My son, the diplomat, Part II

Of course, what Babe said at the end of my penultimate post, was repeating exactly what I had said when we set off an a Family Day Out to a rescue establishment of the bovine variety at 8am last Sunday.

A day later, he interrupted our bickering thus:
'Don't speak to mummy like that, daddy!'
'I'm sorry,' says OH.
'Mummy, daddy says sorry,' says Babe.
'I'm sorry, too,' I rejoin, giving OH an unpleasant hand gesture as Babe turns his back.
Shocking, I know.

I am determined to put this phase behind us, and some fun back into family life. I am sure the constant stressing and bickering is upsetting Babe. So I try to suggest we do something nice together at some point during each weekend. (Incidentally, we're all upset, not just Babe. New Babe probably thinks that people only communicate without shouting on birthdays and thier own Saint days.)

To be honest, I don't look forward to weekends at all as weekdays are simpler, despite being pretty heavy-going for me. We usually survive Saturdays and Sundays by taking turns to take Babe out while I clean the house or, when it's his turn, OH chills on the sofa. My ultimate aim is to achieve the cleaning, shopping and cooking during the week, so that I can get some rest at the weekend too, or at least not get irritated by how much there is to do and attempt to chill. Babe has started saying, 'Just chill, Mummy!', which drives me insane. Learnt from OH of course.

But, back to our last Family Day Out (sorry for all these bits in brackets, I am trying to cut down on them) unless we get Up And Out, Babe is likely to drop off en route wasting valuable RandR time for us. Which is why I insisted (begged, prostrated myself on the floor, cried, made offers of one BJ per month etc etc) that we leave early. Unfortunately I had not checked the opening times of aforementioned bovine establishement, and we ended up bickering in the car park in the drizzle for an hour when we got there. Not a nag in sight, but a clearly testosterone-fuelled young farm hand revving a quad bike desguised as a bull that pulls a line of passengers around the paddock for about £30 quid a head.

I am fast learning that Babe doesn't mind where we are as long as a) we are not arguing and b) he has a little mate or two to play with. He runs up to kids anywhere and asks what their names are and then stands as close as can to them until they start involving him in thier play.

Last Sunday, we were pretty much the only ones there. We made a cursory tour of the stables, slid down the slides whooping as loudly as we could, so that he'd feel the place was fun and lively, and then mustered the energy to leap over some kiddie-style horse jumps in the outside area with him. There were wasps everywhere which was making me nervous, as OH has a serious allergy but does not carry his epi pen with him. (I know!!) Then the one or two other visitors started to convene near the paddock for the 'bull ride'. We argued briefly as to weather Babe could go on alone, then agreed that he and OH should go on together. Just as well we did, as it bounced about all over the place. Babe loved it. I giggled a lot at the sight of a very cramped OH, knees about his ears, trying to control just how hard Babe bouced against his crotch.

We left, following some obligatory purchases in the gift shop: Babe, some mini aeroplanes, me some fudge - boy, did I need it, OH a horse brush (don't ask).

We arrived back home at about eleven thirty, every bit as exhausted as if we'd been out for the day. Which made the entry fee quite good value, I guess. Babe and New Babe were asleep in the car. So OH chilled on the sofa and I - well, I'll leave what I did up to your imaginations.

Homeland on the horizon

It seems I have once again agreed to take our annual vacation in OH's homeland. How the F did I manage that? Especially after last year's protestations and this year's tantrums - in fact a decade of protestations and tantrums.

Thing is, I love the man, and realise that I was expecting something of him that I wouldn't have been prepared to agreed to myself. Plus I'm insanely tired and realised there wasn't a lot of sense in paying money we don't have to spend a week away together, having the 'family holiday' I aspired to, arguing over whose turn it was to sleep/chase Babe around the swimming pool. What's more, having lived abroad and feeling very comfortable in several European countries where one or the other of us knows the ropes and the language, I feel strangely insecure at the thought of going somewhere new. How very parochial!

So, in two weeks' time (I've bought the tickets, so let's hope I get New Babe's passport application processed in time, got an appointment tomorrow - eek!) we're flying off the Greek island that is a short boat ride away from his hometown. And to an insane number of fawning relatives. But hopefully, too, some simple excursions down to the sea front with aunties who will help with the kids while I dip in the ocean. Watch this space!

PS I'll be sleeping in the hotel opposite his home. That is my bottom line.
PPS Re para two and my comment about 'loving the man' etc: he was clearly not going to back down on this one anyway. I am going to take the pertinent move of buying cheap tickets for him and Babe to go to visit the family over the New Year as well, to avoid a month of argument that results in costly tickets. But for a week next May, the world will be my oyster :)

My son, the diplomat, part I

We leave for our weekly jaunt to my active birth group reunion. The members live at diverse locations in our neck of the woods and it puts my driving skills to the test. I got my license relatively late and get very stressed about trying new routes. Today's involves using three motorways and I don't usually do motorways.

Once the car is packed and we're all strapped in, I turn the key in the ignition and call to the rear, 'is everyone ready for a new adventure?'.
New Babe cannot, of course, reply. But his elder brother responds at once:
'Yes! No more shouting or arguing, we're going to have a nice family time together!'

A quick one... or not. At all, that is.

So, my mum has been to stay for a few days. Lovely to have some company and fantastic to have an extra pair of hands to help me through the day. Took Babe swimming this morning which was wonderful, despite the fact that he nearly froze and is constipated (see below) and therefore reluctant to embrace the full potential of his physicality. Incidentally, I dread to think what the temperature of the baby pool feels like in winter.

It's also been great to have someone to help with Babe when he wakes in the morning. I had a particularly bad night last night. New Babe is now 11 weeks old, and in the last week I've been getting him down by 8.30pm - 9.oopm. He has, on a couple of occasions, woken just once in the night to feed, but he's equally able to wake every three hours, which he did last night, starting at eleven - about an hour after I went to bed. For those of you who don't know, it is agony to be roused from little sleep from you are already exhausted.

Last night Babe woke about four times as well, and at pretty much equidistant intervals between new Babe waking: once for the potty - great (he's now slept without a nappy for three nights and been dry every night. I wonder if this is beginner's luck as he's just spent two entire days trying to poo and it has marred everything we've tried to do as he hasn't wanted to get off the potty); once for an apple he'd been dreaming about, which I had to pretend to try and find behind the bed, and twice because his head had come out from underneath the pillow (these days he can only sleep with it on his face. He's his mother's son all right - I'm a terrible sleeper. It took me twenty years to wean myself off the ear plugs I started wearing during my A levels. Not the same pair, of course, and I don't mean I started wearing them during the exams).

To cut a long story short, I woke up knackered. And because Granny was staying, Daddy was in Mummy's bed. So for once he was reminded of just how crap my nights are. But somehow I still ended up getting up to Babe as well, as I'm the one he calls out for and it is easier to go than withstand the shrieks he produces if his dad does, as I don't want new Babe woken if I can help it.

Having fed at 5am, got up to Babe at 6 and half 6, I was pleased when OH got up with him at 6.40. I say pleased, but I elbowed him in the ribs so hard he knew it wasn't up for discussion. At 7.15 I heard my mum get up, glad that I could stay horizontal while OH got ready to go to work. ASTOUNDED when, at 7.20, OH bounced up the stairs, into my (I don't say 'our' any more) room, stripped off, and jumped back into bed. He needed to leave for work in fifteen minutes.

'What the F are you doing?' I hissed, hearing new Babe stir in his cot and knowing he would wake soon. 'Don't you realise I need every last minute of rest I can get?'
'I thought we could spend five minutes being close together,' he replied.
New Babe started to cry.
'Close together?' I yelled. 'CLOSE together? Get out!', I continued, rolling out of bed and staggering over to the cot. 'If I didn't want to shag first thing before we had kids, what on earth makes you think I want to now?'

He didn't answer. He just looked, forlorn, at the monitor hanging on the wall next to me. The other end of which was on the sofa next to Granny and Babe. I groaned and put radio 4 on, so that I could be further depressed by the weather report and the 8am headlines. OH put on his orange casual trousers (yes, orange - bought at an East European street market and apparently very comfortable, but give him a matching sweatshirt and a broom and he'd pass for a street cleaner), I presume as a distraction. And walked downstairs very slowly.

More paving slab analagy

Heck. I still have nothing either funny or interesting to say but must blog today, to preserve my self esteem and reputation as a woman to be relied upon. Hum.

Guess I could continue with the paving slab analagy: there are a few more similarities to share. I'm feeling worn at the corners, a bit cracked and somewhat heavy... In fact I weighed myself round at a friend's house last week and I am don't just feel heavy, I am heavy.

Everyone's been saying that I look like I've lost weight (well, two people have), so I said with confidence that I reckoned I was X stone. Was secretly thinking I was at least half a stone lighter, and would be able to feign delighted surprise, but as it happens I'm a whole stone heavier. Pistons and water tanks! Or whatever it is that Thomas says. Something has to be done. So I've added 'writing a diet plan' to my 'to do' list. Nearing the top is, 'write a three-week rotating food plan', which is followed by 'send Other Half on a cookery course', 'make a list of things to do before I'm 40', 'write a will' and 'list places it might be nice to move to'. Ha! I'm really getting into this being organised lark.

You may be wondering when I'm finding time to write this, as I still seem to be feeding new Babe until ten o'clock each night, when I just have to crash too. Well, I've got them both to sleep at the same time, would you believe?! (Other Half has gone out for some fresh mint so that I can make sauce to accompany the roast today, which I estimate will take him about two hours and he'll come from the shop down the road with either basil or oregano.)

Babe is in his buggy in the hall, and woke briefly a few minutes ago, and looked around, yelled 'I don't want to,' and then crashed out again. What a sweetie! New Babe is in the pram top. Upstairs. But that's a random boring detail I don't really need to share, except that I am obsessed with perambulators at present, since managing without a double buggy, when you've got two kids, limited access to a car and the weather is rubbish is not funny. I did buy a side by side model on ebay, which we had to drive some distance to collect. Unfortunately it won't fit through our front door and is now in the roof. Despite the fact that I discovered I could get it through the front door with two sleeping kids in it, by collapsing it a bit, as it is frankly just too heavy and unwieldy to use. I don't really like the 'one under, one over' models that cost £300 smakaroonies, especially as I'd have to haul a rucksack around with me or buy paniers that no doubt also cost an arm and a leg. Will keep you posted on this one, no doubt.

Potty training going really well again by the way. Last night Babe came and hung out with us for twenty minutes in the sitting room, before announcing casually that, 'there's a poo on the floor in the other room'. He's so helpful! Actually, I never guessed that potty training was going to cost us a fortune in Thomas locomotives, as we try and persuade him not to defacate in hidden corners or dark places that you'd only come upon by accident. Like under the seat of his ride-on digger. We're ending up with some really random trains as well - diesel10, for example - (what does he do, apart from have a slidey plastic thing on top that a toddler can try and pull off?).

Heigh ho. Better go and get my succulent quorn roast outta the freezer. Do any readers know of a tasty sauce I could knock up to accompany it? xx

To be, or not to be... a washing machine

So there was I, knackered, with very little time on my hands, feeling about as witty and interesting as a slab of paving, and with a commitment to blogging twice per week but nothing to say. When the next little domestic issue springs on me.

I have had no working washing machine for ten days. I realised there was a problem with the rinse cycle - 'it's almost as if the water isn't entering the machine' - as I explained to Other Half, as the washing was clean, but hot, and still a bit soapy, when I opened the door. For a few days I managed, by rinsing off washing in the bath, then returning it to the machine to spin. But the number of smalls - baby clothes, and more Thomas and Bob the Builder underpants than I thought conceivable when I started potty training - (incidentally, I've spent more on underwear for my toddler in the last three weeks than I've spent on myself in the last three years. But Other Half never notices it in his eagerness to get it off, so why bother?) made this an arduous and time-consuming task.

Thing is, I was deliberating over whether I should find someone to come and fix the washing machine, rather than just buying a new one, this being the environmentally-friendly option. But the time and energy involved... and what would it cost? What to do?!

After a few days, Other Half looked at it, cleaned the filter etc, and said he didn't know what was wrong. So the next day, I used a couple of my precious 'toddler at nursery' hours to walk in the rain with the pram to a place that sells dented fridges and the like, to see if they had something cheap that would suit us better. They didn't - well, they might have, but there's no way I'm buying a machine without a manual as I'm not instinctively good at working out how things function, and OH is worse. So we went hurriedly to a well known outlet in OH's lunch break and I picked a new washing machine in the approximately four minutes I had available.

He went to collect it after work and brought it home. I smiled at him affectionately through the front window as I knew he was tired and hadn't stopped all day. We agreed that he'd remove the old one before bringing the new one in, as we haven't got much space.

Some minutes later he emerged from the utility room.
'Viola!' he called. 'I've worked out why the old one wasn't working! I'd turned off the cold water supply to stop the sink tap leaking!'
I looked at him with an expression he quickly recognised on my face. And I didn't say anything except, 'So you better return that one right now then, hadn't you?'
I then spent another hour and a half on my own with both kids while he did.

We had to go back together the next evening, as we could only get the refund put on my card, and as it happens our fridge freezer has given up the ghost after a twenty year innings and we thought we'd pick a new one. We gave ourselves four and a half minutes for this. Which is how long it took Babe to poo himself and then wee against a 15-inch flat screen TV. I'm ashamed to say that we dragged him away without 'fessing up. The one time I leave the potty in the car...

But next week a lovely new fridge-freezer is being delivered, and I am happily half-way through about fifteen loads of washing, using the old machine. And our downstairs sink now has no cold water tap as I needed it to hit OH over the head with. Actually, the hitting bit was in my dreams, but you get the gist. What's more, OH has persuaded our neighbours to take our old fridge-freezer, as he cannot get through the day without carrying out numerous acts of apparent kindness, despite the fact that he hasn't warned them it is crap, and the well-known outlet will remove and recycle it for free. Whatever... I'll have to visit them on Monday and explain the situ. But hey, I've got time on my hands, haven't I?

Long time, no see

Apologies for the delay in updating my blog. As most of you know, I discovered I was pregnant when on holiday in Albania last September. Joy :)

But this was followed by nearly four months of appalling sickness and shivers, and then various other pregnancy ailments and I just couldn't do anything in the evenings except groan and crash once we'd got Babe into bed. I've kept a pregnancy diary to remind me how awful it was and put me off having any more kids. I'd always wanted a brood, but I just don't do pregnancy at all well.

Having said that, the birth was fine - see entry below, and our new arrival, another little boy chicken, is gorgeous, squidgy, sleepy and gurgley. I don't feel much more tired than I did when pregnant, despite night feeds and Babe being a little pain in the ar*e, quite frankly, in the sleep department, and knowing I'm not going to get any rest from the time Babe goes up til he goes down means that I'm in a psychologically much better position than I was first time round. Plus I know what I'm doing and I've got the kit :). And I haven't aged the way I felt I did with Babe, not the same aches and pains and immediate wrinkles. So, as for a third sprog, well, I'm not saying this to Other Half, but never say never...

I'm now working on getting my health and fitness back. Bollocks, am I! But I intend to. And have some career plans at last, that I may share at some point once I've started the training. And we're working on a plan for writing a plan for thinking about moving house and maybe upgrading our car at some point! The excitement! Before long I'll have a life map in post-its on the bathroom wall again. Other Half has banned marker pens which I think is reasonable.

BUT our immediate dilemna and source of perennial friction, as you know, is: where to go on holiday when we have a new-born, nay cash, and a horrible bunch of relatives you know where.
And that, combined with potty-training and another shitty British summer, is frustrating me enough to need to re-open this blog.

So, from next week, you can expect to see two updates per week. Lucky readers :)