Let Them Not Eat Cake!

In preparation for Eddie's baptism, we had to go and collect the cake the day before and deliver it to the party venue. As the picture shows it was a thing of beauty, a cut above my past efforts at Mr Bump, Peppa Pig and a Fairy Toadstool. As soon as they saw it, Gertie and Gilbert were desperate to try it so I had to explain, quite forcibly, how special it was, and how we'd have to wait until it was time to cut the cake after the baptism. There would certainly not be any cake-eating before that moment I intoned sternly, pushing visions of a half-munched cake firmly from my mind.

When we arrived for the party holding a newly-Christened Eddie aloft, a lovely buffet was set with the cake as the deserved centre-piece. The children soon piled up their plates with party food. Gilby kept coming up and anxiously asking if it was 'cake-time' yet. Eventually I said that it was and he looked mightily relieved as he reached up to take the final fairy cake from a nearly empty plate.

What a lesson in noble restraint. It seems that my sermon had hit deeply. He had waited all that time, thinking that he couldn't have any cake, watching all the other children repeatedly helping themselves, desperately willing the final one not to disappear.

She's Offski!

Daddy wanted a cordless drill for Christmas. This did not sound like a romantic present at all, so I decided that a surprise family ski trip was more in order.

I’m not sure though, that planning a massive baptism party for the day before we went skiing was ideal timing. It certainly did not make for a peaceful passage from the house and there were one or two cross words on the morning of our departure. But it doesn’t matter because we have a baptised baby, a sledging Gilby and a fully skiing Gertie now, so all is good.

Tragically, we lost blankie en route, which is nothing short of a calamity and caused two major tantrums and many tears. Gertie is dealing with the trauma and loss bravely now, but it has been with her from birth, and only wrestled from her occasionally to wash so I'm not sure how this one will go. We have promised to try to locate a new one, a promise that I'm not sure we will be able to fulfill.

So our holiday had a chaotic start. But that did not detract from a magnificent trip. The mountain, Gerlitzen, is stunningly beautiful and the surrounding peaks must be good for the soul. It helps if you are taking three under-fives on a skiing trip if you have your old au pair ready and waiting to meet you; not to mention various other family members on hand to help with collecting from the airport, baby-sitting, shopping...

A decade on from my last ski trip I can report that falling over hurts more than it did. It is also more embarrassing to lose a pole and slip from a button-lift when you are approaching forty. Particularly when your four-year-old is more than capable of accomplishing the lift unaided. By day four she was actually skiing down the mountain.

I can remember years ago seeing these groups of wobbly-headed, helmet-clad little children on skis careering down the mountain at breakneck speed, hands clasping wobbly knees. Never for a moment did I dream that I'd own one of my own.

But the highlight of Gilby's trip had very little to do with the snow. He was lucky enough to meet his hero, 'Bino Bear' mascot of the ski-school on the mountain, which made for one very happy little boy.

Baptism

Our baby was baptised last weekend. It was a great occasion, with so many family and friends present and a lovely party afterwards. Big sister and brother were on best behaviour, apart from a few lively moments around the font.

But for the first time, we had to undertake a 'rehearsal' with the parish priest before the day. Since this is the third time we have done it, I wonder exactly who the rehearsal was for...

The 'F' Word

Sometimes these blog posts just write themselves. No thinking or processing of ideas required when you have such a rich and ready resource available in the form of a four-year-old, a two-year-old and a four-month-old. You just need to tell it how it is. Today is one of those times. Out of the mouths of babes oft times come gems. Well, perhaps not quite a gem.

Gertie and Gilbert love playing around with language. They have their own code words and those that trigger helpless laughter. 'Pom pom', for example, is the biggest insult in the world, and what on earth is so amusing about the word, 'pie'? It can't be just its phonic proximity to 'poo', (one of the most intrinsically funny substances known to mankind) surely? Perhaps, knowing my children, it is. It certainly has the capacity to reduce my pair to uncontrollable fits of giggles.

The new focus, thanks in part I'm sure to current favourite reads, Hairy Mclary, Slinky Malinki and Zachary Quack, is to ensure that everything they say rhymes or is alliterative. To make the latter happen simply involves substituting the initial letter of words in a sentence for a single sound. Popular consonant choices are 'b' and 'd', so in the morning for breakfast we might all have Deerios in a dowl and deat them with a doon, and they're drobably derry dasty. Make sense of what you will.

I like to think that this demonstrates their creativity and willingness to explore and experiment with language.

Today's consonant choice was 'f', so the middle man kept referring to himself as 'Filbert'. That was no froblem at all. But it was in the swimming pool as his teacher handed him a duck that the fun really began.

Perhaps, on reflection, the first thoughts in response from Gilby's swimming instructor may not have been to do with creativity and experimentation.

Stop Hitting Me!

Gertie and Gilbert have invented a great new game.

They simulate punching themselves in the face Fight Club style whilst shouting, 'Stop hitting me, Mummy!' very loudly and giggling.

Now, although I came down firmly on the side of Harry in The Slap, Christos Tsiolkas' novel and recent television drama, I can state categorically that I have never hit any of my children.

So bring back Hooker-Mummy, it's a far less damaging cry.

On Modern Chivalry

We went mob-handed to collect Gertie from school today. Usually I leave the boys in the car (happily it coincides with a good time for Gilby to have a nap, and Eddie seems just to sleep whenever he is in the car-seat; it seems a shame to disturb them...) Today, however, we arrived in plenty of time and everyone was awake. So we trundled through the school gate en masse.

Gertie was one of the first out. She usually is, having been well-trained after a whole term of dashing to a dance class or swimming with but seconds to spare. Gilby ran up to his sister, gave her a big hug and then offered to carry her lunch-box.

All the other mums cooed. "Oh, what a little gentleman!" "Isn't he adorable?!" "Look at that. What a sweet thing to do!"

They weren't to know his gluttonous ulterior motive: to be the first to get his hands on anything that might be left over .

New Year, New Title

First day back at school today, and a chance for me to attempt to return the house to some sort of order after the glorious chaos of the Christmas holidays. By the time I came to collect Gertie, things were ship-shape and Bristol fashion. Ish.

She had a friend round to play after school, and in their excitement they ran in, dumping coats and shoes on the floor in the kitchen. I had to trip over them whilst carrying baby in car-seat and was not best pleased, so I called them back to tidy up.

Gertie picked up both coats and handed them to me.

"That's not quite what I meant. Why don't you hang them up?"

"Because I can't reach. And anyway, you're the hooker-up of coats. Hooker-Mummy, Hooker-Mummy," she called as she ran back up the stairs.

Just hoping she doesn't remember to call me that whilst in the supermarket. I suspect it could be misinterpreted.