The last summer moon of 2013.

Goodbye Summer and Hello Autumn, I'm never quite sure whether I'm supposed to mourn this or celebrate this, but personally it's a celebration. I am not a Summer person. I love Autumn; the smell, the colours, the feeling of it.  I love the cozy dark nights and the vicious slash of colour against the grey days as if nature is ripping apart the grey at it's very seams with poetic fingers that draw the earths blood in pools of orange, red and browns.  Textures beg to be touched as they entice you into some illicit affair.  Things feel alive, the world is on fire, nature is the phoenix, as we dance upon that fragile line between birth and death.  Never has death looked so beautiful and rebirth so promising.  Winter is coming....

I love how ripe and swollen with delicious anticipation Autumn is as we count down to Samhain, Guy Fawkes night and then Yule.  As the leaves die in some macabre beauty around us and the branches lie barren for now, skeletal and brittle, we celebrate for we know it is not the end, just one end of many more which will lead to yet another beginning.  It's intoxicating.

I love the layers as we bundle up, the stews and soups with puddings and custard.....the splashing in puddles and kicking through leaves as we collect one of natures bounties, shiny conkers ripe for the plucking.

Autumn is when I feel most alive.

So how are we welcoming the equinox? well, Thing Two is full of snot and cough and Thing One and The Toddler are as always fighting like cat and dog, or more fitting for The Party of Five, like cat and kitten.  The Husbands temper is ablaze and I'm significantly useless.  With at least several hours of kip a day for a minimum of 5 days a week, I'm exhausted yet functioning...sort of.  Yet a week without daytime sleep and I can barely think straight.  Yet it is still somewhat more favourable than last week when I had my third evening out since  which resulted in me returning home to a bollocking from a furious Husband and a Thing Two in floods of tears followed by an impromptu two bus trip to a park last Sunday with Thing One running head first into a window at the bus station and The Toddler falling down the stairs on a double decker bus.  Joy.  Fear not though, they're terribly bouncy and have not a mark between them.  Yet another of those incidents that they'll likely never remember and yet we as parents will inevitably never forget.

The Kitten has been given free reign round the house in daylight hours now much to The Cats horror.  The days are punctuated by hisses and growls and The Cat finally grew a spine and decided to eat The Kittens Food.  The Kitten retaliated by shitting in The Cats litter tray.  It is essentially a pissing contest to see who's the cats bollocks, only not as they're both girls.  Happy days.

Things One & Two were deep in debate about whether The Toddler should be a boy or a girl with Thing One wanting him to be a boy and Thing Two rather convinced he should be a girl.  The Toddler however just wants to be a Power Ranger.  Fair enough.  Although I'm terribly impressed with their albeit oblivious belief that one can be whichever gender they so choose, I did rather feel duty bound to point out the somewhat obvious fact that The Toddler is a boy.  I say I felt duty bound, yet I never have been one much for duty so I left them be.  Not getting involved.

Thing Two has rediscovered her  inner photographer,seeing as she finally found her camera and we happened to actually have batteries for it, the moon must indeed have been blue that night.  Never one to disappoint in  predictability The Toddler wanted in on the action and commandeered the camera well on his way to needing his own Myspace and Instagram accounts if his penchant for photographing his winky and his dinner are anything to go by.

Sleep is still evading us, in this house in-between insomnia, illness and buggering demonology going on resulting in me sneaking lavender oil into the bath to try and knock at least one of the spawn out.  The Toddler refused to even get out of the bath last night as he did this amusing little ritual of floating whilst walking on his hands up and down the bath insisting he simply must do 'real fish' before he could even contemplate being extricated from the watery wonderland.  Who I am to argue with that logic?  It was an improvement on his earlier bath antics which made me exclaim 'please get your winky out of your watering can spout'  Upon finally getting the little bugger out of the bath the games commenced as I tried to wrestle him into his pj's whilst he laughed at me, forward and backward rolled at hyperspeed across the bed then farted in my general direction.  Such a charmer.

Oh but lest you be mistaken the fun indeed didn't end there.  Then commenced the epic 80 minute stint of singing, pretending to be a fireman, serenading me with Anthrax and nursery rhymes, demanding a towel to wipe his snot, burping in my face, attaching himself to my back, draining an entire beaker of water (this was after half an hour on the breast) and cuddling the orange cover of some sort of flashing light thing from a building site.

He then had the utter audacity to roll onto my side of the bed whilst I went moon hunting out the bedroom window which was rudely interrupted by a fog horn skank with a rather limited vocabulary consisting mainly of obscenities having a loud conversation with her young daughter across the street...in the dark.

Still, this morning soon arrived and despite a treacherous inability to go the fuck to sleep, I still had several hours in bed before being presented with a bacon and mushroom butty in bed ....and two bunches of roses!  The Husband evidently wants blowing.

Sorry seems to be the hardest word

There are certain words which we assume our children should recite when appropriate such as their p's an q's in the hope that they should become a natural response.  I doubt I'm alone in the pride I feel when all three of The Spawn reliably and consistently use their manners and most importantly unprompted which suggests that not only do they simply know the words but to use them correctly and independently they must also thus understand the meaning of them too in order to appropriate them to situations.  The Husband and I frequently have random strangers compliment our childrens good manners.

Yet another word we seem to do this with is sorry,  how often does the meaning get lost as the word is more oft than not used as a simple get out clause.  I'm sure many of us are guilty when our little shit darling does something unsavory or lets be honest down right gittish, we glower at them and then with saccharine sweetness prompt 'say sorry darling' or 'ahem, is there something you want to say?'  Here's the thing, sorry is just another five letter word unless you mean it.  This is how over time words have lost their true brevity and meaning as they become overused and lazily used such as the words love and hate.  You love your child yet you really like ice cream.  You may hate the government yet you actually only strongly dislike brussel sprouts.  Another one of these gems is the word depressed.  How often to we here people bemoan 'oh god, i'm so depressed' yet in truth they're usually only sad/bored/fed up/melodramatic yet because of the blase and incorrect use of the word it's meaning is affected so that when someone is truly clinically depressed it is often cast aside as something transient and benign.

I hold my hands up, I never really thought about the whole sorry thing with Thing One and Thing Two, they were occasionally prompted yet mostly offered up the word themselves and then they get to that age when you listen and realise, they say it because it's expected.  They say it as damage limitation or more often bollocking limitation to draw a line under something and return to terrorising the world.  Yet when you catch that twang of sarcasm or that derisive and clipped 'soz.' you realise that the meaning isn't actually there.

So now we come to The Toddler. If he accidentally hurts you or accidentally breaks something, he offers up a genuine and instinctive 'sorry!!! I vewy sowwy !' near instantly yet should he lash out in anger or in spite, you'd have better luck getting blood from a stone than a sorry from him.  Why?  Because quite simply at that moment in time, he actually isn't bloody sorry and thus sees no reason to say it.  His negative act was on purpose and meant.  At that moment in time he wanted to hurt/break/upset something or more often, someone.  He isn't ready to be sorry because he has to deal with the emotion that motivated the act before he can feel remorse.   So how useful really would it be to prod and prompt a sorry out of him before he is ready to feel it and thus mean it?  Sorry isn't a word you should resent.  It's a process.

Yes he was most likely in the wrong.  Yet surely it's more important to understand that than it is to utter a word without meaning and brush it all under the carpet?

So I'm working consistently to prevent The Husband from forcing apologies from The Toddler to Things One & Two and to instead help The Toddler recognise the motivating emotion behind the action, then to admit the action in question and discuss it's affect on the afflicted party then leave it up to The Toddler to decide if he is in fact sorry.  It may be minutes later or even hours but sure enough eventually and calmly The Toddler will approach them and offer a sincere and genuine apology.   Surely this is far more desirable than a forced anger tainted 'sorry.' It's teaching him reflection, empathy and remorse whilst respecting his negative yet valid emotions.

Communication is a tool for life and one of the many gifts we can give our children.  They are instinctual creatures and react predominantly on a physical level, this is natural.  If Thing One pisses The Toddler off, he usually lashes out.  Right? no. Natural? yes.  Admit it, tell me you haven't thought about smacking someone in the face when they annoy the hell out of you?  Is it wrong to feel that way?  No.  However, as we mature we learn it would be wrong to act upon it.  This is something our little ones have yet to fully grasp that whilst it's okay to feel something negative it's not always okay to act on it.  We're making progress, quite often now The Toddler, rather than hitting the shit out of Thing One will instead come storming in, quivering with potent rage whilst proclaiming 'Mummy.....I REALLY ANGY'.  I let him know it's okay to feel angry and invite him to have a cuddle and talk about what he is angry about, offering explanations as I accept what he feels.  His anger may not be desirable, it may not even in our eyes be justified but it isn't wrong and he has a right to feel that way.  Sometimes that's all they need to calm down is validation and explanation and for us to remember that whilst being the subject of someones anger is awful, it's not exactly a barrel of laughs being the angry one either, especially when you may not yet understand how to deal with such a big bad emotion.

So next time you feel your child should be saying sorry, concentrate more on helping them feel it.  If they're not ready to talk about it, fine.  Give them their space to calm down, let them know you're not happy with what they did, as it made x sad/hurt/angry and when they're ready to talk about it, you'll be there.  Don't crowd them.  Don't force them to talk before they're ready, you'll just fuel the emotion they're already struggling to deal with. Let them be angry, this will then allow them to be sorry. Go offer solace to the afflicted party if needed rather than feeding the offending party, try not to answer anger with anger no matter how awful the act was, yelling at an angry upset toddler to calm down, just isn't going to work.  You can't put fire out with fire. If you want to reason with your child you have to be reasonable.

Sorry is only the hardest word when you're made to say it when you're not ready to feel it.

Toilet rage

I'm failing to remember the reasons attaining to why potty training is a good thing. It gets awfully tiring having to empty the potty. The Toddler now wakes up early and then proceeds to wake me with a 'WEE! WEE! MUM, WEE!' reminiscent of a fog horn whilst desperately scrambling out of his pj's and night nappy. Once upon a time he'd wake much later and easily be convinced to doze with a flop of a boob in his general direction. Now, I'm expected to catapult myself out of bed in three seconds and accompany him to the bathroom through a gibbering, stumbling sleep deprived haze to snatch his seat and stool before he attempts to which would prematurely wake Thing One. He then insists on turning the tap on full then shrieks at me to turn it off.

I keep my voice to a whisper that is more suspiciously related to a croak, my vocal chords mother evidently slept around. I try and coax him back to bed with urgent shushing and ramblings about it still being sleepy time in what should be English yet my tongue is too thick and i'm far too distracted by the sleep fur on my brain and the rattling of my eyes in my skull as they try to focus so that I probably sound like I'm talking in ancient tongues or more inelegantly, caveman.

The little bugger takes absolute advantage of my delayed reflexes and before I can give chase he's getting carpet burn on his arse as he flys down the stairs on it at astonishing speed and vaults himself into the lounge where The Husband is doing a terribly crap impression of looking awake and in charge of he who wakes ridiculously early, aka Thing One. This means game over.I have zero chance of getting him back to bed. Whilst I attempt to come to terms with this he's already stage diving off window sills and demanding I get him big boy pants at an excruciating volume. It's at this point I'm debating gin on my crunchy nut cornflakes.

And so the day begins.

He's generally amazing at using the potty yet he discovered the other day that he can now manage to get himself on the toilet which sounds like formidable good luck until you factor in the aforementioned tap issue and his extreme delight at wasting copious amounts of bog roll.

A rather recent development is toilet rage. Yes, really. I was rather spoiled before I met The Husband insofar as to say, I can't remember a time when my family home's (Yes, plural, we moved) didn't have three toilets yet here at The Party of Five we have but one solitary toilet. Oh the woe. The Toddler sees Thing One or Thing Two on the toilet and decides that it is infact his toilet and nobody else is possibly allowed on it as he screams 'MOVE' at them then proceeds to become possessed by psychosis which makes him embark on shoving his siblings off the loo as he screams. Quite off putting to whichever Thing is trying to pee at the time.

I admit however that I am somewhat of a wuss and put him in a nappy if I dare to leave the house not relishing the prospect of a wet buggy or even more likely a wet back if he pissed whilst in the sling. Despite having a nappy on he livend up a trip to Asda with his volume turned all the way up to eleven as he demanded 'WEE' several times, refusing to wee in his nappy instead forcing me to complete the wretched obstacle course otherwise known as trying to get to the bloody toilets which is remarkably difficult. Thanks Asda. Obviously people can't possibly need a wee during shopping.

On several occasions however upon returning home I've found his nappy to be in fact dry, how fabulous! Further impressive is that twice now he has had unexpected naps with pants on, breastfeeding obsessively and yet remained dry. His night nappies are now half the size with barely any boosting and are suspiciously light in a morning despite his excessive night feeds.

It all sounds rampantly positive and yet each trip outside is now plagued with the worry that he appears to refuse to pee in a nappy and often we wall miles with no toilets in sight which will result in the cumbersome addition of carrying a potty everywhere for impromptu public al fresco weeing.

Talking of potties....if you think shitty nappies are grim you have obviously not yet become aquainted with shit in a potty.

All we have to work on now is the toilet rage before he scares the shit quite literally back up the bums of his siblings. He's such a bully.

....and my legs aren't enjoying the step aerobics of constant trips to the loo with him.

Oh for a downstairs loo. I have downstair loo envy, how abysmally tragic. Oh god.... how disgustingly middle aged. Excuse me whilst I re-dye my roots Purple and pretend I'm still young.

A pox on you.

So that's Chicken Pox done and dusted. Thing One came home from school with it in December 2008 kindly sharing it with Thing Two who erupted in pox two weeks later suffering infinitely worse. Then a few weeks ago I spotted a suspicious red spot on The Toddler. I though nowt of it, It's not that unusual and yet a small insidious voice inside my head, The Doom Imp, gleefully  hissed 'Haha a pox a pox on your house!' Known to speak paranoid bollocks I reserved my judgement and pretended to ignore the little head Imp despite feeling another spot on The Toddlers back that was somewhat related to a blister. Afterall I'm a hermit, where on earth could he have got it?

Alas it was indeed The Pox and pretty soon The Toddler was all out rocking the spots. I must confess the depth of my shallowness was revealed when my heart went squelch like an over ripe fruit at the appearance of them on his perfect little face as I silently bemoaned 'no, his face, not his face!' Yet the worse effected area by far was that which lurked under his nappy. The poor little sod was covered with the rampant pox, even between his teeny arse cheeks which made for a rather harrowing chore of cleaning him after a dump. Convinced that in conjunction with the warm weather the Pox would fester and go skanky (Yes, that is a technical term) we made the rather brave decision to have nappy free time. This had the rather unexpected effect of The Toddler deciding to ruddy well potty train himself, just like that. In the past week he has had a mere two wet accidents and they were that epic he'd obviously merely forgot. Even his night nappies are suspiciously light of a morn despite still feeding throughout the night.

He was admirably perky and indeed somewhat chipper throughout the whole pox ordeal with only one 'poorly' day and one utterly horrendous night. Phew.

So whilst exercising my google-fu, as one does, I came across a rather absurd practice of pox lollipops. Yes, indeed! How grossly bizarre! Now pox parties are an age old happening (not one I'd ever personally partake in) but to buy and have posted lollipops and tissues used by a child with the Pox in an attempt to infect your own child is a tad macabre even to me. I understand that It's often much less severe to have the Pox as a child then as an adult and many parents are relieved to get it out of the way yet I cannot ethically process deliberately infecting a child to something which although oft minor in the grand scheme of things is still rather uncomfortable and indeed can make a child remarkably poorly and awfully miserable.  So the thought of consciously subjecting a child I profess to adore to this is a hard concept to digest. Not to mention the sheer ick factor, I mean really? A lollipop licked by a stranger? Even the voice of doom is positively shuddering at that.

But yes, he caught it by sheer chance from gods knows where and is now plagued with the last few remaining scabs so Hoorah and all that jazz. Phew. Thank fuck that's the Pox over and done with.

Fanpottytastic

Whilst stricken with The Pox of Doom it became apparent that The pesky little buggers deigned it necessary to congregate in a party in his pants. Or should I say nappy. Resorting to somewhat desperate measures to air them so as they wouldn't sweat and fester we took the brave decision to temporarily put him in cotton underpants figuring that carpet puddles were marginally preferential over willy rot.

Only The independent Toddler appears to have had ideas of his own and taken the opportunity to voluntarily and seemingly effortlessly potty train himself. We've not had a Single accident yet (touch wood) however I must confess that I'm not brave enough yet to test this at nap time nor the two times we've been out and obviously he is still also in a nappy at night.

He is doing tremendously well, independently going to his potty whenever he needs to even if engrossed in play, television or breastfeeding. When upstairs he simply stops whatever he is doing, tells us he needs a wee and waits for us to take him to the loo. Clever little sod.

One thing that has come into its own again is our stash of baby leg warmers. He spent the majority of his first summer in just a cloth nappy and leg warmers, a marvellous idea especially when changing nappies all the time. However as he became more adept at mischief we had to change to trousers as he found it wonderfully amusing to take off his nappies and turn the lounge into an adventure world of piss puddles.

However, now that he is in 'big boy pants' they allow him to use the potty with ease without the struggle and frustration of removing pants and trousers each and every time.

He is so enamoured with aforementioned big boy pants that he greeted his grandparents with a pelvic thrust whilst proudly stating 'big boy pants!' Gesturing excitedly at his crotch.

My baby is growing up far too fast. Today is The third day running that he has point blank refused a nap too. This being a tremendously less enchanting development in my eyes.

Hoopla!!!

Sometimes The Toddler excels himself in being heart pulpingly adorable.

Having helped (read: supervised) me tidy up the exploded toy shop we call our lounge he found a stray mega blok 'oh ..no...mum, more more!' Searching for the tub I'd secured out of his reach to stop the little bugger emptying it again. I reassured him we'd put it with The others later so he jubilantly made up a game of tossing it around the lounge shouting 'hoopla!!!' Until that is, he accidentally lobbed it my eye. Ouch. No really, Ouch.

The little charmer had the decency to look suitably saddened, gave me kiss then......ran and got his doctors kit and have me an examination.

I admit, my heart went squelch.

Splish Splash

Seeing as Thing One is out running errands with The Husband (also known as enforced separation as all Thing One and Thing Two have done today is squabble) I had another of those spontaneous hair brain ideas that never bode well. Obviously I still haven't learned from previous disasters.

This time my idiotic idea was to fill the bath, add washing up liquid for bubbles and loads of bath toys (oddly empty bottles seem to reign as the preferred toys) and voila, an improvised water play area.

The Toddler didn't quite understand that it wasn't actually bath time per se and kept trying to get his leg over the bath side despite me intercepting this on numerous attempts.

I utilised distraction tactics by blowing bubbles yet when I went to put them away Thing Two started throwing handfuls of bath foam all over and The Toddler clambered into the bath.... Yes, complete with trousers and nappy.

Dress your kids up...

When Thing One was smaller there didn't seen to be much choice in clothes and I doubt I'd ever even heard of 'organic' clothes, organic was just a word added to eggs to hike the price up. So, he had the typical mini man clothes that the high street stores are populated with in predictable pastel blues and yawnsome beige.  Add to that the fact he grew like a weed so I seemed to be in a perpetual cycle of buying clothes and let's face it, boys clothes are pretty unimaginative bordering fatefully close to being downright boring. Don't even get me started on the boys shoes, before I had kids I didn't ever dream shopping for shoes could actually be, well, boring.

Then Thing Two came along and what a revelation that was, shopping for a...girl! That's much more like it! Oodles of choice!

By the time The Toddler graced up with his presence I'd had enough of the bland boys clothing. It's only when you have bigger kids that you realise and appreciate just how small and delicate babies genuinely are. The thought of stiff denim, metal buttons, unnecessary zippers etc just seemed....well....awful! More so seeing as he wore soft, fluffy cloth nappies.

Also, pale colours just didn't even seem to suit him! I was remarkably impressed when I managed to find some orange, red and bright yellow vests, even the midwife commented on them!

So, I let a bit of me loose on The Toddlers wardrobe (ok, If you're going to be pedantic he only has drawers) I filled them with bold bright colours in comfy soft jersey and cotton populated with stripes and spots. He looked vibrant. He looked fun. He looked, dare I say, funky. Best of all he looked comfy!

The only problem I found was finding things! H&M proved amazing for basics (and incidentally fit really well over cloth nappies!) And eBay gave me access to quirky, cheap and amazingly practical leggings from China which he has lived in! They were brilliant for crawling, climbing and don't ride up when he is in the sling.

I just wish I'd known that he would be the opposite to Thing One insofar as to say, he doesn't actually seen to grow! This would have made it infinitely more justifiable to go shopping for funky organic clothing like Molo. I adore their stuff and often fantasy shop for it.

Who knows, Maybe I can justify it this year. Am currently drooling over  Love It Love It Love It  they have bright colours, stripes and it all looks super comfy, oh and It's organic! Just need to sell a kidney now to have some funds.....

You know you're a mum when It's more fun shopping for kids clothes then your own!

May be a bit quieter then usual as the computer died. As in Totally. I am devastated and so are the kids as we can't afford to replace it.  It's no easy feat blogging from my (crappy dying) phone, my thumb is positively withering at the sheer injustice of it.

Oh, pants.

Thing Two has spent the majority of the weekend trying to teach herself joined up writing and cutting up pieces of paper into smaller pieces of paper, over 100 tiny pieces to be exact.  She has a slight infatuation with her scissors, still better then boys I suppose.  She is the only five year old child I know who natters to play out with friends and then dumps them so she can hole herself up in her room and play with scissors....and write, a lot.

The Toddler has been driving me to distraction wit his constant demands to be taken to the toilet for a 'wee wee!!!' which appears to be somewhat of a game with a ritualistic element insofar as to say he has to shut the door, grab the toilet roll and stuff it between his legs, flush the toilet himself, weigh himself, drag his stool to the sink, turn the tap on, rinse hands....turn tap on fuller and then faff about on the landing before we descend the stairs (on our bums) only for him to want to repeat it 5 minutes later.  I never did fancy step aerobics.  Oh for the luxury of a downstairs loo.The Toddler also got his first pair of big boy pants this weekend, not that we expect we will need them anytime soon, not to mention the fact they're huge on him.  Despite being 25 months of age he is only just fitting into 12-18m clothes and the smallest ones were 18-24m.  He likes them mainly because he can take them off, to pee on the floor. We're still categorically not 'potty training him' rather we're following his cues and just providing the tools.  I endeavour to attempt this more enthusiastically in Summer. Preferably next Summer if I had my way, unfortunately he has other ideas, still at least we appear to be skipping the potty.  I detest potties.

Thing one has adored the lack of rain and the excessive amount of time he's been allowed to play outside with friends.  The little ray of sunshine really could make friends anywhere.  However we've also had the same old nuclearustic tantrums over tidying his room.

Toddlerisms.

The Toddler is delightful in so many ways, the little everyday ways like how when he burps he points to his mouth and says 'burp' with a grin and how whenever he see's a car parked or stopping at lights he points and says 'stuck! bruuuuuuuum stuck!' bless.

Oh the places you will go

I look at The Toddlers squidgy wee hands as he sleeps unaware of my devotion and attention. These hands that pull, grab, stroke and contain my heart in their tight grasp.

One day he'll understand the sheer potential these hands of his have.  With these hands he will have the power to create and to destroy.  Dreams will be built and lives shaped with these hands.....

Bluebells

Yesterday I had the task of doing the school run, usually the husbands forte seeing as The Toddler takes forever to get to sleep at night, feeds throughout the night and often wakes too late to be ready.  I also happen to adhere to that old adage whenever possible to 'never wake a sleeping baby' more so when it's grim as all hell outside.

However I do so love the exuberance of The Children first thing in a morning, all bright eyes and bushy tailed bubbling over with excitement about the day ahead (after the initial lethargic ball ache of getting them ready for the school and out the door, with knickers on).  Sheer energy in motion. 

The Toddler lovingly waved to them from his place on my back in our faithful Wompat saying 'Woove wu'  to them as they entered class.  However what I really loved was our journey home.  We only live 5-10 minutes away from school on foot but sometimes it's nice just to slow your pace and meander, to take the time to just exhale and simply be.  The skies were blue, the air crisp and fresh and the sound of birdsong punctured the blissful silence.  The Toddler was giggling away staring full of wonder over my shoulder chatting away crooning 'wha wat?' at everything with the point of an  scrumptious wee finger, loving the pauses so he could lose himself in the different textures dragging his fingers across the dry stone wall, the moss, the twigs.  Having nowhere to be and only the two of us we had a wonderful time.  Then, through the rough we saw bluebells, such a pretty vibrant sight after the endless weeks of grey and rain.

For the first time in weeks, I felt genuinely relaxed and refreshed.

The truth about co-sleeping & breastfeeding a toddler

 

Well, at least my neck won't get cold....& yes, he's feeding, upside down.

                                         

knackered.com

The Toddler is still teething, out of the three of them I've never had one who's taken so long to complete the process.  Thing One and Thing Two from a bump to a whole tooth would be a week, two max.  The Toddler however can quite literally take a month or two to complete the process.  I am quite thankful that the majority of the time the only clue to the fact he is teething is feeding even more then usual, which believe me is a lot. Other than that he's remarkably chipper, you'd never in a month of Sunday's guess he has three teeth emerging. 

Unfortunately (for me) this incessant feeding has royally buggered up the thin snippets of sleep I usually get, in fact we could say my sleep quota has progressed from sleep dieting to pure sleep anorexia. Even in his sleep he wants to feed and awakes as soon as I dare to liberate my boobs from him, which means I lay in a splendidly awkward position resulting in my shoulder being in pain whilst I can't sleep.  Sympathy is somewhat lacking seeing as he is teething and I choose to breastfeed therefore I should suck it up and deal with it.  When confronted with that caring attitude I almost wish he did dribble, drool and scream throughout the evening.  Surely The Husband should be thankful I can comfort him to such an extent that there is no interruption to the rest of the house?  The Husband also has a relatively low understanding threshold to M.E and the importance of rest.

Yet seeing The Toddler evidently in such good cheer as he awoke for the day and as usual waved his siblings and The Husband goodbye from the bedroom window as they started the school run went a long way to eradicating any residual grumpiness on my part not simple because I don't have to do the school run but  more that the toddler is so happy.  Upon his return The Husband scored some brownie points as he let me stay in bed a while, although frankly I deserved it especially after I copped the shitty nappy whilst he was out.  I'd like to say I had a sublime kip however, it was more my body rested whilst thoughts stampeded through my mind and veins like buzzing ants.

The Toddler enjoyed his nap as usual, me less so seeing as this picture was taken at the only window in time when he was not suckling furiously.  I swear my boobs must have morphed into calpol because they seem to be all he wants and needs to settle.  I suppose in a way I should be honoured that I'm able to provide this relief and comfort for him.  Nah, bollocks to that.

My ankle got a full test drive today as I bit the bullet and decided to do the 2+ mile round trip to the shops after school with The Husband and all three darlings. Once again The toddler was in great form and enjoyed shouting joyfully at full volume in the shops with grins and giggles a plenty. More importantly, I managed it and I'm not in excruciating pain (yet)!  Hoorah!

Rewriting the rules and taking the pee....

Given the choice of a potty or a small toy bucket, which would you pee in?

The Toddler shouts 'wee! Wee!' And proceeds to frantically tug at his trousers. I dutifully take them off for him and pass him the potty he was gesticulating wildly at. He whips off his cloth nappy and flings it at me with a loud 'Urgh!' And stands, yes stands, over the potty whilst staring at his winkie  willing it to wee.  He will only wee standing up and he can 'make' himself wee and indeed stop mid wee (handy for when I snatch away books and other things he finds it gloriously funny to wee on, it means he can save some wee and pee on the next random item he shouldn't pee on)The concentration was intense and the frustrated grunt humerous. Voila! A wee, albeit a tiny one. Hoorah! He rejoiced. I rejoiced. Hell, The Dog , rejoiced.

Having cleaned the potty I heard 'weewee!' Again. I handed him the potty again yet he shouted 'NO' and hurled it over the gate. Rinse and repeat. He wandered off to his house, grabbed his bucket and stood bold as brass in front of me whilst he pee'd in it.  He handed it to me to empty and I gave him the potty back. Another cross 'no' and the potty got another flying lesson (perhaps they were on bogof.....) and the bucket was dribbled in again with a forced wee.

You see, we're not actually potty training per se. We're far too lazy and I simply abhor the notion of 'training' babies to do anything preferring the more organic approach of providing the tools and let them develop as they see fit. Besides, I know from Thing One and Thing Two that if they find it funny and have wee games then they're not ready, leave it and revisit a few months later and it just happens without fuss.The Toddler is still so young, I'm not expecting him to get serious about it for at least another 6-9 months minimum.

We attempted sticker rewards with Thing Two and the devious little madame discovered if she made each wee into three seperate wee's, she should, technically, be entitled to three stickers and three performances from the parental cheering squad.

Likewise the little cretins find it fiendishly funny if a parent gets remotely angsty over their 'lets make puddles all across the carpet and splash in them' antics, in fact you could say they find it piss funny. However, if you neglect to react and just unceremoniously clean up, they soon get bored.

Whilst I remain undoubtedly impressed by their (when it suits them....) bladder control, I fail to share the hilarity of it.

Unfortunately, for me, The Toddler loves to take full advantage of the nakedness bath time entails and tries to piss on as many towels, books, patches of carpet as he can, issuing himself a congratulating round of applause and cheering after each dribble. Needless to say he is the only one cheering. He then has the bare faced cheek (get it? ha!) To point and exclaim 'wee wee!' Until I scrub.

His game is up now though, mean mummy keeps him firmly, despite rabid protestations, in her grip until The Husband is ready to put a nappy on him. Ha! Take that sweet toddler o'mine! Back of the net!

His latest obsession is the toilet. He loves to put his seat on, sit on it, steal bog roll to noisily blow his nose before shoving it between his legs and into the loo. He then hops off (having not wee'd) via the little stool and tries to flush it before he allows you to plonk him in the bath (where he does actually wee....as you do) He is terribly territorial over the toilet and wails 'miiiine!' Whilst working himself into a right little tizz. It's rather tough shit though for the little fellow as that loo has to serve 5 people.

Maybe he should stick to the bucket afterall.... it's tremendously portable too with it's nifty little handle.....

Co-Sleeping

Okay so there are many many reasons why I love co-sleeping such as (when done properly and safely) it can reduce the risk of SIDS, makes night feedings way easier etc etc etc

But probably one of the best reasons is...

Seriously, why would anyone not want to sleep next to that? He's gorgeous, snuggly and warm.

Okay so the acrobatics and his shufflebum nature can be a pain in the arse, literally, but you also get the comedy poses to chuckle at, like random leg in the air position.

& in the midst of night and the whole house is asleep and the buzzing of your mind keeps you from slumber, the soothing lullaby of his breathing acts as a relaxant, a focus, until you finally seek sleep.

One day, if I remember i'll dedicate a picture post to our two years of co-sleeping so far, I have such sweet pictures to share.

Ray of light

What was that ball of light that dared to show it's face in the sky this morning? Who painted the grey, blue? It always feels tremendously worse being cooped up indoors when it isn't pissing it down.  I rather fancied my chances at making a bid for freedom tomorrow yet I fear the Law of the Sod will turn the rain switch to 'on' again, bugger. Then there's the small inconvenience of the impending untrackable delivery of Thing Two's new lego that she chose with birthday money she received nearly 9 months ago. Double bugger.

Once again i'm failing miserably at getting back on the dieting wagon and yet still have another 14-21lbs to lose. My willpower is abysmal at the moment so whilst awaiting for it to get back on track.......I baked ginger biscuits. Sorry hips, I didn't mean to.  I do have the beginnings of a considerably epic ramble on weight loss in my drafts waiting to be completed yet alas it shall indeed have to wait a little longer. The internet is down, again and I have been forced to download an application for my phone to compose this and my thumb is about to wither from over exertion.

Thing Two is full of cold and Thing One walked approximately six miles with The Husband après school and yet they still had the energy to be little sods after tea the highlights of which included throwing cat food at each other and paper aeroplanes down the toilet (then at the walls) and lets not forget the fact one of them turned the heating up to 25c.

Despite teething three teeth, The Toddler is stupendously exhausting to watch and has managed to escape and do the stair game more times then I can count. The little hoodlum laughed in the face of The Husbands attempts to restrain these antics and in an exhibition of sheer anarchy managed to remove the door wedge and upturn the book box both of which should have foiled him.

Irregardless of his mighty escapades he still petitioned against sleep and another 1h45m bedtime ensued (with 5 stories) before he finally admitted defeat and boobed to sleep at around 22.45.

Im vastly losing the fading memories of whatever it was I used to actually do with my evenings before I was chained to the bed (steady on! Out of the gutter...) by boob and mummy dependants though The Husband (bless him) frequently tries to remind me at the most unorthodox times, usually earning himself a filthy glower and a pinch to bring him to his senses.  I'm too tired to be a sex goddess darling. Sleep is the new sex.



I'll leave you with another picture from this morning. I threw open the window and inhaled the light swallowing it soul deep and back again and for a glancing second I touched hope. Mere seconds in time and yet everything stopped and my mind was blissfully silent.

Baltic Amber

Excuse the poor photo, the only time The Toddler is remotely still is when he's nursing and even then he has a penchant for gymnastics.  So, Baltic Amber.  Specifically Baltic Amber teething necklaces.

For those who've never heard of them, Baltic amber is the only fossil resin that contains 3-8% succinic acid. The amber warms when in contact with skin and releases an oil that has analgesic properties.  It's been used for many centuries and is especially popular on the continent.

When Thing One was a baby I had no idea they existed.  Thing Two got one as a freebie but by then she had all her teeth.  The Toddler has had his necklace since he was really quite a small baby.  It has been taken off only a handful of times in his life, the only time that immediately springs to mind is when he needed a chest X-ray.  Otherwise he wears it 24/7, yes even in the bath.

Does it work though?  Good question.  All I can say is that he has a mouthful of teeth and half of them I had no idea where on there way until they'd already arrived.  He rarely drools or has red cheeks.  When teething he doesn't scream and cry, he just feeds even longer then usual (i.e throughout the entire day and night).  Even his molars have been no issue.  Infact the only issues with teething we've had is occasionally they bring upon cold symptoms and this exacerbates his breathing issues and has resulted with him being taken to hospital three times in four months. 

Just this week, he was giggling away and I took the opportunity to glance in his mouth and saw a tooth emerging, we had no idea yet in retrospect is does explain why he's upped his nursing antics lately.

So in my experience of three children with only one wearing Baltic Amber I'd have to say, yes.  I do believe it works.  Unfortunately The Husband remains sceptical, as he does with anything like this he believes it's all a load of old tosh.  Same with Arnica cream.  He doubted the magic cough relief of putting vapour rub on feet then socks on top at night time yet even he can't deny how well it works (yet he refuses to humour me and try the half an onion next to the bed cough cure)

So around a year ago I decided to purchase myself an Baltic Amber necklace and bracelet.  Amber bracelets are highly effective for controlling the pain of rheumatism, arthritis, and aching muscles and joints whereas necklaces can provide significant pain relief for head, neck and throat areas Baltic amber is also an anti-anxiety remedy that rids fatigue and weariness. As someone who suffers from Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, anxiety and depression I figured I could benefit from it.  Unfortunately despite the amazing effect it appears to have on The Toddler I can't say I noticed any affect at all.

Yet, before we completely write it off as total twaddle it's important to remember not all Baltic Amber that is sold is actually genuine.  There are some very simple tests to check the authenticity of Baltic Amber if you're at all in doubt.  Unfortunately I am doubtful of the authenticity of mine after carrying out the acetone test on my bracelet which may explain things. 

However, I feel I must mention that recently many small companies are recalling baby teething necklaces due to Trading Standards investigating the safety of infants wearing them so many makers are now having to market them at being suitable for for 3yrs and over.  There have been no incidents reported connected with them, it's purely speculation of potential danger.

I know one thing though, I won't be returning The Toddlers.  It's invaluable.

If it aint broke, don't fix it

I was in the midst of a good old rambling post, The Husband and Thing One had gone on an expedition and I'd promised Thing Two that we could bake.  She was looking quite forlorn as I happily typed away so in a moment of good ole Mummy guilt I saved as a draft and went into the kitchen to find the Jammie Dodgers recipe that we have baked many a time and love.  I have this habit of scrawling recipes on the backs of random envelopes and scraps of paper, without titles, and bunging them in the baking cupboard, I glanced through every last one and the recipe wasn't there.  Not to worry, I have it bookmarked online.  I should have took this as an Omen really and just left them to happily watch TV but no, onwards I went only to find dear Virgin has let me down, there was no Internet.  yes, no Internet. Oh. My God. Cue palpitations.  I swear there's more Internet then blood in my veins.  I kept pressing refresh like some maniac, I fiddled with the modem, I closed and reopened my browser and even rebooted the computer.  No Internet at all. Gah!.

Meanwhile, The Toddler is practising his latest 'game' of opening the door, escaping through the gap in the gate, going up the stairs at full speed, legging it to the bathroom and slamming the door.  This happened about ten times, I kid you not.  I'm dreaming of a cigarette, I haven't had one in nearly 9 years.

Plan two.  It's one thing doing sod all but quite another when you promised to do something.  So in a moment of what I can only describe as sheer madness when I lost all sense of judgement I emptied a large book tub and filled it with water, bubbles and red food dye.  I placed said tub on towels in the kitchen and dumped some toys in it then let in the kinders.  In another senile moment I thought I'd raid the skanky wheel barrow in the garden for the sand/water toys that had been festering there over the Winter, only to find The Toddler had opened the back door and was dancing on the pavement behind me.  The garden isn't child friendly at the moment so I grabbed him, tucked him under my arm and continued poking through the infestation of rank toys with him having a full blown tantrum under my arm.  I'm dreaming of Vodka, a bottle of, I haven't had alcohol in 2years and 9 months.

Once inside I lock the back door and place the toddler down.  Thing Two is in seventh heaven with the water play, has stripped half her kit off and is playing wondrously.  The Toddler decides to be an absolute pain in the arse and attempts to go through all the kitchen cupboards, mess around with the washing machine, put MaCabre on the stereo and commence headbanging whilst clambering up and down a chair with wet feet. ARGH.  Occasionally he'd wander to the water and have a play and then back to feats of amazing danger again.  Eventually I had to out my middle name of 'Kill Joy' and put an end to it before he skidded across the floor and cracked his head open.

I felt a tad guilty.  Thing Two had been having fun.  So yet another bad idea, I empty and dry the tub and dump all of The Toddlers rainbow rice in there, something he absolutely adores and spends ages entranced by it.  Apparently that is reserved for when he's a) on his own b) secured in his high chair with the rice in a tin on the table in front of him.  Once again, Thing Two is ecstatic and playing happily yet The Toddler inbetween screaming at her for daring to play with his rice, decides to fill the tub with dinosaurs so Thing One can't get to the rice and to top it off attempts a tug of war with me with the full intention of emptying rainbow rice all over the lounge. Don't think so buddy. I remove the rice and in retaliation The Toddler removes his nappy. His favourite thing at the moment is weeing, specifically weeing on things, purposefully.  So I hear the shrill call of Thing Two to tell me that The Toddler is peeing on her blanket. Great.  No really, fanbloodytastic.  He looks incredibly pleased, me? Not so pleased.

It doesn't stop here.  Thing Two goes up to the loo only she didn't quite make it and despite being dry for several years she wee's her knickers as she walks up the stairs.  This wasn't no puddle, this was a full on 10 gallon flood all the way up the stairs.  So whilst reassuring her it's no biggee, accidents happen I ask her to simply put some dry knicks on and get The Toddler a nappy, whilst I set about scrubbing the stairs.  I'm wondering how much of my Zoloft I have left.

Then a huge meltdown tantrum ensues as I dare to attempt to put  nappy and then trousers (to prevent him taking said nappy off) on him.

Finally, I take him to the sofa, snuggle up and he feeds (and feeds and feeds and feeds) and calm is eventually restored.

For now.

I'm now dreaming of an asylum stay.

The moral of this story? If the kids are happy pottering about, playing with toys and watching the TV, don't ever ever ever try and change that. Ever.

Oh and that blog entry I saved earlier? didn't actually save. 

Is it tomorrow yet?

Feet

<=== Is the sight that greeted me when I glanced at The Toddler fast asleep next to me in my bed last night.  Usually he sleeps in a fleece all-in-one over his jimmies as he undoubtedly wriggles and kicks off all blankets and that way I have the reassurance that no matter what acrobatics he practises, he'll not get cold.  Not to mention he looks absolutely adorable in one.  Yet The Toddler finds it hilarious to take it off, then hand back to me to put on again, rinse and repeat.  Needless to say I don't share his enthusiasm in this game, not even a little, not even at all.  I put my foot down last night and after putting it on  for the second time I declared 'No More', so he snuggled down for a mammoth boobing session and fell asleep.  Hence the gorgeous wee bare foot.

As a rule, I hate feet.  I find them abjectly hideous.  The Husband lives in the knowledge that he will never ever have his toes sucked nor a foot rub and if his foot so much as brushes any part of my anatomy, I'm liable to yelp, shudder then attack....viciously. The mere thought of adult feet (other then my own fair ones) sends my gag reflex into spasm and yet baby feet are simply adorable and beg to be sniffed affectionately and kissed.  It seem's like only  yesterday when The Toddler's feet were newborn, wrinkly and utterly scrumptious and the sight of plasters on them made me weep as they had to keep stealing his blood.

Now they're smooth and pesky and like to be 'sniffed' as you say 'pooooooooooooooooooo! stinky feet!' which makes The Toddler writhe in raptures of hysterics, squealing with delight.

On the subject of feet and indeed The Toddler, the poor darling managed to trip over thin air today.  I was busy bollocking refereeing  Thing One and Thing Two upstairs when I heard him wail.  When I came down despite being comforted by The Husband he was still sobbing his little heart out, most unlike him.  Usually when he has a little stumble he'll point to the offending appendage, hold it out to be kissed then be off again on his merry exploratory way.  Scooping him up he immediately burrowed for booby and yet despite curling into my side his suckling was punctuated by small gasped sobs.  Strange.  Booby fixes everything usually.

He kept pointing at his wee foot, which seemed neither red, swollen nor bruised and yet he'd take a few steps then burst into tears.  Up the stairs I carried him, slathered his entire foot/ankle/toes in Arnica cream, gave a spoonful of paracetamol and then snuggled him as he furled into me and fed and fed....and fed.  What do you know, he's now walking fine.  Arnica is an absolute wonder in this house, The Husband is a total and absolute sceptic yet I see proof of it's power all the time and simply wouldn't be without it. 

I also love the undoubted comfort breastfeeding provides him whether he's tired, ill, frightened or hurt.....a cuddle and feed is like Valium to him, a total smile bringer.

I dread the day when his problems can't be cured with a simple kiss and a cuddle yet for now, i'll cherish them and be grateful that I can fullfill my job description of 'cure all' aka Mum.