Stairgate to Heaven . . . .

There isn't a stairgate on the market that, at one time or another, we haven't owned . . . .

Standard-fit, extra narrow, super-wide, we've had the lot. Spring-loaded, pressure-fit, screwed to the wall, they've been employed on the stairs (top and bottom), to divide kitchens and to bar access to certain rooms. The record, I reckon, for simultaneous stairgate deployment stands at a rather impressive five. But no longer.

In recent times, The B&G being bigger (a little) and more robust (a lot), we've had just the one (this situated at the top of the stairs, its role being as much to prevent earlier-than-ideal morning access to toys as it is to guard against the threat of unfortunate accidents). 

In recent days, however, this last bastion of baby-proofing has been removed . . . .

It wasn't planned, more that it had to relinquish its position to enable the men delivering our new bath to get said tub upstairs. Having taken it down, I can't be bothered to put it back up.

Dr Z isn't convinced, but I think the time is right to go gate-free. It remains to be seen if this decision is a touch on the premature side, but two nights in, no-one has taken a tumble and our morning curfew (no downstairs access allowed before 7.00am) is still intact . . . .

Children's music? I said 'no, no, no . . . '

That The G is growing up fast is being reflected in her evolving musical tastes . . . .
Earlier this morning, she asked if I'd put on a CD for her to listen to. Obliging, I started to leaf through our large collection of children's classics.
'Not those,' The G said, handing me Dr Z's favourite Amy Winehouse album.
I do like this CD, although there's something not quite right about a three-year-old singing along to Rehab. That said, I'm not too concerned at this stage - after all, The B's Lionel Richie fixation didn't last long . . .

The countdown & Operation Calm Down . . . .

T-minus seven days and counting . . .
Until The B starts school, that is. That his anxieties are growing is becoming obvious. It hasn't taken a lot to make him become a little tearful in recent days.
Parents more experienced than I tell me that this is normal and that more severe mood swings are on the agenda once term has begun in earnest. Indeed, the school authorities have provided some invaluable information on this subject . . .
The latest leaflet underlines the importance of trying to keep The B calm in the coming days, avoiding too much excitement and not expecting him to do too much.
'Don't plan lots of activities,' it warns. 'It will be too much for him'.
Given the obvious expertise that has gone into these instructions, I'm grateful for such guidance. There are some important lessons to learn, and not just for The B . . .

Gender issues, gifts and Girl Lego . . .

Our recent holiday having been a family-based affair, it came as no surprise that The B&G both returned home laden with gifts . . .
The G's sizeable stash included her first Lego, a small set from the new Friends collection. Its pieces are, in the main, either pink or purple and its characters all female. The G calls it Girl Lego.
Released earlier this year, Girl Lego has proved rather controversial - sparking petitions and protests and some fierce debate about the rights and wrongs of gender-based marketing.
The argument - that girls and boys shouldn't need different Lego, and that producing the same toys in pink for the female market is taking things a step too far - is one that I understand . . .
That said, the argument doesn't stand up for me because The G also loves playing with her brother's trains and doesn't consider these to be toys for boys. She doesn't need girl-specific pink things, but that doesn't mean that, from time to time, she doesn't enjoy playing with them.
During a visit to our local toy shop at the weekend (where, incidentally, The G chose to exchange her pocket money for some more Girl Lego), it became clear that most toys and games are categorised and organised along gender lines. It has always been so . . . .
Given that The G loves it so much, it doesn't concern me that she has her own pink Lego. That the two sets she has acquired thus far include an oven and a sink - and that the others she craves seem to revolve around shopping and lazing around in a hot tub - might just persuade me to think again, however . . .

Freight trains and (no) females . . . .

Earlier this morning, the highlight of The B's social calendar . . . .
The model railway exhibition, that is - staged, once a year, in the cavernous main sports hall at a local leisure centre. This attracts a strange kind of clientele, lots of old men and countless small boys, the age groups in-between not, as a general rule, represented.
The B fits in fine here, me not so much, although that doesn't mean that I don't like accompanying him. Indeed, this is the third successive summer that I've served as his chaperone.
Dr Z and The G, on the other hand, haven't attended since making a difficult debut back in 2010. Both being quite obviously female, it came as little surprise that they felt even more out of place amidst the model train enthusiasts than me . . . .

Silent Sunday 26.08.12

Suspended time and trouble-free travel . . . .

So we made it . . . .

Back home from our holidays, that is, Thursday's epic 348.2-mile road trip completed sans problem.

Eight-and-a-half hours door-to-door (including stops), that our time in the car passed trouble-free came as a surprise to us all. It might sound rather far-fetched, but The B&G complained not once en route.

Indeed, little noise emanated from the backseat, where the respective batteries of iPad and iPhone were put to the ultimate test during the kind of marathon gaming session that is, under normal circumstances, forbidden.

Upon our arrival home, it became clear that - for The B&G, at least - time had been suspended in the car and that neither had a clue how long we'd been travelling.

That it was almost bedtime baffled them both as toys and books that had not been seen in 10 long days began to be pulled from the shelves, and the reacquaintance process began in earnest.

Their confinement having left The B&G energised to a frightening degree, both took great persuasion before accepting that it was, in fact, time to retire.
Needless to say, Dr Z and I - not to mention our exhausted electronic assistants - required no such convincing that our own batteries needed to be recharged . . . .

The road is long . . . .

Our holidays are almost over . . . .
You see, first thing tomorrow, we'll be back in the car and heading for home. Usually, this means that normal service is about to be resumed, but things are a little different this time around.
There are just 13 days to go until The B starts school, leaving me and The G free to pursue some alternative activities. Given that dancing classes top the list, it is obvious that things are about to change.
There are sure to be some issues to overcome en route, although this doesn't concern me at this point. Right now, it's all about the 348.2 miles that are standing between us and our front door. If we can rise to that particular challenge, I'm certain there's no problem that we can't tackle . . .

Silent Sunday 19.08.12

Duck ponds, dogs and non-existent dangers . . . .

So this place where we're holidaying . . . .
It has a playground, a bloody good one at that - brand new, it is, opened just six or seven days ago.
The B&G love it and for good reason. It has to rank amongst the best they've ever been to (in the top three, at least), and is brimming with innovative apparatus and separate areas for children of all different ages.
It can boast sand, water and a zip wire, all the equipment one expects, and a great deal that one doesn't. Not everyone likes it, however . . . .
Perusing the local newspaper a little earlier, I took an obvious interest in the front page. You see, certain parents are up in arms about this rather spiffing playground. One has gone as far as to call it 'obscene' and claim to be feeling 'mortified' about the shortcomings she has identified.
These, in the main, surround the lack of fencing around said facilities (for the record, the area designated for smaller children has a fence and a gate), a situation she is certain will soon result in countless children meeting a watery end in the boating lake, being savaged by a rabid dog or possibly both.
Two observations here:
1) Keeping children safe from duck ponds and dogs isn't a complicated business and it isn't dependent on fencing. It's called supervision and I do wish more parents would give it a go some time.
2) Some people will moan about anything . . . .

Turf wars, toys and a shock about sharing . . . .

There's not an awful lot that pre-schoolers like to do less than sharing . . . .

Possession is important to the under-fives, and ceding it isn't a concept that tends to prove popular.

The B&G, it must be said, are better than most, although both still have their moments, the most common disputes tending to revolve around his beloved trains or her favourite Peppa Pig cushion.

It isn't just sharing toys and other such items that can cause problems. You see, personal space - the bedroom environment in particular - is also defended fiercely, with both keen to ensure that the other isn't allowed to encroach onto their territory unless prior permission has been granted.

That in mind, the remarkable success (thus far) of the unconventional sleeping arrangements on our current holiday has come as quite a surprise.

For the first time ever, The B&G are sharing a bedroom and, what's more, it's going rather well. Two nights down and no trouble, The B going straight to sleep and The G's half-hearted attempts at causing a little bedtime mischief proving to be short-lived.

Perhaps it's all the excitement. Perhaps it's the sea air. Or perhaps it's just because The B&G are, in fact, better at sharing than I tend to give them credit for . . . .

Cars, caffeine and Piccolo power . . . .

Long car journeys, eh?

Upon embarkation, the good intentions (playing I-spy, snacking on fruit and reading books) abound.
The best intentions don't tend to be the most realistic ones, however, and never more so than when travel is involved.
Before long, the iPad is out, the iPhone has been surrendered and discarded Haribo packets litter the back seat. Ignored, the bananas are in a sad state already . . . .
From beneath the detritus that is covering the car's rear sections, however, The B&G are content. That, as anyone who is experienced in the art of travelling in the presence of pre-schoolers will attest, is all that matters.
It had been hoped that some of the time might be passed catching up on a little sleep (The B&G, that is, not me), but as hopes go, this is a forlorn one.
The in-car DVD player is fired up long before schedule. The big guns out, there's nothing more to do than depress the accelerator a little more and just go for it.
So go for it we do, petrol powering the car, caffeine fuelling the driver.
That we've brought our favourite Piccolo music (in three formats - CD, iPad and iPod - for variety) helps to pass the time.
One of our favourite songs is called Are we nearly there yet?
Having replied in the negative for what feels like several hours, when the time comes that I'm able to confirm that, at last, yes, we are almost there, the relief in the car is palpable.

Silent Sunday 12.08.12

Goodbye to Piccolo (from your number one fan) . . . .

Sticking to the farewell theme, it isn't just nursery The B has left behind this summer . . .
Last month he said his goodbyes to his friends at Piccolo, the pre-school music group that has played such a big part in his life.
The B first attended, with Dr Z, as a newborn in Autumn 2007. Since then he has become a regular, our once-a-week singing sessions ranking amongst the highlights of our time together.
The G loves Piccolo too. But not quite like The B, whose dedication to the cause is beginning to border on the obsessive.
He hasn't missed the sessions too much at this point, in the main because we have three Piccolo CDs - Hip Hop Happy, Shake, Rattle & Sing and Boogle Oogle Oogle - that have been playing non-stop in recent weeks . . . .
In the car, in the house on the hi-fi, out and about through the iPad or iPod, if there's ever a silence, The B demands that it be filled with Piccolo music. On the rare occasions that the CDs aren't playing his favourite songs he tends to be singing them. Constant doesn't quite cover it. Not that listening is enough on its own . . . .
You see, The B likes to remove the accompanying booklet from the CD case and scrutinise it at length as the music plays. That his reading and word recognition skills have improved as a result is beyond question. It is fitting given that his participation at Piccolo has helped him with so much (confidence and co-ordination, numeracy, social skills and harnessing his imagination) more than just music.
The impact on his powers of memory, observation and recall has also been marked . . . .
Earlier this morning, for instance, The G broke off from her breakfast to inform us that 'the dinosaur song' is her current favourite.
"That's number nine on the Shake, Rattle and Sing CD," The B remarked, all matter of fact.
There followed a short test (Reach up High? Number 10 on Boogle Oogle Oogle; Wishy Washy? Number eight on Hip Hop Happy; Singing in the Bath? Number 30 on Shake, Rattle & Sing) that The B passed with flying colours.
Given how little attention he pays to most things in life - indeed, this is someone who spent several hours last week with his trousers on back-to-front - his 100 percent score couldn't have been more surprising . . . .

Baking cakes and bidding farewell . . . .

End of an era time, here . . . .
You see, when The B heads off to nursery tomorrow, it will be for the very last time. This is where he has spent every Tuesday and Friday morning, barring the occasional holiday, for the last two-and-a-bit years. Considering that equates to almost half his life to date, it's little surprise that leaving such familiarity behind is going to prove such a wrench.
Leave he must, though, because following a short family break, preparations for starting school (T-minus-three-and-a-half weeks and counting) will begin in earnest . . . .
That particular challenge can wait. Right now, it's the friends he's leaving behind rather than those he has still to make that is our chief concern.
That in mind, we're hoping to use cake to cushion the blow, The B having baked a farewell treat that he is looking forward to doling out in the morning. He has also made a card - space rocket-themed - that he is relishing presenting to his favourite staff members.
It's possible that, at some point during proceedings, there might be a tear or two.
Having seen the amount of sugar The B poured into his cake mix this morning, I'm hoping everyone will be too high to get too sad . . . .

Bike ride good, trousers bad . . . .

The other morning, The B and I went for a bike ride . . . .

You might think that there's nothing unusual in this. But, consider that it took a sceptical cyclist more than 18 months to figure out how to operate the pedals - a skill he mastered just this summer - and this becomes a significant event.

Bikes are all the rage around here and it has nothing to do with the Olympics.

Having decided that she wants a bike for her birthday, The G is counting the days until she turns four. Until then, she is reliant on her scooter in order to keep pace with her bike-mad brother.

The other day, The G and Dr Z out shopping and The B keen to go for a ride, I decided I'd join him on two wheels for the first time ever.

I thought we might make it to the end of the street, around the block at best.

But we ended up being out for some time, taking in the local park and the sea front, crossing one or two major roads and tackling a significant hill, The B's little legs a blur as he pedalled like never before.

Riding behind him, I suddenly felt a swell of pride as I considered how well he was doing.

Realising, at that point that, prior to leaving the house, he'd put his trousers on back-to-front, the feeling didn't last long . . . .

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Silent Sunday 05.08.12

Jongleurs, The G and The B's baaaa-d jokes . . . .

Yesterday, out and about in the car . . . .
Or as I've started calling it, Jongleurs. This is because it has become The B&G's preferred place for testing out their jokes.
Humour - good, bad or just plain awful - is becoming important around here. In the main, The G's gags are rather more sophisticated than her brother's.
Take this latest routine, for instance:
THE G: "What colour's a hiccup?"
THE B: "I don't know, what colour is a hiccup?"
Deliberate pause for comic effect.
THE G (chortling): "Burple!"
Cue uncontrollable laughter from the back seat.
The G waited until order had been restored before resuming her routine:
THE G: "Where do cow astronauts go to?"
THE B: "I don't know, where do cow astronauts go to?"
THE G: "The Moooooo-n."
Further hilarity . . . .
Things deteriorated from this point, in the main due to the fact that The B decided to test out his own brand of alternative humour.
This involved him taking all The G's best bovine-themed jokes and replacing the cows with sheep. That he didn't think to amend the punchlines meant that these fell rather flat.
For instance:
Q) Where do sheep astronauts go to?
A) The Moooooo-n.
Unimpressed, The G just sat and shook her head.
"It's just a joke," The B said in his defence. You could have fooled me.
To close his routine The B attempted to adapt the following favourite:
Q) Where do cows go on holiday?
A) Moo York.
His version (this not well received):
Q) Where do sheep go on holiday?
A) Baa-America.
The G began to heckle at this point.
Personally, I'd have gone for Baa-bados . . . .

It's up to you, Moo York, Moo York . . . .

The G's jokes are starting to get a bit better . . . .
This is thanks, in the main, to her current favourite dessert item. Yoghurt, bizarrely, is helping her to make some much-needed improvements to her comedic routine. Inspiration indeed can be found in the strangest places.
Places as unexpected as the packaging of Yeo Valley's recently-rebranded Yeotubes. You see, each tube features a rather splendid joke - each one bovine-themed. For instance:
Q) How does a farmer count his herd?
A) With a cowculator.
Or:
Q) Where do cows go for school trips?
A) To a mooseum.
Needless to say, The B&G both think these are hilarious.
The B likes to await the punchline, but The joke-mad G prefers to predict.
"Where do cows go on holiday?" I asked her at the dinner table a little earlier this evening.
She thought about this for a moment, before suggesting Moo Land.
The prescribed punchline was, in fact, Moo York. But The G's version received a far bigger laugh . . . .

Stoicism, syringes and slip-ons . . . .

The G is nothing if not stoic . . . .
Take this morning, for instance, and our trip to the GP for the latest round of immunisations. This had, for obvious reasons, been troubling me in recent days. I should have known better . . . .
The needle didn't faze The G in the slightest.
Indeed, she didn't even notice the initial injection.
"What's that for?" she asked as the nurse applied a plaster to a left leg that had just been jabbed. So far so good.
The second injection proved to be a little more painful, although it was nothing The G couldn't handle.
Perhaps it was because she had spotted the large box of reward stickers in the corner. Perhaps it was because I had promised to get her the latest Charlie and Lola magazine, complete with free pink flip-flops and stickers to decorate them with, as a treat.
Or perhaps it's just because she's hard as nails . . . .