The Twenty-Sixth Month: December 2006

Monday 4th
You are so happy to fall into your bed at naptime. Today you cuddled up on the sheepskin rug, covered by the quilt I made for you. You smiled, waved goodbye and goodnight to me, then added, “don’t let the bugs bite.”

This morning we did stickers and gluing in the scrapbook, or screwp book as you insist it is called, hung out some washing, and then went out at about 10.30am to a Home Education under-7s group that meets locally.

To read: John Holt - How Children Learn and How Children Fail. Saw Kate from the LLL and talked to other new people. The more I find out the more I can see the logic of undertaking the educational journey with one’s own child. Still it doesn’t leave time for yourself.

7th
This week, a visit on the bus to the library, baking gingerbread men and Christmas biscuits. Yesterday came home to find there’d been a fire at Bearnie and John’s house, I felt all shaken and vulnerable, tired and just about able to put T to bed (P gone out). Things feeling flat at the moment - it’s more than just ongoing flu/cold and the grey wetness of non-descript winter . P had left me a note:

GONE TO THE MOVEES
LUV YOU DEEPLEE, MADLEE, TRULY
DON’T B D-PRESSED
ITS LIF IS MAD, NOT US
BACKSON P

Bought a nit comb and started messing about with it on Baba’s hair at bedtime, only to discover a few little vermin. So he ended up in the bath at 8.30 and I spent 45 minutes combing his hair, then another hour on mine at 11pm. Just what we need for Christmas!

11th Dec
Amazingly busy weekend. You slept at Grandma and Grandpa’s house for the first time. Apparently you only asked ‘where’s mummy, and where’s papa’, once, and other than that you were perfectly at home. G’ma amazed at your enormous appetite, and she thinks you’re ‘no trouble’. Someone at a party last weekend described you as the best-behaved toddler they’ve ever met!

Anyway, we went off to the surprise party for Monica Shah’s 40th birthday in Sutton, driving up there for the evening, then staying the night. It was lovely to see old friends of Monica’s who we have only met a few times in our 20-year friendship. Interesting to see the different paths that everyone’s lives have taken. It was all very exciting, even though we could barely stay up beyond midnight, and I woke at 7am out of habit, tried to sleep in a bit till 8am. As this is only my third night without you, I always seem to hear a little cry in the morning, which sounds like you. It must be imagined.

Then we drove back to Bristol on Sun morning, which was busier than Sat pm (still took about 1.45minutes). We had lunch at G + G’s while you played with Sol, and I rushed to St Georges to be in time for the Gasworks choir performance. Lovely and uplifting to spend the whole weekend singing. I had cycled to the rehearsal on Saturday, and then sung for 2 hours or so. What could be better for the body and soul than cycling and singing? It’s great to be so busy, and see so many people, and it feels like the real lift that I needed.

Our bedroom and house is a mass of piles of clothes and toys so today, Monday is a tidying, sorting day. You were brilliant, playing on the bed while I tidied up stairs (we have the carpet cleaner person arriving later today). I had to lie down for a while, as I feel a bit washed out, unsurprisingly, and you lay down in the bed next to me, cuddling up, pulling the duvet over our heads, which you seem to think is rather exciting. Sometimes we pretend to be snakes when we are under the covers. Then you began playing on your own, getting the little hedgehog and tucking him into the bed I made for you, covering him with the quilt and saying ‘don’t let the bugs bite’ to him. I asked you if you had read him a story, so then you began to whisper him a story: ‘ Once upon a time there was a boy in a house’, then you said something I didn’t quite catch. I recognized it was the story I have told you about yourself and your day.

Mon 17th
I have been thinking about how the thing that really changes when you have a child is one’s relationship with time. Before: I could amble along doing whatever I pleased; choose the rhythm of the day, i.e. what time I got up, when I ate; the day could feel long or short depending on how it was truncated by meal times and activities. I could sit about reading a magazine or a book, drinking a leisurely cup of tea.

In your first year I was so absorbed by you, you were the focus of my life. Now you are more independent, but also require 24-hour surveillance (the description a friend gave of life with a toddler). Somehow my requirement for mental space is greater now, when you are less dependent on me.

Sometimes I feel I am racing all the time to get everything done. Our lives are ruled by the timetable of your waking, eating, sleeping. I try to escape from it sometimes, with moderate success, but I also know that there is a price to pay if I don’t stick to the rules of your time.

Like if we are going out for the morning, which we do on most mornings, we have to be out of the house by 9.30, otherwise we have too little time to do anything, and you are ready for lunch and a sleep. Sometimes we have eaten lunch at 11 or 12 o’clock because you are ready to nap at 12.30. Although this is changing and recently you seem still full of beans at 1.45, and can take a while to fall asleep. In the day you can nap for between 1.5 and 3 hours, and sometimes I let you sleep until 4 or 5pm, because I am relishing that time in the day, where I can sometimes have energy to do things.


The last 6 months I have been writing avidly, and trying to get the blog sorted out. Though sometimes I think it would be more pleasurable to be painting, or making something with my hands. While I have a need to write, and often think about the observations of you which I want to record, I dislike the medium of the computer screen and keyboard, which is neither relaxing or restful.

From the minute I get up, it feels like we are on a timetable, though I guess it is one of my own making. I like to have the breakfast things cleared away and the kitchen reasonably tidy before leaving the house so I am on a bit of a mission in the mornings.

I used to love lying in bed and listening to you waking up – either grumpy crying or excited calling out, and would wait for the moment for you to come into our bed, and put your arms around us and say ‘good morning’ as you often do. We usually wake before you. Now I find it hard to lie in bed, often thinking or worrying or listing all that needs to be done, so I have sometimes got up at 6am and come downstairs to write, to do emails or admin, then empty the dishwasher, cook porridge, get our things ready for going out. (Make a sandwich for you; get spare nappy, drink of water etc).

Today we walked into town and visited the Arnolfini, meeting up with Lara and Jed, great to get out of the house, even in the grey rain, and do something different to the usual. Or rather, I walked at a furious pace, 50 minutes down the cycle track, and you very co-operatively agreed to go in the push chair, though fell asleep in the last half hour. It is a long time since I have done a long walk with you in the chair, and I am surprised it still has that soporific effect on you, especially at 9.30 in the morning.

When I put you to bed (2.15) I wasn’t sure you would sleep again, and you called out several times that you had a hair in your mouth, but I couldn’t see anything. A stalling tactic (you also often say you want to see Papa, just at the moment for climbing into the cot).

I am always torn in those two hours, whether to prepare the supper – which makes the evening run smoothly and means you get to bed earlier (7 -7.30 instead of 8 - 8.30), or whether to write, make necessary phone calls etc. Often I end up eating lunch, and reading a bit of the paper from Saturday, and doing a few domestic tasks; veg chopping etc, then feel as if the time was not well spent. I have spoken to so many mothers about that feeling of how impossible it is to relax in time off, because we get so little of it. When I have had whole days off, or afternoons, I feel like a rabbit caught tin the headlights, paralysed by indecision of what to do, because there is so much I should/have to do before I can do what I would like to do, and even then the huge choice of things I need and want to do is greater than the few spare hours I have to do them. That’s what I mean about the changing relationship with time, because for me time will never be the same again.

Current chatter

Solomon Grundy
Happy birthday to your pants - you find this hilarious), happy birthday to your hair, the toothbrush etc

22nd Dec
Lots of festive treats this week. A trip to the theatre to see We’re Going on a Bear Hunt (Michael Rosen). A trip to see the Enchanted Wood at Westonbirt Arboretum, and a journey on the Bitton steam train, with a visit from Father Christmas (a Bristolian FC with a huge belly).

You exclaim “ Christmas trees” and “bauble” whenever you seem them, now that you have learned what they are called. You love looking at the lights, and pulling the decorations off our little tree!

You were riveted at the theatre – I felt so proud to be sharing your first experience of the theatre with you. You sat on my knee and concentrated for the whole 50 minutes. Sometimes you said’ “What ‘s that man doing?” and seemed rather taken by the musician with the guitar. In spite of knowing the book really well, I don’t think you understood it as the same story – because you were experiencing it as a different medium – people jumping about singing, and emoting, which was quite odd I suppose, and required a stretch of the imagination yet too abstract for you. You didn’t like the children shrieking (“They’re screaming mummy!”). And you huddled in close to me and turned your head away when the performers acted being frightened.

We had a heart-stopping moment last night as we gathered in the café of the Enchanted Woods at Westonbirt, meeting with Chris, Sophie, Samuel, Laurie, and Sandra, Phelim and Ellen. We lost sight of you for a few minutes, and as we searched round for you I went immediately into a state of fear and panic. It was very dark and there were lots of people around. I realized we are not very good at communicating to each other when it comes to the responsibility of keeping an eye on you. Your father remained as cool as usual, and acted as if nothing untoward had taken place. In spite of this warning incident, it happened again later that evening, for a minute or so.

After this I felt like taking you away somewhere to spend Christmas on our own, but couldn’t really think of anywhere to go.

Christmas:

A blur of coloured lights, mince pies and crème fraiche.

We had a lovely relaxed Christmas meal, just our little family, at home on Christmas Eve, and spent Christmas day with Grandma and Grandpa and my Uncle Sydney and Aunty Nena.

“I like sprouts”, yes I was a bit surprised… followed by, “They are too spicy mummy”, as a look of revulsion passed over your face.

We visited family in Liverpool, and you and Irma (2.9m), bossed each other about in her toy room. You played quite well together some of the time, and then there would be outbreaks of “it’s mine, I need it!” from both of you.

You were also exposed to lots of telly, plastic guns, Nintendo game boy and other delights. (Tom, aged 5, was playing hand held computer games and Play Station at Uncle B’s house). Nana was watching Ken Loach’s film about Irish history: The Wind that Shakes the Barley, lots of harrowing torture and gunfights. I kept trying to take you in the kitchen where I was cooking, but you didn’t want to leave the room because Papa was in there, so just ended up getting distressed anyway.

You have become very attached to a little dog, and its blanket, a present from Pauline, and 2 little motor bikes from Bruno. We gave you an easel with a roll of paper, which you like drawing on, and are always asking us to draw cows for you.

But your top amusements at the moment is a small roll of rainbow coloured wool (my string as you call it), which you wind round your wrist and everything else, and any blankets which you play tents with. So we had lots of pretend camping over Christmas.

New Year has become a non-event over the last few years. This year we managed to stay up till midnight and P, Jack and I went out onto the road in West Derby and sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’, while fireworks exploded all around. I remembered trying to get you off to sleep at the same time two years ago, holding you high up on my shoulder.