutive days over a bank holiday weekend, we headed straight off after breakfast to make the most of the brilliant blue skies for a day out at Clumber Park. A little tired, Grace spent much of the walk glued to Daddy's shoulders or hip although when she did cut the ties and run, she had a ball tearing around in the woodland and heath. Notching up a catalogue of cuts and bruises on the uneven ground, she demonstrated her stealth and carried on regardless, Mummy's little soldier. Highlights for Grace were on three levels... standing on a tree stump, sitting in a rabbit hole and devouring a simply massive 99 at the ice-cream van half way round. I wish all days were like these!

Grace - amazed at finding a tree stump!



99 heaven



A quiet moment, deep in thought, sat in a rabbit hole

Daisy-woof at Clumber Park

Grace and me

Cornwall Capers

We're just back from braving the best that the British weather had to throw at us for a week in Cornwall. Teetering in high winds in a caravan perched on a cliff overlooking St Ives isn't the thing that springs to mind when one thinks of a UK summer break but beggars can't be choosers and the sun did come out after the storm....

On the beach near Hayle

Well and truly buried...

Tide marks

Dad at the chapel overlooking St Ives

Lizard Point walk

Having fun at Hayle beach

Admiring Minack theatre

View from St Michaels Mount

Best meal of the holiday here... seafood linguine....

The ice-cream van is this way!

Admiring the view at Porthcurno

A blustery beach day

Keeping warm while it's stormy outside

Natural beauty

Hailing the better side of  the British weather, we've been making the most of the bank holiday weekend. Marred only by Husbands fudged efforts to adorn the lunch table with barbeque fayre, we steered clear of D.I.Y. and instead spent the days out in the fresh air being at one with nature. Temple Newsam was our dog walk of choice and Grace has had a blast exploring the woods and learning about bark, moss and other such greeneries. In the last few moments before my iphone 'did one' and went 'kaput' I managed to score this gem of a picture of Grace, chilling out on a bed of grass with the bluebells.

This was before I felt the need to pop a valium and sink a glass of the chilled white in the fridge after hearing that my partner in crime at the practice where I work has lost her waters and is waiting for labour to kick in. I had plans for this week - our last week together before she swans off on maternity leave for an eternity - doesn't she know I'm left feeling up the creak without a paddle? I NEEDED my last week with her. I'm feeling far from tranquil (and frankly neither will she be once labour does indeed start) so I suppose I'd better make the most of these last few hours in the sun before I walk into work tomorrow with what can only be described as heavier shoulders than the ones I left with on Friday. Happy days..... and exciting times..... *new baby alert* *new baby alert*

Silent Sunday

Taking a breather at Temple Newsam

Happy to be out with Uncle Frank in the woods

10-2 Police

Driving home from nursery today, a voice (my muse perhaps) pipes up with some friendly advice... "Two hands!"

Two hands? I realise I'm driving with one hand idling on my knee.

"Two hands, Mummy" the little voice quips once again.

I correct my minor misdemeanour, both hands on the wheel and checking mirrors as if I'm back in my driving test. All is well for a while, we chat about what's for dinner and how I'm going to make it and then again I hear:

"Two hands Mummy!" then more urgently "Do it!

I'm cough guiltily like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. And then I realise I've turned a corner losing my left hand to the gearstick, albeit momentarily. Slightly bemused, we carry on the conversation, only for me to realise that every time I take my left hand off the wheel, hawkeye-Grace in the back will be on my case.

This is all well and good, I counted only fifteen rounds of gear changing on the way home today, enough to niggle at even the most battle-hardened school-run Mums. I'm stymied though - I'm driving us from Yorkshire to Cornwall in a few weeks and the thought of answering the to the 10-2 Police in the back is already filling me with dread!

Excited at the prospect of a day at nursery!

Silent Sunday

Late spring at Temple Newsam

Berrie good friends

Today we had the luxury of shirking housework in lieu of a play date with two good friends, Joanne and her daughter Berrie. We met at the Children's Centre in the village right after the girls were born, when we were both green to motherhood and still in the fog of midwife visits, shock and awe. It's not often we get to meet up now since I started back at work full time and meets are shoe horned into a window on a weekend, but when we do meet up it doesn't take Grace long to shake off her shyness and get down to some good old fashioned play.

My Hewo

Aside from being a great friend and poking his tongue out at random moments throughout the day, Jack Barrett is apparently now also Grace's 'Hewo'.

Driving home in the car from nursery, chatting about her day as we do, Grace is telling me in great detail the ups and downs of her day. She's painted, played in the garden, read stories and all in good spirits until she fell off the slide sideways and hurting her leg. But it's ok, because 'Jack Bawwatt pulled me up' she tells me dramatically and goes on to say that he hugged her better and stopped her crying.

After all that commotion, James stole Grace's Mr Rabbit (which caused a major hoo-harr) and 'Jack Bawwatt got it back for me' (which averted catastrophe) and left Grace feeling content again because not only is Jack her 'fwend', he's her 'hewo' as well. God love him.

 

 



On first (and second) name terms

 

At a time when Grace starts to show form in her artwork, where her random scribbles begin to resemble a cat (with 'blue circles for the eyes' as she merrily reminds me), I notice a change of affection in the friends that she keeps. For a while at nursery she's been joined at the hip to a little boy called Jack, similar age, similar amount of dribble and tantrums. It's a good match. What was an innocent friendship has blossomed into kinship, with Grace becoming coy and hiding her face whenever Jack pokes his tougue out or tugs at her skirt. Asked who she has played with at nursery today, she'll pipe up with 'Jack', then 'Jack Barratt'. Yes, she is on first, and second name terms with her first male friend. We've been talking about first and second names lately.

Gracie 'Yongdale', as she says it. Ever so cute!

 

The Cat, by Grace.

showing signs of multi-tasking, we're getting her used to headphones...

Skimming stones at East Ardsley resevoir

Silent Sunday

Chasing the wind

Making it balance

I'm tear arsing round Yorkshire in school-holiday traffic (which is a blessing if you read between the lines), juggling so many balls I'd be surprised if I could find my own arse in a snow storm amidst all the chaos. And yet when I walk in the door after the journey home from work, collecting child and Husband en-route, I put on the 'face' as I like to call it, and prepare a meal while supervising the painting of great works of art by the little one (which apparently include her face).

At the  precise moment I realise I'm burning the sauteed spuds because my back is turned to feed the dog and open the post,  I see THIS big smile of Grace - splashes of paint and joy across her face, and I think for a moment how it's all worth it.

(And then of course I set the alarm for 5.30am again tomorrow morning and I dig deep in the basement of my being to breathe in the joy and let go of the stress of quick-fire round that epitomises my Monday to Friday life).

Chardonnay? Because I'm worth it!

Totes babe!

The new trend for Grace is the art of abbreviation. Mummy at times becomes Mum, Daddy becomes Dad and Daisy has now started being referred to as Days. At times. When she's in the mood.

Other abbreviations forming part of the little ones vocabulary are Grams (Grandma), dode (dody / dummy) and a non-abbreviation which is Daddy-baddy-booby. There's a story behind that one, Holly Willoughby and Keith Lemon off the tele implicated, and it's proving to be a tough one to shake off. All things considered if that's the worst Grace can come up with then we're not doing too badly.

Another trend of the season appears to be the art of likening ones body parts to those of others. Grace, apparently (so she tells me), has little boobies like Daddy. Not like Mummy's which apparently are much bigger and wobble when I walk (and no doubt will drift further south as the big 40 looms closer when I imagine I shall be able to knock said knockers into the waistband of by M&S support pants). Fortunately we haven't yet had to progress into the conversation about the birds and the bee's - Grace seemingly content to know that Daddy has an apendage she and I do not.

At 2 years 8 months, she's totes amazeballs.

Silent Sunday

The going is good to firm for the Grand National...

Easter fun

Short of things to say but never short of things to see and do, we spend Easter weekend with my Dad chalking off a few of the Yorkshire 'warm inside' destinations. Battling the snow which is still refusing to melt, Grace had a fun packed weekend with lots of variety and plenty of memories.

Maybe one day I'll find my voice again and start blogging instead of just posting photographs but everyone needs a wee break once in a while, so in the meantime, pics of our Easter fun...



Making Easter cornflake nests



Exploring the body-zone at Eureka!



Combining a love of dance, art and farmyard animals



Grace's painted Easter 'Mr Egg'



With Grandpa at Tropical World



Snow days in Halifax



Happy Birthday to Daisy-woof (pilchard, carrot & nut butter)

A breath of fresh air

Three weeks into being unemployed and the novelty is wearing off and I'm running out of things to chalk off my to-do list. I'm questioning my sanity and wondering if all that time spent trumpeting my decision making skills in the past has turned on me and taken a whopping big bite out of my backside. I forgive myself though as I gather holding a grudge against oneself achieves very little so instead I pack up the car and head for the hills, literally.

Albeit with the Husband and toddler in tow, I turn off the mobile phone and go tech-free for a three day trip to the Lake District, shoe-horning every essential and many questionable choices into the back of I car I only bought to fit a better buggy into, I realise my history in making decisions has been somewhat flawed. Nonetheless I stuff a bottle of red into the glovebox, set sat-nav to GO, and head off for a back to basics weekend with Grace, neither camping or glamping, but somewhere comfortably inbetween the two staying in a camping pod at the National Trust campsite at Great Langdale. How apt.

Revelling in the luxury of having a roof over our heads with heating when there is still snow on the high peaks outside, I'm gloating merrily at the soggy looking campers rolling out of bed the morning after a night of drizzle. Me, I'm suffering a different fate with Grace being scared of 'pitch black' of the night and the hooting owls that kept her awake and worried for a good hour in the night. We held hands a lot and she thanked me for saving her in the morning. Glad to be of help.

Loving the freedom to roam, Grace enjoyed herself and didn't want to get in the car when it was time to pack up and come home. She'd seemingly gotten used to getting water from the tap across a field, cooking on a camp stove and sleeping on the floor in a glorified shed. As luck would have it this is useful in the event I'm unemployed forever and have to revert to the simple life to keep our heads above water. At least I know we can do it.

We visited Windemere, Keswick, Ambleside and Skipton Castle in passing, each offering the chance of a coffee shop pit stop to fill up on a slice of tiffin.

It was a shock to the system returning to reality as we came back over the hill into Leeds and I realised I'd had three days to just live life with my family and enjoy it without worrying about the trappings of life as we know it. And Grace is back into her usual routine of nursery, ballet and swimming, reminding me at every corner that she'd very much like to go camping again Mummy so she can be with me.