Barefoot In The Kitchen

Dear Fellow Shoppers at our Local Friendly Small Supermarket,

Let’s talk about car-park ettiquette. That parent and child space? It’s for a parent, and their child. Not for your flashy big BMW with stupid England flags attached, or your massive rustbucket white van, or your Audi A6 filled with ski equipment and a dog- it’s quite plain that none of the cars have so much as seen a car seat.

My son is eighteen months old. He isn’t capable of walking safely across a busy car park, he’s simply too little to understand that he needs to hold my hand until we’ve crossed the road, and not flop down in the middle of the car park because he has to hold my hand, and to not have a screaming fit because he has to walk where I want him to. Most eighteen-month-olds are, well, pretty much exactly the same. I imagine that’s why the car park designer put the spaces where they did, not because parents are too lazy to walk an extra couple of yards like you appear to be.

When my son is asleep, or in such a foul mood that I won’t consider letting him walk, I need to put him in the sling, or the pushchair. For this, I need somewhere safe to stand, like, you know, additional space around the car? Or a safe footpath nearby? Know of any spaces like that? Oh yes, your twatmobile is parked in it.

And when I ask, politely, if you realised whether was a parent and child space (when you clearly did), please don’t deny that it is, and you’ve parked like a complete dick. A simple “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll move the car” will suffice. But only if it’s followed by you actually moving the car.

So, if you don’t move, and I happen to drop by the customer service desk on the way in, I can’t promise that someone won’t come and clamp your lovely, shiny motor. I can’t promise I won’t happen to take a photo of your car parked in the parent and child space, and name and shame you on the Internet (well, I’m a photographer. Breaking rules is an interesting topic for me.). And I can’t promise, especially if I’ve had to squeeze into the standard space beside you, that my car-loving son won’t come and leave enthusiastic grubby fingerprints all over your paintwork. And I can’t promise that if he does, I’m going to be particularly keen to stop him.

Are we pretty much clear?

Ta.

Dearest David,

Happy half-birthday, smellybum!  You’re now officially closer to two than one.  We don’t half know it…

You are now, as the health visitor so kindly put it, assertive and single-minded.  You know exactly what you want to do, and if you don’t get to do it woe betide the rest of us!  Thankfully you can still be distracted relatively easily, but it’s getting harder… I have a feeling it won’t last for much longer.  We are still finding ways to prevent tantrums before they happen, but we’ve come to accept that sometimes, they’re pretty much inevitable, because no, you may not have a fourth biscuit.  You’ve also learned to whine, which is cute for the first thirty seconds, and then really not.  Could we bypass this stage now, please?  Ta.

Your speech is amazing.  You have an extensive vocabulary, and you’re starting to use sentences.  ”Mummy, go car now?” is a favourite, followed by “Look, mummy, cat!”.  We’ve accidentally taught you to call BMW drivers something very rude.  You shake your head and moan “nononononono!” when I tell you it’s time to come inside, or have your nappy changed, or that it’s time to go to bed.  You learn so many new words that I can’t possibly write them all down, and I love being able to have a conversation with you.

Let’s talk about sleep.  As of Friday, you seem to have decided to sleep through the night again.  You’ve rediscovered the ability to self-settle when you wake up at night, and let me tell you, I don’t miss being up with you until dawn.  I’d much rather spend time with you during the day!  On Monday you managed to settle yourself to sleep in your cot for the first time in months, after stealing my pillow from my bed!  I sat in the bedroom with you, next to the cot, and when you pushed me away I sat on the chair and read a book until you fell asleep.  I’ve probably doomed this by writing about it, but I do feel that we’ve turned a corner, and we’re all going to sleep better from now on, which gives us much more energy for playing outside.

You’re still willing to try new foods, although your mouth has been so sore from teething that your food intake is mostly restricted to Quorn/meatballs/sausages with mash/bread and baked beans/frozen peas/sweetcorn, plus fruit bars, fruit pouches, and babybels.  We’re keeping a food diary for you as we suspect a cows’ milk intolerance, although I did “forget” on Sunday, when pretty much all you ate was chocolate cake.  I do worry about cutting cows’ milk out entirely, as you currently won’t eat vegetables or pasta unless they’re covered in cheese.  We may also have accidentally let you discover a taste for McDonalds whilst we were out for the day (there was nowhere else handy to eat): I reassure myself that once in a while doesn’t matter, and the large amount of breastmilk you’re consuming makes up for the odd meal of fast food.  Or cake mix.

You’re obsessed with Postman Pat.  Everything is “Po PA!”.  We have the eighties episodes on video, the nineties episodes on DVD, and both new Special Delivery Service DVDs.  There’s a new one coming out in August, and I can’t WAIT, if only because we’ve seen every single episode a hundred times already and it’ll be good to add some variety to your viewing.  If I dare to put something else on the DVD player in the car, it’s “No, Po PA!”.  When the postman pulled up alongside us in his van this morning, you shouted “Hi, Po Pa!”.  When you see him coming up the drive, you often run to the front door to say hi.

So, here’s the usual sentimental bit about how I can’t believe you’re growing up so fast and becoming such a little boy already, and damnit, stop doing that.

Love you, stinky.

Mama (as that’s what you seem to have settled on calling me), (and Dad, who will cry as usual)

This is my entry for Tara’s Gallery.  Head over there and have a look at the other entries!

A year ago on Sunday, Eric came home.

In that year, he’s morphed from a tiny ginger scrap to a rather large, leggy ginger tomcat.  He has an appetite to rival David’s during a growth spurt, and will eat us out of house and home if we’re not careful.  (THREE fish fillets.  Yes, three.  One for each cat, or so I thought…)  He and our other cats, Snowball and Wily, are now on speaking terms: Snowball and Wily are brother and sister, and still dislike each other, so it’s nothing short of a miracle.

He’s the fluffiest, fuzziest, most affectionate cat you could ever meet.  He loves David.  If they’re both playing in the garden Eric will bound over to David, roll over, and purr whilst David strokes him.  He makes friends with every visitor, if only because they might have a treat hidden somewhere about their person, and treats are an opportunity not to be missed!

When he was tiny, he slept in a pouch sling near my chest, before he graduated onto sleeping wrapped around my shoulders.  When the weather’s cooler, he’ll still quite happily come and snuggle in the sling.

He’s a proficient mouser.  We find presents from him regularly.  He is, however, terrible at catching birds: he runs up to them miaowing at the top of his voice with excitement.

He’s added so much to our family.  He brings such joy to all of us, especially David.  I can’t imagine being without him.

If you love Eric almost as much as I do, he now has an appreciation society all of his own!  Come and join in…