Posts Tagged ‘mummy’

Today my daughter presented me with this cup of carefully planted dandelions (the cup was packed with soil) and, holding her bent arms in close to her body with fists clenched tight, she told me that “the flowers are captivated by the dirt.”  Captivated?  Oh! She meant captured, held in place…

I put the cup on the table and swooped down to give her a great big hug and kiss.  “Thank you, sweetheart!  They’re beautiful!”

And, using a surprising new phrase for the third time today, she replied, “No problation, Mummy.”

Oh, would that time could stand still and my daughter stay lovely like this forever!


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These aren’t new — they were E2’s Christmas Day shoes — but as I’ve been on a shoe sharing kick, I just have to offer these up as well.



Don’t you love them?  Aren’t you, once again, as heart broken as I am that they won’t fit you?!?!?


The other thing…

M is, at present, cooking dinner and sent E1 down to find out if I wanted…  well, what she asked was, “Do you want scrotes and mash?”  And I looked suitably  shocked and confused, so she repeated it.  “Do you want scrotes…?  With mash?”  Still looking completely confused…  “Scrotes, Mummy!  With mash.  Do you want that?”  I was really beginning to wonder what on earth M was getting up to in the kitchen…

He popped his head round the corner.  Sprouts.  Did I want sprouts and mash with dinner?

Ah.  I see.  That’d be different, then, from what I’d been imagining…

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Some nights the bedtime routine is harder than others.  Tonight, M had hit his wall before we’d even begun — he’d had a particularly difficult day and was sat on the couch looking as though his head was filled with concrete.  Tonight would be a solo gig.

First child: toilet, hands, catch her as she runs off, teeth, catch her again,  PJs, read story, into bed, kiss, shut the door firmly, open the door,  get drink, shut the door firmly, open the door, promise to send Daddy up, shut the door firmly…

Second child: nappy, PJs,  hands, teeth, take her in to kiss her sister, take her down to kiss Daddy, take her up to her room, go to find beloved Pink Lamb, return to find her hiding in the closet, deliver beloved Pink Lamb, Mother May I?, sleeping bag, Vicks under chin, Olbas oil on bedsheet, lie down to feed, convince her to keep feeding and not climb off bed, feed some more, switch sides, convince again, finally give up and lay her down with fingers crossed, distract with Ginger Rabbit, turn on humidifier, slip out… and wait… and wait… nothing, so go downstairs at last.

M was putting on his work clothes.  “But you’re not on call this weekend!”  Nonetheless, the guy who was wasn’t answering his phone — not for the first time — and M was taking his chance to make himself less likely to be laid off.

All quiet again, I sat on the couch and thought about making a cup of tea, and perhaps reading my book, untouched for a week…  Except that all was not quiet — there as a moaning emanating from the first bedroom, breaking the hard-earned silence.  A moan, not a cry, so I ignored it for a while.  And ignored my book, and surfed the web while I waited for it to stop.

It didn’t — just carried on at the same pitch, same volume, in the sure knowledge that annoying persistence wins the day.  Suitably irritated, I went back up, skipping nimbly over the creaky stair: priority number one, as ever, is to not wake the other child.

She wanted her blanket put back on.  And company, of course.  Fighting it would be too loud…  I laid down on the bed, to her utter delight, squishing her a little and pressing my nose against hers.  She smiled broadly and giggled too loudly. “Shhhhhhhh!”  She giggled again, whisper-quiet.

I dropped my head to the pillow and just laid with her for a minute.  What was I missing?  Some useless telly?  A book I haven’t touched in a week?  I looked into her grinning face, inches from mine.  She wanted this.  So did I.

“My legs!  Mummy, you’re squishing my legs!”  I was, a little because the bed is too small for both of us, and a little on purpose — my get-out.  “Mummy! Mummy, get up!  My legs are squished!”  I got up, but kept my nose to hers.

I love you.

“What are you going to do?  Are you going downstairs?”

“I’m going to have some tea, and read my book.”

“And then what?”

I kissed her on the forehead, and on both cheeks, and then walked to the door.  “And then I’ll come and check on you again.”

The promise warmed her, and she smiled broadly and snuggled down into her bed.  And I smiled back, warmed as well…  and shut the door firmly.

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I was rushing things as I tried to get E2 to cooperate with being put down for her nap.  My mother had come round for a couple of hours to keep the girls busy so I could make a start on the taxes, and I’d lost track of time and now they were late going down for their naps.  My mother was the other room, wrestling E1 into her bed, and I was sitting on the big bed next to E2’s cot trying to contort her wriggling legs — still clad in her sister’s far-too-big trousers that she had insisted on wearing for the last half an hour — into her sleeping bag.

When she was all zipped in, she lept up and began jumping on the bed, her hyperactivity clearly indicating overtiredness — or so I hoped.  I laid back on the bed and adjusted my top, waiting for her to realise that milk was on offer and so to flop herself down beside me (and probably, as she so often does, crack me in the jaw with her skull).  But she took no notice and carried on jumping manically, her little eyes wild with the excitement of it.

“Come on!  Milk!”

Bounce, bounce, bounce. No!

“Come on… Come and have your milk.”  I was trying to sound as enticing as I could.  It used to be that lying on a bed and sounding enticing meant something else altogether, but those days are long gone — now it’s always about milk and naps.  But today there was  no interest.  “Come on… Don’t you want some of Mummy’s milk?”

“No!  Roger!” she yelled, and carried on bouncing.

Roger?  Who the heck was Roger?  I was torn between laughter and exasperation.  “Come and lie down and have you milk!” I commanded.

Bounce bounce bounce.  “No!  No milk!  Roger!”

I looked up at her, both laughing and dumbfounded.  I’ve heard a lot of nonsense in the past few years, but this was new to me.  She saw that I wasn’t getting it, stopped bouncing at last, and put her face down close to mine.

“No milk.  Water!”  Ah…!  Water, not Roger.  Ok.  I thought for a moment about walking all the way downstairs and drawing her a glass of water…  That’d be another 10 minutes…  I decided against it.

“Well,” I said, undoing the bra-clasp, “maybe Mummy’s got water.”  She looked at me, dubious but intrigued.  “Do you think Mummy has made water for you?”  It did the trick — she was lying down now, wiggling herself into position.  I waited for her to discover my deception, delatch, and complain…  but she didn’t.  Milk is sweet and warm, and good enough.  She snuggled in and began feeding in earnest — and I relaxed, curled round her and breathed in her wonderful scent.  My daughter smells wonderful, especially when she is content and tucked in close.

She was asleep in seven minutes.

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