Flatulence, phonics and inventing animals . . .

The B loves learning . . .

He always has, although starting school has, it's clear, intensified his thirst for knowledge. Yesterday, for instance, he turned his back on his favourite toys, preferring instead to spend his time practising his letters. That such dedication is paying off is obvious.

His reading and writing are developing at a remarkable pace and he is, all of a sudden, able to take selected letters and arrange them to form simple words. 

It's impressive to watch, although he doesn't always get it right . . .

Looking at a book about animals a little earlier this afternoon, I decided to put his reading skills to the test. He identified rat, pig and cow, and even managed alpaca, but when I pointed to elephant, he began to look troubled.

I urged him to sound out the letters, as he has been shown at school.

The B thought about this for a moment.

'Is it an elefart?' he asked hopefully. Oh, if only . . . .

Beds, bathrooms & learning about ladders . . .

It has taken longer than expected, but Operation Bathroom is just about complete . . .

It's a major relief for us all, for obvious reasons, although The G has benefited more than most. You see, refitting the bathroom involved a little light building work that intruded upon her bedroom and, as a result, this has been refurbished too.

The G has spent the last four nights in the spare room but, following much furious painting (me), assembling furniture (Dr Z), and fitting coving (all hands to the pumps), she has just moved back across the landing.

From tonight, she is sleeping in a brand-new bed. This in itself is a significant development . . .

You see, The G's existing bed is the same one that she has slept in since birth, this being an ingenious invention that begins as a cot and with a few twists of an allen key, changes into a bed (at first with sides, and then without).

It has served her well these last three-and-a-half years, but these days she is just too big. Her new bed is somewhat different, being of the cabin design, with drawers, desks and a secret den underneath the raised sleeping platform.

The best bit is that a ladder is required to get in and out. Needless to say, The B&G both think this is amazing. I sense that persuading them that The G's bed is just that - and not an indoor adventure playground - could prove to be quite a challenge . . .

Tired and tearful, school takes its toll . . .

It's starting to take its toll . . .

Full-time education, that is. Don't get me wrong, The B is enjoying school and has settled in better than expected. He has - as of last week - got two new best friends (both girls), is (one or two duds apart) enjoying the lunches and is making great progress with his reading (his favourite book, thus far, being Julia Donaldson's Bob Bug).

People told me that, once he started school, this particular aspect of his learning would develop at a startling rate. Even so, I didn't expect him to make such strides so soon.

It is coming at a cost, however, because The B is shattered. Physically, mentally and emotionally, he is exhausted. 

'It's so tiring,' he said last night at bedtime. This morning, amongst the myriad things to bring him close to tears, was the extent to which he is missing Center Parcs. 

Such instances underline the importance of keeping him calm, sticking to our normal routines and avoiding anything that might tip him over the edge. Given his fragile condition, this is easier said than done, but - for now, at least - I think we're just about striking the right balance . . .

Bullies, behaviour and ineffectual adults . . .

Bullies . . .

It seems as though they're everywhere at the minute. In recent days, The B has been pushed over in the school playground (he still has the bruises to prove it) and The G has been assaulted during a trip to soft play. Earlier this afternoon, an out-of-control four-year-old managed to disrupt an entire swimming class. Like I said, it seems as though they're everywhere.

I can spot them from a mile off, although in truth it isn't difficult. No radar is required and, in most cases, the cause seems quite obvious . . .

Behind most of the junior bullies that I encounter there is an ineffectual adult. Supervision? Forget about it. Discipline? No chance. Example? Don't make me laugh.

It is often left to others to attempt to bring these miniature menaces into line. The teacher, in The B's case. In The G's, me (and defending her is something I do to a rather high standard).

To his credit, the swimming instructor took no prisoners this afternoon, standing up to the culprit during the lesson and then seeking out the 'responsible' parent (oblivious, of course) after it.

The B&G quite often do things that I don't like - all children do, of course - and, between us, we have our moments. They'll never be bullies, though. I'll see to that . . .

Thank-you for the music, the songs I'm singing . . . .

Piccolo is, it's a relief to report, back in full swing following the long summer holidays . . .

It's just me and The G these days, of course, and although that makes for a somewhat different experience, The B's absence from our regular singing session doesn't appear to be troubling her.
The same, I'm afraid, cannot be said for The B, who, upon getting wind of our imminent return last week, was reduced to tears at the thought of missing out.
He took our impending trip rather better this morning - in the main because, in recent days, his musical needs have begun to be met at school.
That singing plays such an important part in The B's life is, in a large part, due to Piccolo and I have nothing but admiration and gratitude for the manner in which his musical imagination has been stoked. It's nice to think that, at the same that The G and I are singing our favourite old songs, The B is learning new ones - these, thus far, including Big Red Combine Harvester, Ten Red Apples and a rather splendid jungle-themed number that he took great pleasure in performing just before bathtime last night.
I'm told that, following most singing sessions at school, The B urges his teacher to lead the class in a rousing rendition of Pop goes the Weasel (actions and all) - his all-time favourite song from his Piccolo days.
He might not be able to attend the sessions these days but it seems as though his musical mentors' influence is set to endure for some time still to come . . .

Dance defeat and fantastic gymnastics . . .

I've been forced to admit defeat . . .
I've tried to find The G a dance class to attend - honestly, I have - but it seems as though one that runs to a suitable schedule just doesn't exist.
Don't mistake me: there are dancing lessons out there, good ones at that, but the timings - either after school or on weekends - just don't meet our particular needs.
The thinking behind enrolling The G at a dance school was to give us something a little different to do whilst The B is at school, taking advantage of his absence to give her a brand new, brother-free experience.
Dragging him along to look on from the sidelines - not an attractive proposition, believe me - makes no sense. But fear not . . .
You see, dancing might not be on our immediate agenda, but gymnastics is - as of this afternoon, that is.
I chanced upon a gymnastics session for pre-school children at a local leisure centre and, with our ongoing bathroom renovation making the house a no-go zone, thought it might offer some alternative entertainment for myself and The G.
She took it to immediately . . .
Looking on as she leapt about, negotiating all the apparatus problem-free and flinging herself from obstacle to obstacle, it struck me that The G, not always the girliest of girls, has never looked all that comfortable in a tutu. Come to think about it, I have a feeling that gymnastics might be much better for her than dancing . . .

Our new-look programme is precision parenting . . . .

Getting into our routines now . . .
The B starting school has scuppered our usual schedules somewhat, but we are starting to get used to our new-look programme.
Breakfast is 7.30am until 8am (cereal remaining in the bowl after this time is not allowed to be eaten). Then it's time to get dressed (uniform for The B, regulation clothing for The G), brush teeth and wash faces. Departure time is 8.40am on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays (straight to school) and 8.20am on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when we have to drop The G off at nursery first. Rain or shine, despite the protests, these journeys are always made on foot.
On Mondays, The G and I go to the supermarket to stock up on provisions for the following days. On Wednesdays, it's Piccolo at 10.30am. There's a dance class to fit in somewhere, too. Lunch is always at 12pm (nowadays The G has her hot meal at this time in order to match The B, whose lunch is provided at school, their tea being sandwich-based).
School finishes at 3.15pm, which means leaving the house at 3pm. The mode of transport alternates daily, between scooters and bikes, except on Fridays when The B's 4pm swimming lesson requires us to use the car - the one time in the week that this is permitted. Tea is 5pm, except on Fridays, when our later-than-ideal trip to the pool requires us to ad lib a little (given that I like to organise our days in a precise manner befitting a high-ranking military strategist, this makes me more than a little uneasy, although I'm sure it's good for me to improvise from time to time).
TV is 6pm, baths 6.30pm, stories 7pm and lights out 7.15pm (no exceptions here). Given that there's so much to do - this, don't forget, in addition to our ongoing bathroom refit - and so much to remember, it's no surprise that I'm feeling a little fraught . . .

Helium balloons and Hex Bugs . . .

Heard about the national helium crisis?
I must admit, I hadn't. Not until this morning - a time spent trawling the local card shops, searching for a giant, gas-filled balloon, shaped like a number five, to commemorate The B's latest birthday . . .
I found balloons aplenty, but the helium to make them float? It turns out there's a UK-wide shortage. I found some in the end - this a huge relief given that big balloons have become a tradition, something that The B&G have both come to expect on their birthdays.
This one proved different enough, given that The B spent it at school. Had I not been able to source the floating five that is considered as important as the presents, cake and cards here, I might have been advised to never return home.
It's quite hard to believe that The B is five. The fact that, having unwrapped all his gifts in record time this morning, he trudged upstairs to put on his uniform - his mood at this point best described as 'doleful' - underlined that he is growing up fast.
The highlights included the London Underground gift-wrap (this he chose himself), his two Hex Bug Nano sets (it took me over an hour to build these this afternoon, a time spent regretting the fact that I never pursued an engineering degree), and Dr Z's delicious Angry Birds cupcakes. Such things, in addition to the all-important balloon, ensured a successful celebration. Roll on Christmas . . .

Fluffy, Woofy & liberating The G . . .

Changing activities around here . . .

I'm still searching for a suitable dance class for The G to attend, but in The B's absence, it is clear that our preferred pastimes are altering already.

It has been quite striking in recent days that, given a greater chance to set the agenda, The G has plumped for things that haven't featured much in our schedule of late.

Earlier this afternoon, for example, she retrieved the marble run from beneath The B's bed and, having dusted it off - quite an undertaking, believe me - spent an enthralled hour putting it through its paces.

This followed the farm and zoo in escaping the forgotten toys pile, with Play-Doh and the shop (coins, till, plastic food and all) also having made rare appearances since Monday.

It's as though an overbearing brother's absence has liberated The G, who is enjoying making all the important decisions - those play-based, at least - around here for a change.

It has been interesting to note the differences, the latest being the arrival of two imaginary friends, these dogs that The G calls Fluffy and Woofy. I had thought that she might miss The B once he started school. I'm seeing no evidence to suggest that this is going to be the case . . .

Still getting used to part-time parenting . . .

Changing roles around here . . .

Full-time fatherhood involves so much. But ever since he started school eight days ago, it seems as though looking after The B requires me to do little more than basic fetching and carrying.

Fetching from - and taking to - school and swimming lessons, that is. Carrying his bags, his drinks, spare clothing, scooters, bikes, helmets and other such assorted accessories.

This part-time parenting business takes some getting used to; thank goodness The G still needs me . . .

The letter, The G & the school scare . . .

This is all starting to get a little bit frightening . . .

Bear in mind that I'm still getting used to the fact that The B has started school, this being just his second full day, this morning's drop-off, incidentally, requiring the deployment of full wet weather kit.

Imagine the shock then when, upon our arrival at nursery, where The G is spending the morning, I was handed a letter informing me that registration is open for the next school intake, in September 2013, and that the time has come for us to start organising her educational future.

I appreciate that these things take time and that, upon reflection, 12 months have passed since we first embarked on this process with The B. But that doesn't make it any less startling . . .

School success and curriculum complaints . . .

Earlier this afternoon, picking The B up from school . . .

I enquired as to the success or otherwise of this, his first full day in the classroom.

The B thought about this for a moment. 

'I haven't learnt to read yet,' he informed me, sounding more than a little on the disgruntled side.

This small failing in the curriculum aside, he seemed to have enjoyed himself, the hours passing in rapid fashion and his earlier fears proving unfounded.

'I missed you,' I told The B as we headed for the school gates, keen to let him know that his absence at home is being felt.

The B considered this.

'I didn't miss you,' he replied, and the thing is, so well is his introduction to school going, that I don't imagine for a second that he did . . .

Girl Lego and Play-Doh pizza: It's a B-free zone . . .

So this is what it's like . . .
Life sans The B, that is. Last week might have been his first at school, but this is where it really starts, the switch to full-time attendance (8.55am to 3.15pm) following his afternoons-based introduction something that is bound to take a little time for us all to get used to.
"But I'm going to miss you," he said, as he considered his imminent change in schedule just prior to our departure this morning. Otherwise trouble-free, he headed to his classroom quite happily, clutching his little bag (containing cheques to cover lunch and milk costs), his hat (in case of sun), his coat (in case of rain) and a drink, his uniform still a little on the large side, although on that front he's far from alone.
The B's departure left just me and The G, not quite sure what to do on our own, although it didn't take long for us to make our own entertainment.
So far, we've picked daisies, played with Girl Lego, built a farm (using animals including crocodiles) and a zoo (using animals including cows) and made pizzas from Play-Doh. I'm told it's fairies later. I can hardly wait . . .

Silent Sunday 09.09.12

From full-time fatherhood to fairies . . .

Last night, talking to The G about school . . .

Next week, I explained, when The B starts to attend on a full-time basis, things are going to be quite a lot different around here.

"It's just going to be you and me," I told her. The G thought about this for a short time. She seems to like the idea, although, given her obvious desire to join her big brother in the classroom, it's clear that she's already planning for next September. 

"When I start school, it's just going to be you," she informed me, before pausing to consider this concept . . .

"What are you going to do, Daddy?" she asked after a short time.

I told her I'm still trying to work this one out and asked if she had any suggestions. No need for thought this time.

"You can just stay here and play," she said. "You can play fairies and build railways and then do some jigsaws."

It's a nice idea, for sure, but somehow, I don't think it's going to be quite that simple . . .

Swimming, showers and letting off steam . . . .

Off swimming tomorrow . . .

Not just to get The B&G clean, you understand (having cadged a bath at a friend's house a little earlier this afternoon, their hygiene isn't such a concern), although the post-pool shower facilities are sure to come in handy.

The real reason for our after-school excursion is that, following 18 months on the waiting list, The B has at last become eligible for swimming lessons.

Like our ill-scheduled bathroom refit, the timing might have been better. In the event, however, this being a take-it-or-leave-it kind of an offer, we had little choice other than to make our already-demanding week just a little more so.

The G and I plan to watch from the poolside before joining The B in the water for a no-holds-barred post-lesson splashabout - wave machine, slides, pirate ship and all. Given the frantic few days that we've all had here, the chance to let off a little steam might be just what we need . . .

Regularity, routine & being without a bathroom . . .

Routines are important here . . .

That in mind, having our bathroom refitted this week - The B's first at school - was always going to present a major challenge.

The impact that The B's introduction to full-time education has had on our schedule is obvious. But the bathroom, or rather, no bathroom situation (the clash unfortunate, unintentional and unavoidable), threatens to be even more disruptive.

You see, since their respective births in 2007 and 2009, there has never been a time that, come 6.40pm, The B&G are not in the bath. Their entire lives have run to this routine - it has always been the done thing.

That our house no longer has a bath (in fact it has two, it's just that one is in a skip on the front drive, and the other is in the spare bedroom and has still to be unwrapped) is proving difficult for them both to comprehend.

That renovations are expected to continue for at least another nine days means that alternative arrangements for ablutions might need to be made.

Dr Z did a good job last night using a sponge and a bucket but it cannot be anything more than a short-term solution. The B&G haven't been swimming for some time. Upon reflection, this could be the perfect time to head back to the pool . . . 

Problem-free, positive and proud . . .

So, The B's first day . . .
I'm not sure it could have gone all that much better - his introduction to school life passing sans incident. Problem-free and positive, he enjoyed his afternoon in the classroom and is looking forward to going back tomorrow. Having focused so hard for so long on this, his first day, I have to make sure I remember to take him for his second.
I don't imagine he'll let me forget, so keen is he to return. The G too, who is reluctant to wait 12 months until she starts school, at one stage this afternoon attempting to persuade Dr Z to let her stick around to join in all the fun.
That The B had fun is obvious, although he hasn't told me what he did yet. That's normal, I'm told. The details are not always forthcoming.
I don't mind his reluctance to spill the beans, just as long as he continues to like going to school this much and he continues to cope so well.
Needless to say, Dr Z and I couldn't be more proud . . .

Tea, trains and our favourite tunes . . .

They're easing us in gently . . .
The B's new school, that is. He starts today, although he isn't due to report until 1pm and then for just a shade over two hours.
Before then, he has chosen to spend his last-ever pre-school morning engaged in his favourite pursuits - riding his bike, playing trains, drinking tea, and listening to all (and I do mean all) of his favourite Piccolo CDs.
Nice and quiet and - for now, at least - keeping calm. This is good fun. This is the bit I'm going to miss the most . . .

Compare, compete and burst the bubble . . .

I've never had much time for other parents . . .
It's that competitive thing that such people are so inclined to do. It holds no appeal for me.
The best thing about being a stay-at-home dad is that one is allowed to operate and exist in blissful isolation. No-one expects men to do the groups, classes and clubs, the places that, I imagine, the clamour to be competitive is at its fiercest (indeed, some do their utmost to discourage male parent participation, which, given the feelings outlined above, does have certain advantages for a lone ranger such as myself).
The bubble, however, is about to burst . . .
The B's imminent introduction to school life (he is due to start tomorrow) has certain implications for me, not least the enforced exposure to the kind of parents I've tried so hard to avoid that playground pick-ups and drop-offs are going to make inevitable.
I got a taste of the things that might lie ahead a little earlier this morning . . .
Out and about, The G on her scooter and The B on his bike, we bumped into an acquaintance (and please note that I don't use the word 'friend' here).
Said acquaintance took one scornful look at The B's stabilisers, before pointing to her own child (similar age) and, glee ill-disguised, declaring 'He hasn't needed those since he was three.' Blissful isolation over. Bubble burst . . .

Starting school and changing pace . . . .

So this is it . . .
The summer holidays are over, term-time is upon us, the countdown is complete. The B - all kitted out (at considerable expense, might I add) - starts school this week. It is a notable development.
Notable for him, for reasons that are too obvious to detail. But also significant for his sister, not to mention myself.
For The G, this is going to be the first time in her entire life that - on a day-to-day, 9am to 3pm, Mondays-to-Fridays basis, at least - she will not have to share activities and attention with an overbearing big brother.
For me, having done this since January 2008, it is strange to think that, as of now, I will no longer be required to serve as a full-time stay-at-home dad to The B.
It is going to be quite the change of pace for us all and, at this stage, I'm not sure who is going to adapt the best. Two things, however, are quite certain:
1) The B is going to be missed.
2) It's going to be kinda quiet around here . . .

Silent Sunday 02.09.12