The Dreaded Half Term

Half Term used to be great. It meant no school, maybe a holiday, meeting up with friends and generally having lots of fun. Now the news that its Half Term just fills me with dread. Because now it means no playgroups and that anywhere else I can take the little monster for a bit of sociable fun is utterly packed with much larger children and if you fill a room with room with children, they're bound to bash into each other occasionally. If a five year old bashes into my two year old, she'll be squished. It's nobody's fault, it's just simple physics.

I've managed to arrange a playdate at my house on Friday. Now I'm desperately trying to arrange another meet up for some time earlier in the week. Many might ask why I don't just enjoy a quiet week with my little girl. And of course I'm planning some nice arty activities and maybe even some very simply baking. But unless she's regularly set loose in a large space with others of her age, my little girl quickly becomes bored and mischief ensues. We didn't go to our usual playgroup on Friday and, since then, she's worked out that she can turn off the monitor at night so that we don't know when she gets out of bed. I'm certain that there's a connection. If she's kept occupied, she doesn't have time to work things out. 

Many child-centred places organise special events and activities for children during half term. But none of these are ever appropriate for pre-school children, it seems. They are all for the children who would usually be at school. And fair enough, they deserve some fun during their time off. But what on earth am I supposed to do with my non-school attending child who isn't having time off? 

This has actually reminded me of another subject that I wanted to blog about: home educating. We have been vaguely considering the idea of home schooling pretty much since our daughter's birth. It began because we weren't too keen on the schools in our old neighbourhood. Now that we've moved, there are a few good schools. But we still find ourselves questioning just how good they are. Could our child gain from us teaching her, rather than leaving it to the professionals? I would really love to hear from anyone that has any amount of experience on this subject. 

Rant-free sentimentality

I must warn you from the beginning of this post; I'm in a bit of a sentimental mood. A good sentimental mood though. The kind of mood where I'm remembering everything I really should feel grateful and happy for every moment of the day. Too often, I'm far too busy grumbling about something silly to realise how lucky I am.

Firstly, there's the other half. Yes, he's not perfect and we do argue. But we also laugh a lot. We sing along to songs together. We far too often simultaneously decide at some point past midnight that we both quite fancy ordering a cheeky takeaway. We can talk endlessly about nothing at all. We both love having a cuddle on the sofa while watching a nice film. He knows when I need a tub of Ben & Jerry's and when I need to be told to get off my backside and get on with my day because he knows I'd regret it if I didn't. He knows all my secrets and I'm fairly sure I know all of his. Plus, he's a pretty bloody brilliant father to the next person on my list of things to be grateful for.

My daughter. Yes, like most 2 year olds, she throws tantrums and sometimes won't stay in bed at night and is clingy at just the time I need to make dinner or carry out some other vital task. But she's also rather amazing. She learns something new every day, if not every hour. She makes me smile like a fool when she whispers "Love you Mummy" in my ear. I marvel constantly that I've created (with help, obviously) such a unique, funny, clever, beautiful little girl. She makes me laugh with delight when she dances around our living room whenever any music comes on. She makes me completely forget that I'm actually very self concious and that singing children's songs in public should really embarrass me. 

My home. We moved here about six months ago and I've never loved a place more. Our little flat is my favourite place I've ever lived. It has it's faults but never has anywhere felt more like a home. Plus it's come with the massive bonus of having two bedrooms so that me and the other half can have some private couple time, to put it delicately, in our own room rather than safely out of earshot in the living room, as we used to in our previous flat. Everything we could need is close by and everyone here is so friendly. My postman helped carry my bags of rubbish downstairs the other day because he could see I was struggling with the pushchair. The supermarket staff are entirely understanding and lovely on the rare occasion when the little monster takes some form of confectionery from a shelf and makes a gooey mess of it or even worse manages to get it out of the shop without me noticing. 

I have many other things to also be grateful for. Some lovely new friends who have made me feel very welcome in our new neighbourhood. My other half's lovely relatives who have made me feel at least partly connected to their family. Our financial situation may be a bit crap at the moment and we're on a constant budget but we're hardly short on material possessions. All in all, I think I've got it pretty good. Actually, very good. I think its important to remember that, from time to time. 

Just a normal day

It's been a few days since I last posted. This is because I've been having a fairly ordinary week. But I realised that maybe my ordinary life might not be so ordinary to everyone else. So here's what has been happening recently:

My daughter woke me up at her normal time of 8am. As always, I wished I could stay in bed just a little longer but got up anyway to make us breakfast. My husband stayed in bed. I don't resent his lie ins. If anything, when he stays in bed, it gives me one less breakfast to prepare. My little monster watched cbeebies while we ate our porridge and then while I cleared up and prepared to leave the house to go food shopping. She sat in her pushchair while I walked to our local supermarket and made my way through the mad chaos of Saturday shoppers. It was only later today that I was glad to have gone so early. According to a friend, panic buying made the place almost impossible to navigate as we have had snow forecast for tomorrow. We had a little today but it soon melted. Apparently we will awake tomorrow to lovely deep snow, enough to take my daughter stomping about in. I'll end talking about snow here, as it has already been the subject of an entire previous post.

I made the mistake of giving my little girl cous cous in a pitta bread for lunch. She flicked it everywhere and I think ate very little of it. My other half, for some reason, said that cous cous is a pretentious dish to feed a toddler. I have no clue where this idea has come from and, despite his attempts to explain, I'm still none the wiser. In any case, I'll stick to filling pittas with egg and tomato as that seems to create substantially less mess.

Lunchtime was followed with an afternoon of television, reading books (well, actually one book several times as my daughter is currently a fan of repetition), dancing around the living room and playing with a toy theatre that I gave her for Christmas. We've had a day with absolutely no potty successes but I'm doing my best to only gently suggest it during nappy changes and allow her to completely ignore her if she wishes.

Dinner was lamb grills with mashed potato and vegetables. Tasty, filling and quite a favourite in our house. After  a quick sit down to build up some energy, it was time to start the bedtime routine, beginning with bathtime. Although the basic objective of getting my daughter clean was accomplished, it was not a very happy bathtime. I had run out of her bubble bath so that caused some mild grumpiness from the outset. I've been advised many times that baths help a child to relax. If this is achieved through wearing the child out, I can agree with that. My daughter rarely sits in the bath but instead splashes and kicks water all over me, the walls and the floor, which is, of course, immensely hilarious for her. Washing her hair is only an interruption to this so it's met with yet more grumpiness, getting closer and closer to a tantrum. I let her have some splashing time before saying the dreaded words: "It's time to get out now". At this sentence, she lays down and kicks water everywhere as furiously as she can. I struggle to pick her up as she wriggles and screeches. She finally calms down when I get her wrapped up in a towel and brush her teeth. Drying and dressing into pyjamas is followed by a cuddle on the sofa and reading another book or two. Or three or four. This evening, she was surprisingly well behaved on being told that it was time to go to bed. She collected her Kitty Cat and Woof, the two toys she now sleeps with every night, and wandered off to her bedroom, me closely following behind. I tucked her in and gave Kitty Cat, Woof and lastly my little girl her big hug and kiss goodnight. A lovely moment, I'm sure anyone would agree. I left the room and began on the washing up. A few minutes passed before I hear the scampering of little feet on the hallway tiles. Several times, I escort her back to bed before she finally settles.

Now I sit here, typing and watching New Moon, of the Twilight Saga and feeling pretty relaxed. The little one's in bed, the chores are done and I've finally warmed back up after a quick shower. I'll go to bed soon. And in the morning, it'll start all over again...

Trying to Find the Words...

Being a part time student can sometimes be tricky when you've also got a two year old who craves constant attention except at times when she wants some privacy to make mischief. I can occasionally read a few pages of material if she's sitting quietly with a book/biscuit/toy/expensive electronic device that she shouldn't really be touching. But all of my essays are written late in the evening after the bedtime routine is over and the washing up and other chores have been done. 

At present, I have an essay about Catholic tradition in England to complete by Friday. I've written 900 words out of 1200, which sounds pretty good. The problem is that I've actually nothing left to write. I've written about everything in my essay plan. I have no new point to make. I feel I've answered the question pretty fully. So at this point, I have to start "padding", meaning sticking words in wherever I can, lengthening perfectly good sentences just to reach the right word count. I always find this very frustrating, especially when I'm quite pleased with the essay as it is. I don't want to change it  but I have to. Surely, as my other half pointed out when I was having a lovely big rant on the subject last night, I should be congratulated for making my argument succinctly? Apparently, the Open University disagrees. I can be 5% off the word count so I need another 240 words at the very least. That'll make for a fabulous waste of my evening later. 

Anyway, rant over on that subject. I have seriously failed on my diet. Its really my husband's fault but I can't bring myself to feel badly towards him for it. A few nights ago, he offered to buy me ice cream. I did choose frozen yoghurt rather than ice cream but still, I finished the whole tub within three evenings. Not very good. Then I woke up this morning to find that my dear other half was entirely missing from our flat. I texted him and the reply quickly came to say that he was bringing in breakfast. I knew exactly what that breakfast would be without him saying anything more. One egg and sausage McMuffin meal later, I'm feeling a bit guilty. Luckily, me and the little monster have very healthy filled wholegrain pitta breads for lunch. In fact, I shall end this post now and make lunch as just remembering that frozen yoghurt is making me hungry...

Let it snow! ...or not

News that snow is on the way often brings out some very strong opinions. For some, it means a day of snowball fights and building snow men. For others, it means a day of disrupted journeys with delayed trains or traffic jams.

Last year, I was initially excited, especially when I saw the look of amazement on my daughter's face. But soon it became clear that she was too young to go stomping about in that weather. This year, she is definitely old enough to go outside in her wellies and enjoy it. This idea fills me with excitement. But the idea of attempting to get the pushchair over icy pavements and through mounds of snow fills me with dread. Last year some very lovely neighbours decided it would be a great idea to shovel all the snow off their driveway and the pavement but leave it in tall ridges across the pavement, creating an almost impossible to traverse obstacle for pushchairs and wheelchairs. This only became worse when the snow froze, leaving mountains of ice. Luckily, we have now moved far away to a place where, in general, people show some consideration for each other. 

So the part of me that is basically a big kid, the part that dances around the living room with my little girl and sings children's songs out loud in public is delighted that snow could be on the way. I'll buy a little sledge for my little monster and probably spend hours outdoors, having a lovely time. But the other part of me, the sensible part who budgets and plans meals is panicking that if it snows, we won't be able to go and buy food and nappies, which I'm already running out of today. 

I'm curious, do others fear snow or yearn for it? Is it an inconvenience or a joy? 

Sunday Morning

I'm surprised to find that despite barely knowing the days of the week, my daughter seems to completely understand Sunday mornings. I am generally woken at around 7am by the sound of "Mummy!" being shouted from across the hall. Obviously, for the past few months, this happened before sunrise. So when I woke naturally to find sunlight coming through my bedroom window, it was a very pleasant surprise. I lazed in bed for a while before getting up and felt very relaxed rather than cranky and a bit resentful of being removed from a warm bed and duvet. My daughter soon woke up and just wandered into the living room. It was only at this point that I looked at my mobile phone and realised that it was already after 9am. 

Its now after midday and, unusually for me, I'm still in my pyjamas and not even thinking about lunch yet. Normally I would be dressed within an hour of waking up and have lunch on the table at midday if not long after. But when I went to get dressed this morning, I found myself asking why. I'll be popping to the shops this afternoon but what harm can it do if I spend a few extra leisurely hours in my pyjamas? My answer to myself was none at all. So here I sit, happily relaxed with my daughter quite happily sitting quietly with a book. I'll start lunch soon but there's no hurry. We do need a few things from the supermarket but they'll be open for hours yet. I couldn't do this everyday but just for once, it's quite nice. My other half has actually gone back to bed but he has a very rare hangover as an old friend came to visit and they had far more to drink than he's used to these days. Poor thing. 

I will end my post with another piece of advice. If at all possible, spend a morning every now and again in this fashion. Stay in your pyjamas a little longer. Put off cooking and housework for a little while and just relax. I'm not suggesting a whole day spent without dressing or moving from the sofa. But I think we could all do with a little change from the normal rushed schedule of the day.