My son the budding organist

So we went to the wedding and I must say we all scrubbed up well.
I wore a hat which was a first. Bit awkward for kissing people hello but it gave my outfit that extra little something and that was what I wanted. The little man's daddy looked very fetching in a smart suit and tie and our son looked like an angel in suit, tie, waistcoat (with silky inside lining, buckles at the back and everything) and Doodle shoes with boats on that I had kept new for the day and took him about quarter of an hour to get muddy - perhaps not so much an angel.
This was our first wedding with a toddler in tow and as a consequence, I didn't see much of it. The last thing I wanted was our two-year-old loudly chatting about Postman Pat or announcing he was doing a poo and squirming with embarrassment as it echoed around the chapel while his auntie and uncle tried to make their vows sound above the noise, so we were able to see the bride's entrance and sing a hymn before it was time for a swift exit.
Our quick departure was not appreciated by the little man, who was really into the sound belting from the organ pipes and he kicked and screamed in the gardens outside, desperate to get back inside to hear it again. Which is why I must give a special mention to the lovely young organist who stayed behind after the service and let our son bash the keys and pull out the stops on his rather expensive instrument before playing one more piece especially for him.
The rest of the day was spent running around (not easy in heels) trying to keep him from getting lost or walking on the flower beds so unfortunately the only photos we managed to take were up in the organ loft. I know - not one of me in my posh hat. Tragedy.
But I LOVE this shot below and if I had to take one image from the day it would been this one. Sorry auntie and uncle but you have to admit, he looks cute. My grandpa played the organ and would have been so proud to see his great grandson in action. This one's for you grandpa. x

And here's one of my boys...

His first wedding outfit

On Saturday we are going to a wedding. The little man's uncle is getting married and the whole family will be there so I have got him the cutest outfit to wear on the day bought from Monsoon. I did well considering what there was to choose from. Most of the children's section was filled with beautiful outfits for pretty girls - silk dresses with big bows, tiny fur boleros and shiny bejewelled shoes for tiny feet. The boy's section in comparison was miniscule. Two rails if that. That's fine though as dressing up girls is a far more complicated business than dressing up boys (I know having seen the trouble I went through to get my dress/hat/bag/shoes sorted and then watching the 30 seconds it took my husband to pick out which shirt and tie he will wear from his wardrobe). But despite the small selection I found just what I was looking for.
In the shopping bag went: one shirt with smart button-up cuffs; one tie, plus discreet velcro fastening at the back; one snazzy waistcoat with shiny inner lining and buckle detail at the rear. The trousers were too stiff and starchy for him to spend a whole day in and at over £20, also too pricey but I found a lovely soft navy pair with elasticated waist from M&S that fit the bill perfectly.
I dressed him in the whole outfit when we got home and paraded him in front of his daddy. He looked adorable. In fact, he looked like he was ready for a hard day at the office. Now if I could find a little briefcase to match?...
Will post pictures of our smart little man after the big day.

Two and still having the bottle

You read a lot of advice when you are a parent. Want to know when he should be out of nappies or what toys are good for his age group? Pop the question into a search engine and you will quickly discover an endless source of tips from experts and parents telling you what to do.
Helpful as it is, I always think this sort of research should be taken with the bigger picture in mind. Yes, it might be that the general concensus dictates your two-year-old should have around 200 words in his vocabulary, but if he doesn't, putting yourself under pressure to conform to the norm is only going to have a bad outcome, for both of you.
Which is why the little man, having just hit his second birthday, is still having his milk from a bottle.
When he was 12 months, I did try giving him his milk from a sippy cup, having read this was the thing to do. While he happily drinks back the water this way, he would only take a few sips of milk before losing interest so I quickly reverted back to the bottle where he could polish off a good 240ml in five minutes flat.
The need for calcium outweighed the need to ditch the bottle and despite all advice telling me otherwise, we are happily carrying on as we are, and will do into the foreseeable future. Of course, I don't envisage him strolling round the playground still sucking from his beloved bottle, but I am confident that in time the transition will happen naturally.

Happy birthday my little man

Yesterday was the little man's birthday. Two years ago I was lying on a hospital bed, feeling a bit like I had been hit by a train, with this tiny scrap of life lying fast asleep next to me. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't even think of changing his nappy until a midwife came along at 11pm, a good 15 hours after he arrived into the world, and asked me if I had yet. She offered to do it for me, that lovely angel of help, and I watched over her shoulder as she gently tore off the velcro strips and bathed him.
When it came to babies I really didn't have a clue, apart from what I had read. I had never changed a nappy before but it was reassuring to know I wasn't alone in that packed maternity ward. As I dozed in my bed recovering, I listened through the thin curtains as the new parents in the next cubicle engaged in high level talks on how best to change their tiny offspring's full nappy. Later on, as I shuffled to the nurse's desk in the early hours of the morning in search of painkillers, I passed by a midwife patiently showing a very young new mummy how to do the same. She must have been a good 15 years younger than me but, despite our differing life experience, we were the same. New mums and completely clueless.
Now I can change a nappy while the little man stands up, jigging about singing nursery rhymes to me. I know how to quickly distract him if he falls and begins to cry. If he isn't eating his dinner, I know the exact book to give him to read so I can shovel a few more mouthfuls in and make sure he doesn't go hungry.
Then again, at times I still feel as clueless as that first night in hospital. Like when he won't get in his pram and has a proper tantrum outside the shops. Or if he wakes in the night and he is still bouncing around wide eyed when all my tricks have been used up to coaxe him back to sleep.
I can imagine that the learning curve never straightens when it comes to being a parent - and who would want it to? I love this journey that I am on with my beautiful growing son. Neither of us have done this before and every day is an exciting new challenge with endless possibilities. And just think what I will be able to achieve when he reaches his third birthday, and his fourth. I can't wait. Happy birthday my lovely little man.

British with a capital B

There are many things that make us British - a love of sponge cakes, orderly queueing, our habit of apologising profusely in any situation however wrong the other person might be. And the weather of course.
Well on Sunday I don't think I could have got more British. It was our little town's annual folk festival and, being community-minded, I had wanted to venture out to show our support for the event and enjoy a spot of morris dancing while we were at it.
So despite the black clouds, we got our waterproofs on and set off. It didn't take long to find some dancers enthusiastically stripping the willow and waving hankies about. We valiantly watched, and enjoyed, some very exhuberant stick bashing and bell jangling but as the few light drops of water gradually turned into a persistent downpour, we could stand it no longer. Taking shelter in the next door cafe, we dried out while I tucked into a pot of tea and a toasted tea cake, the little man a hastily prepared homemade cream cheese sandwich and some healthy fruit snacks - no sponge cake for him, horrid mother that I am. It was only when I peered out through the steamed up window that I realised the morris men, far from giving up, were determinedly continuing to weave their merry way in and out of their set, each one holding aloft a bright red spotted umbrella like a small portable awning. Rain, teacakes and a good serving of stiff upper lip - a beautiful parody if ever there was one.

My little joy giver

Of all the small daily developments the little man is showing us, my favourite one so far is the joy he gets from giving. It took a while to come but I love to see the flicker of quiet satisfaction that crosses his face and twitches at the edges of his mouth when he cuts out a playdough heart and ceremoniously offers it to his chosen recipient - daddy, grandpa, our friend Laura (much to her delight) and me when I am lucky.
We make a big fuss when he does and seeing our happy reaction he snatches up his cutter and busily starts work on his next gift. The more he does it, the more we praise - I want him to start giving and never stop his whole life.
Generosity, in my opinion, is one of the most attractive traits in a person. It is something his daddy has running through him, and if we can bring up our son to be one of life's givers rather than takers, I would consider my task as a mother done and done well - although if he also turns out to be tall and handsome, sporty, creative, good at public speaking, a whiz on the guitar and piano, financially stable with a dry sense of humour and always always holds the door open for others that would also be rather nice.

Poo is most definitely not a good replacement for playdough

The weather has been so beautiful recently and the little man and I have mostly been in the garden. I dusted off the paddling pool and he has spent many happy hours happily splashing about in the water, keeping cool and honing his pouring-liquid-from-one-vessel-to-another skills.
As he spends most of his days bundled up in a nappy, I decided this was the perfect opportunity for some toddler skinny dipping. It was lovely seeing him play, free from the constraints of undergarments although whenever he wandered bare-bottomed back into the house I couldn't help but tense up, fearing for our carpets and white sofa if an accident were to occur. When my nerves were unable to stand it any longer, I opted for a swim nappy.
The other day, he had been covered up like this for a good hour and, feeling guilty, I stripped him clear of all absorbent materials and sent him on his happy naked way. Before I knew it, he had run into the living room and proceeded to do an enormous poo on the carpet. I was close on his heels (but clearly not close enough) and  I picked up the little offender for a swift change upstairs (not before he had dropped another little present on the hallway tiles - always check to see if they have finished first before moving).
When I returned downstairs to clear up, I saw that somehow he had managed to push a good handful of poo into the bottom of a glass candle holder. That explained the grubby hands but how had he managed to get it so far down I wondered. Then I found the answer. We had been playing with playdough not long before and I had been showing him how to push it through a tube using a plunger. The little genius, on having deposited his goods onto the carpet, suddenly saw a whole fresh load of brown playdough and got to work as mummy had shown him.
I should imagine the panicked cry I emitted wasn't the reaction he had been after for all his hard work and now, with toddler and crime scene cleaned and disinfected, I am able to admire his ingenuity. Isn't it wonderful to be so free of constraints that you see everything as a potential source of play? More to the point, now he is preferring to do his do out of the nappy rather than in it, all the signs are there that potty training might be iminent, or I will be cleaning up poo from the carpets for months to come. Wish me luck.