Two things of particular significance happened last week. So I'm combining them into one big entry in place of the two I should have added then. Hope that's ok?
One was Babe’s first assassination attempt. And I was the assassinee. Does that word exist, I wonder? There is nothing like speaking baby talk and pigeon English at home to make one’s linguistic abilities disintegrate.
Anyway, it followed Other Half cooking our evening meal for the first time this year. It wasn’t fish, or ‘lamb in the oven’ (as opposed to on a piece of fence railing in the back garden - more of that another time), it was what I like to call his ‘omelette surprise’. And yes, not a very witty joke to crack, but the surprise is just how disgusting it is, even with practice.
Other Half’s favourite food, by the way, after fish and lamb, is aubergine cooked by his mother. Which is frankly a pain in the arse. In part, because clearly I am not his mother and therefore severely disadvantaged before I even step into the kitchen, but also because there is only so much you can do with an aubergine, and I know, because I’ve tried. But I digress.
So, on Wednesday last week, it was omelette surprise, cooked by Other Half while he watched the Croatia V Austria match. And given that the TV is not in the kitchen you can imagine what a catastrophe it was. To save himself time, he chopped the veg in front of the TV, then filled a pan with oil on the hob, and forgot to wait for it to heat before dropping in the mushrooms etc. It was a dripping oily sludge and didn’t go down well.
In an attempt to veil its revolting taste, he added extra salt. And trust me, you don’t want someone from where he is from ever adding ‘extra’ salt to your meal. Which is why I woke in the early hours, for once not because Babe was wailing, with a terrible thirst.
I reached for the glass of water on my bedside table and gulped thirstily before something caught in my throat, causing my eyeballs to nearly burst from my head and a jet-stream of water to crash up my nasal cavities. Other Half was, of course sleeping in the spare room and not there to assist me in my hour of need.
Winded and terrified, I threw open the bedroom door, staggered across the landing and into his room. By now I was about to expire. I threw myself onto him, fists pummelling his prostrate body, and he sat up in bed, reaching for the large kitchen knife he insists on keeping on the bedside table during the night in case we are attacked by vagabonds. Luckily, he sleeps with the blinds open, to make the most of daylight hours (it’s hot and sunny where he’s from) and quickly realised it was me. I saw a flicker of ‘What the f*ck does she want now?’ cross his face before it dawned on him that I was in serious trouble. Whining like a horse caught in a trap – I assume that someone, somewhere does trap horses – I tried, frantically, to slap myself on the back, indicating what I needed him to do.
Thank God he had been forced through years of military school under a communist regime. Grabbing me from behind, round the waist, he began to crush my ribs. On the third attempt, something small and soft that I spat straight onto the floor dislodged from my throat. What blissful relief! Fresh clean air coursed through my being and we collapsed, gasping, onto the bed. (Yes, I know what you’re thinking, it has been a while since we did that.)
Some time later, I started whimpering helplessly and Other Half held me in his arms. (This happens quite a lot, usually around the middle of each month.) Later still, I decided to look and see what had nearly taken my life prematurely. It was foam, conical in shape, and orange. An earplug. And must have been left, discarded, under my bed many months ago until Babe found it earlier today, while I was scrabbling around looking for his ball. And dropped neatly into the glass by my bed, for once without knocking its contents onto the floor. Little bugger. Just wait until I put woodlice in his bottle…
***
The other thing of significance that happened, was us realising that Babe has started producing words in Other Half's second language, that he and I often communicate in. Other Half speaks to Babe in his mother tongue – which I can only produce the most basic of sentences in – as often as he can remember to, which isn’t that often. And he gabbles it really fast, giving him b-all chance, in my humble opinion, of picking up so much as a word. But Babe has, as I’ve said, started producing some words of our other shared language, in a whiny and irritated voice:
‘Come on, X’ (‘X’ represents Other Half’s name), and ‘Don’t!’.
Obviously, it is not me he has learnt these utterances from me; they reveal nothing of the dynamic of my realtionship with Other Half and I do not need to reflect on them or consider possible learning outcomes. Good night and sleep well.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
Highs and Lows, and ferries
I don't know what to write about today. I'm very tired and not feeling very funny but am committed to updating this blog twice-weekly. Perhaps I'll share the highest and lowest points of the last 24 hours.
As predicted, Babe did not sleep well last night. In fact, he woke every twenty minutes or so between midnight and 3.30am, which was much worse than usual, and he was up by half past six this morning, despite our disrupted night. Other Half and I had agreed to be firm with him, and make him go back to sleep in his own bed, but this weighty resolve had not been tested by the three previous nights of sleeping through, so it was last night that I had to be tough. And Babe didn't like it at all, yelling angrily when I insisted repeatedly on putting him back into his cot.
At 2am, Other Half threw back the duvet and stormed around the bed, shouting that Babe was 'traumatic'. For a minute I wondered if he was being sympathetic, and taking his turn at the being tough. Unfortunately it was simply a linguistic error and what he actually meant was that he thought Babe was 'traumatised', and wanted to bring him into bed with us to calm him down. (Yes, 'us' - we are trying to return to sharing a bed but this will not be a go-er if Babe is hell-bent on sharing it with us.) The ensuing argument, in the corridor outside Babe's bedroom, resulted in Other Half storming into the spare room, as I didn't want to undo the hard work of the last couple of hours.
But by 3am my resolve collapsed and Babe was in with me, snuggling against my back and tucking his feet into my pajama bottoms. It took me another half an hour to drop off myself, and I laid in bed, tears welling up behind my eyelids. Angry with Babe, angry with Other Half, angry with myself for not knowing what to do and for being fat. I woke up thinking I would just have to take the day off work, and then realised I couldn't as I had a meeting to attend. That was a low, low point, what with Babe being tired and grumpy still, and an hour and a half left to kill before dropping him at nursery. I don't know how I survived the morning at work, trying but failing to complete simple tasks in logical order.
I am struck by what a creature of habit Babe is. With some obvious exceptions in the sleep department of course. He loves to have his feet massaged while having his morning and evening milk. He starts to take his shoes off while we're waiting for my friends to open their front doors. He likes to wear a hat.
We have come into the habit of snuggling up on the sofa at lunch-time, when I've picked him up after work. I put CBeebies on and close my eyes, while he watches for twenty minutes or so. If I forget to wrap a blanket around us he goes off to get it and pulls it over both of us.
Today, after the traumas of last night, he wanted to be especially close to me. (Other Half helpfully pointed out that this probably means I did traumatise him.) We were leaning against one another, my arm overlapping one of his, and he was sharing my crisps and sandwich. I sat up to reach my drink and he sat up a bit too, and then waited for me before snuggling back down and shuffling so that I rested my arm back in the position it had been in. This isn't an obvious high point of the day, is it? But it made me feel so tickley-fluttery tickety-boo happy. Just being quietly, acceptingly, comfortingly beautifully in-company with my son. Similar in feeling, for me, to lying with the sun on your face on a ferry crossing the oiled-calm surface of the Aegean. Spray in the breeze and a beer on the bench. Rare moments when, for a second or two, your brain stops whirring and the intrinsic beauty of life takes hold of you. Long may such precious moments last.
As predicted, Babe did not sleep well last night. In fact, he woke every twenty minutes or so between midnight and 3.30am, which was much worse than usual, and he was up by half past six this morning, despite our disrupted night. Other Half and I had agreed to be firm with him, and make him go back to sleep in his own bed, but this weighty resolve had not been tested by the three previous nights of sleeping through, so it was last night that I had to be tough. And Babe didn't like it at all, yelling angrily when I insisted repeatedly on putting him back into his cot.
At 2am, Other Half threw back the duvet and stormed around the bed, shouting that Babe was 'traumatic'. For a minute I wondered if he was being sympathetic, and taking his turn at the being tough. Unfortunately it was simply a linguistic error and what he actually meant was that he thought Babe was 'traumatised', and wanted to bring him into bed with us to calm him down. (Yes, 'us' - we are trying to return to sharing a bed but this will not be a go-er if Babe is hell-bent on sharing it with us.) The ensuing argument, in the corridor outside Babe's bedroom, resulted in Other Half storming into the spare room, as I didn't want to undo the hard work of the last couple of hours.
But by 3am my resolve collapsed and Babe was in with me, snuggling against my back and tucking his feet into my pajama bottoms. It took me another half an hour to drop off myself, and I laid in bed, tears welling up behind my eyelids. Angry with Babe, angry with Other Half, angry with myself for not knowing what to do and for being fat. I woke up thinking I would just have to take the day off work, and then realised I couldn't as I had a meeting to attend. That was a low, low point, what with Babe being tired and grumpy still, and an hour and a half left to kill before dropping him at nursery. I don't know how I survived the morning at work, trying but failing to complete simple tasks in logical order.
I am struck by what a creature of habit Babe is. With some obvious exceptions in the sleep department of course. He loves to have his feet massaged while having his morning and evening milk. He starts to take his shoes off while we're waiting for my friends to open their front doors. He likes to wear a hat.
We have come into the habit of snuggling up on the sofa at lunch-time, when I've picked him up after work. I put CBeebies on and close my eyes, while he watches for twenty minutes or so. If I forget to wrap a blanket around us he goes off to get it and pulls it over both of us.
Today, after the traumas of last night, he wanted to be especially close to me. (Other Half helpfully pointed out that this probably means I did traumatise him.) We were leaning against one another, my arm overlapping one of his, and he was sharing my crisps and sandwich. I sat up to reach my drink and he sat up a bit too, and then waited for me before snuggling back down and shuffling so that I rested my arm back in the position it had been in. This isn't an obvious high point of the day, is it? But it made me feel so tickley-fluttery tickety-boo happy. Just being quietly, acceptingly, comfortingly beautifully in-company with my son. Similar in feeling, for me, to lying with the sun on your face on a ferry crossing the oiled-calm surface of the Aegean. Spray in the breeze and a beer on the bench. Rare moments when, for a second or two, your brain stops whirring and the intrinsic beauty of life takes hold of you. Long may such precious moments last.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Pants on fire...
Babe has slept through the last three nights. Clearly this was because Granny came to stay, and he wanted to expose the lying, half-crazed banshee whose mission in life is to moan and grumble unremittingly that he knows his mother to be.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Daggers at dawn
Babe woke at 5.13 this morning. And at just after midnight, 1.11am, 1.23am, 1.46am, 3.24am, etc etc. As we didn't get him down until 10pm last night I knew the 5.13 screaming was because he was exhausted and pissed off at being awake so early. Which made two of us.
I didn't know what to do with the little mite, feeling closer than I have been yet to pulverising him. I haven't had an unbroken night for going on for a month and I swear he's out to break me. Why? I'm his loving mother! So, I bring him into bed with me. More back-writhing and screams. His milk is ready, cooled, on the windowsill (it's not going to curdle overnight in the Uk in May, is it?)(actually his milk did curdle during a brief hot interlude a couple of weeks ago and I didn't notice 'til he was half-way through it - oops) so I put it into his little hands. A nano-second of contentment was swiftly followed by more screams, and my mummy-radar detected the desire for milk that had been warmed.
I open the bedroom door and yell onto the landing,
'The little ba**ard wants warm milk and if he doesn't get it in five I'm going to kill myself.'
Other Half emerges from the spare room, zombie-like, and makes his way downstairs at a reasonable pace for the time of day.
Meantime, Babe points, screaming, at the TV I now keep on the farside bedside table.
'Mine! Rahhhhhhhh.'
CBeebies doesn't start until 6am.
'Not, now, it isn't, sweetheart.'
'RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!'.
Other Half returns with the milk, which he hands to me gingerly through the door, which is ajar. He then retreats. Twenty minutes left until his alarm clock goes off. He starts work at seven, and sits in a vibrating excavator for eleven hours with two 30min breaks per day.
The warm milk has done the trick. Babe lies against the pillow, guzzling, while I frown into my eyelids, wondering for the umpteenth time where I've gone wrong.
Half-way through he runs his soft little index finger across my bare shoulder and removes the bottle from his mouth. 'Mummy,' he smiles. I am filled with joy and know that actually, I haven't gone wrong at all. Well, not recently anyway.
Then he stabs me so hard in the iris that I gasp in pain.
'Eye.'
When Other Half returned from work this evening I asked for thirty seconds of his time.
He looked at me and sat down.
'We need to get this sleep thing sorted,' I say. 'From tonight, we agree a bed time and he can scream as much as he likes, but he goes when we say he does.'
'I agree with you,' he responds. Right answer. And we play games, just like a happy family, look at flash cards, get our little chicken washed and ready for bed. Then it's milk time and Bed Time. My heart starts to beat faster. But twenty-five minutes of screaming later, it has worked. Babe is asleep.
I go into the kitchen and wearily attack a bag of mini mars bars. Other Half comes in. I look at him in what I think is my "Little (well, ok, medium) women needs big (well, ok, medium) man to look after her" expression.
'I need a hug,' I say.
'And I need a shag,' he tartly responds. 'But am I going to get one?'
I'm not sure what my face says, but he picks up his gym bag and walks out of the front door.
I didn't know what to do with the little mite, feeling closer than I have been yet to pulverising him. I haven't had an unbroken night for going on for a month and I swear he's out to break me. Why? I'm his loving mother! So, I bring him into bed with me. More back-writhing and screams. His milk is ready, cooled, on the windowsill (it's not going to curdle overnight in the Uk in May, is it?)(actually his milk did curdle during a brief hot interlude a couple of weeks ago and I didn't notice 'til he was half-way through it - oops) so I put it into his little hands. A nano-second of contentment was swiftly followed by more screams, and my mummy-radar detected the desire for milk that had been warmed.
I open the bedroom door and yell onto the landing,
'The little ba**ard wants warm milk and if he doesn't get it in five I'm going to kill myself.'
Other Half emerges from the spare room, zombie-like, and makes his way downstairs at a reasonable pace for the time of day.
Meantime, Babe points, screaming, at the TV I now keep on the farside bedside table.
'Mine! Rahhhhhhhh.'
CBeebies doesn't start until 6am.
'Not, now, it isn't, sweetheart.'
'RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!'.
Other Half returns with the milk, which he hands to me gingerly through the door, which is ajar. He then retreats. Twenty minutes left until his alarm clock goes off. He starts work at seven, and sits in a vibrating excavator for eleven hours with two 30min breaks per day.
The warm milk has done the trick. Babe lies against the pillow, guzzling, while I frown into my eyelids, wondering for the umpteenth time where I've gone wrong.
Half-way through he runs his soft little index finger across my bare shoulder and removes the bottle from his mouth. 'Mummy,' he smiles. I am filled with joy and know that actually, I haven't gone wrong at all. Well, not recently anyway.
Then he stabs me so hard in the iris that I gasp in pain.
'Eye.'
When Other Half returned from work this evening I asked for thirty seconds of his time.
He looked at me and sat down.
'We need to get this sleep thing sorted,' I say. 'From tonight, we agree a bed time and he can scream as much as he likes, but he goes when we say he does.'
'I agree with you,' he responds. Right answer. And we play games, just like a happy family, look at flash cards, get our little chicken washed and ready for bed. Then it's milk time and Bed Time. My heart starts to beat faster. But twenty-five minutes of screaming later, it has worked. Babe is asleep.
I go into the kitchen and wearily attack a bag of mini mars bars. Other Half comes in. I look at him in what I think is my "Little (well, ok, medium) women needs big (well, ok, medium) man to look after her" expression.
'I need a hug,' I say.
'And I need a shag,' he tartly responds. 'But am I going to get one?'
I'm not sure what my face says, but he picks up his gym bag and walks out of the front door.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
New Year's Resolutions
Well, New Week's Resolutions, actually: several readers (possibly all of them) have asked why my blog died such a fast and sudden death. Good question. Well, stupid question really - I'm a working mum who lives with a man, for crying out loud, which doesn't leave time for applying deodorant, let alone written contemplation - but it has given me cause for thought. I must find a way of re-building the person I always thought I was. I must find myself. I must seek a more productive way of letting off steam than turning the air blue and worrying our neighbours. So here it is. I commit to updating this blog twice-weekly for the forseeable future. And now I'm going to watch the second round of Britain's Got Talent. Anything, anything at all, to kurb the onslaught of hugely intelligent and important thoughts that pursue me night and day...
PS On the subject of blue air, Babe has said 'sh*t' about ten times now. And in context, so there's no mistaking it. The first occassion was about a week ago when he rolled off my bed, ran around the side and richoched into a chair. Things must change.
PS On the subject of blue air, Babe has said 'sh*t' about ten times now. And in context, so there's no mistaking it. The first occassion was about a week ago when he rolled off my bed, ran around the side and richoched into a chair. Things must change.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Goat-yoghurt 'me' time
I finally had some 'me' time tonight: a bath. And took Trinny and Susanna's advice and put goat yogurt on my face to soften it up. Now I've got sodding weird dry patches. Liars! I should do them for... well, lying. Because I've got loads of time for complaining and the like these days... not. At least I hadn't made a special trip out to get the stuff.
No, I had plenty of said yogurt in my fridge. Such fancies are the by-product of living with a man of near-Mediterranean descent. We are never without such trivialities as olives, feta cheese (five packs per week minimum), huge amounts of crusty white bread, olive oil, pale lager and wash-and-go. Oh, and apple turnovers (??). We are, however, regularly without such life-sustaining necessities as a kitchen, bathroom, toilet paper and washing up liquid. Heigh ho.
All is not well, it seems, with the down pipe that was laid under the dining room floor while I was in labour. Pooey odours were reaching for my nostrils as I laid in the bath, and for once they weren't coming from Babe. Blinking heck. Other Half had a bad motorcycle accident shortly before we met, and amongst his injuries was the almost entire loss of his sense of smell. And he is concerned that I may be exaggerating said pooey stink to get my own back because I so utterly, literally and physically (ie prostrating myself across his shovel) opposed his digging up of said dining room floor. More about our DIY disasters on another occassion, but a great proportion of my four-day labour and birth story are given over to them. I can see nasty things lying in wait for this weekend, though.
So, on that happy note, I'm going to recklessly fritter a portion of my evening on e-bay. I should have learnt my lesson yesterday when I bought a wonderful baby carrier with sunroof, wind protector, luggage compartment and god knows what else for £4 - RRP £159! Except when I received the payment confirmation I discovered its size XXL. Rats! That will be too large even for my expanding, sagging waistline. And Other Half is obviously much trimmer than I am. I'll have to strap it around a pillow or something as well as my tummy.
Anyway, as Christmas is approaching, I thought I'd ask Other Half what special things I could search for him for on E-bay, and he asked me to look for a spare car key. I'm not sure if he's taking the piss. Still I like a challenge.
No, I had plenty of said yogurt in my fridge. Such fancies are the by-product of living with a man of near-Mediterranean descent. We are never without such trivialities as olives, feta cheese (five packs per week minimum), huge amounts of crusty white bread, olive oil, pale lager and wash-and-go. Oh, and apple turnovers (??). We are, however, regularly without such life-sustaining necessities as a kitchen, bathroom, toilet paper and washing up liquid. Heigh ho.
All is not well, it seems, with the down pipe that was laid under the dining room floor while I was in labour. Pooey odours were reaching for my nostrils as I laid in the bath, and for once they weren't coming from Babe. Blinking heck. Other Half had a bad motorcycle accident shortly before we met, and amongst his injuries was the almost entire loss of his sense of smell. And he is concerned that I may be exaggerating said pooey stink to get my own back because I so utterly, literally and physically (ie prostrating myself across his shovel) opposed his digging up of said dining room floor. More about our DIY disasters on another occassion, but a great proportion of my four-day labour and birth story are given over to them. I can see nasty things lying in wait for this weekend, though.
So, on that happy note, I'm going to recklessly fritter a portion of my evening on e-bay. I should have learnt my lesson yesterday when I bought a wonderful baby carrier with sunroof, wind protector, luggage compartment and god knows what else for £4 - RRP £159! Except when I received the payment confirmation I discovered its size XXL. Rats! That will be too large even for my expanding, sagging waistline. And Other Half is obviously much trimmer than I am. I'll have to strap it around a pillow or something as well as my tummy.
Anyway, as Christmas is approaching, I thought I'd ask Other Half what special things I could search for him for on E-bay, and he asked me to look for a spare car key. I'm not sure if he's taking the piss. Still I like a challenge.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Watching TV and crying
Good grief! What has my life come to? I've just caught the tail end of some film for kids about whales and surfing or something and within five minutes I started crying. Other half is crying too, but children's films tend to have that effect on him. Think he must yearn for a simpler life at times. Not that I make life complicated, you understand. (Yeah right - the ED.)
So, back to the film, and the fact that I'm writing this sniffing. Must be the evocative music. Or the fact that's I've been up since half five again this morning, and it's taken both of us two hours this afternoon to settle an increasingly manic Babe down for a sleep. Poor little mite has been given about ten bottles of formula, as that's what usually gets him to drop off. OOPS - BORING MOTHER DETAIL ALERT... And it's been windy-rain-hailing outside so pushing him out in the pram wasn't an option. He did sleep for half an hour at 8am, which is when I should have had a nap too, but I decided to tidy the loft, and have filled the dining room with dusty boxes to sort. And now I'm going to go and make stuffed aubergine for dinner. I think there's a learning point here somewhere, but will ignore it for now. So much to do, and so little time...
So, back to the film, and the fact that I'm writing this sniffing. Must be the evocative music. Or the fact that's I've been up since half five again this morning, and it's taken both of us two hours this afternoon to settle an increasingly manic Babe down for a sleep. Poor little mite has been given about ten bottles of formula, as that's what usually gets him to drop off. OOPS - BORING MOTHER DETAIL ALERT... And it's been windy-rain-hailing outside so pushing him out in the pram wasn't an option. He did sleep for half an hour at 8am, which is when I should have had a nap too, but I decided to tidy the loft, and have filled the dining room with dusty boxes to sort. And now I'm going to go and make stuffed aubergine for dinner. I think there's a learning point here somewhere, but will ignore it for now. So much to do, and so little time...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)