The Inflatables

Eddie is obsessed with The Incredibles, and thinks that he can run as fast as Dash. One of our first activities of the holidays was going to see The Incredibles 2 at the little cinema in Bognor.

Our trip to France has been more like the yet-to-be-made film, The Inflatables. Much of the action takes place poolside. So far there have been several rounds of the newly invented game 'Banana Interceptor' which is essentially a version of Piggy In The Middle with the addition of a giant inflatable banana as an additional tool for the Piggy.

Poor old inflatable turtle lost a limb, and was given a water burial, complete with prayers and incantations. 

And then the game of 'Edge Ball' emerged. This involves players taking it in turns to throw a ball to hit the opposite edge of the swimming pool where, if it catches the edge, it will bounce up into the air so that either player can catch it. Two points scored for catching your own edge ball, one point for catching your opponent's. Skilful and entertaining, the game has kept Gilby occupied for hours with his  father or his uncle. And, the best edgeballers 'don't get wet', apparently. Funny then, that I seemed to be being continually splashed poolside...

So. Much fun being had by all. Hearth-mother busy consuming lashing of rosé.

Currently reading: The Accidental by Ali Smith

Bouncing

I'm putting these two photographs together because they are two separate but connected memories that I felt compelled to revisit and write about again:


I hold your hand.

You aren't sure about this. You don't like the sand clinging to your socks. It bothers your sense of order and rightness. And the mountainous heights of the bouncy pillow are intimidating. But you do want the fun, or the promise of it, and so you are quite determined as you reach for the brightly coloured fabric.

We climb up together. I have to haul you up the steep last part because you can't keep your balance. We don't bounce, as such. I tread carefully until you wobble a little and giggle, and then I run faster; chasing you and bouncing you until you shriek. Another little girl gets on. She is tentative like you but you are now the strong, experienced one and you let her find her feet on the bouncy pillow and then you become her big friendly bouncer and you both laugh and shout and tumble and stumble and pick each other up when you collapse, limbs knotted, flopping in helpless laughter.

The rhythm changes; the game changes. Somehow, you both instinctively know the rules without stating them. Whose turn to run, whose turn to chase, who is leading and who is following. Two perfect strangers enjoying the perfect bounce.

Eventually it must end: the bouncing as though your childhood depended on it.

“Goodbye,” you say, to your new buddy. “It was nice bouncing with you.”

She nods, solemnly. “You too. Bye bouncy friend.”

And you walk in different directions.

I help you put your shoes back on. You don't seem to mind the sand now. I marvel at the ease of a friendship between three-year-olds that only needs a shared passion for buoyancy.

We return regularly. It is a few years later. Now you have have progressed to the giant bouncy pillow and it is energetic and competitive. We still hold hands but only to see who is bouncing highest. You win. You weigh nothing, you walk on air anyway, and l...I am carry too many pounds and worried about my pelvic floor. Click. The mobile phone captures the moment. I frame it. On the wall and in my heart.

‘Nice bouncing with you,’ I say, all the time learning.






Currently reading: Five Rivers Met on a Wooded Plain by Barney Norris

Most Likely To...

Gertie has had her end of term leavers' assembly amidst plenty of tears, shirt-signing and nostalgic stories about the last seven years.

She has gone from this....

To this...

In what seems like the blink of an eye. Tempus has certainly been fugiting.

Meanwhile, Gilby received this end of term of award, much to his delight:

And this one:

No question about how his identity is being constructed!

And now the long summer holiday lies ahead, with all its promise and adventure.

Phase One begins this evening with a trip to the cinema to see The Incredibles. This is Eddie's treat for being 'good' for ten days in a row. And by 'good' I mean putting on his shoes without fuss or argument when told to leave the house and not going into meltdown at bedtime. Sigh. One small step at a time.

Currently reading: Slade House by David Mitchell 

Different Success Criteria

It has been a good weekend in the Hearth-house. Gertie and Gilby have successfully taken part in the final performances of the school play, Bugsy Malone to great critical acclaim. (From Hearth-mother and Hearth-father at least.)

Gertie has enjoyed her Year 6 prom and all the associated pomp and circumstance, including mini manicure, pedicure and 'waterfall plaits' whatever that may mean. We did have conversations like this, though:

Gertie: Mummy, what was your prom dress like when you were in Year 6?

Hearth-mother: Prom dress, darling? Oh no, we didn't have such things. Proms, or nice dresses. My parents were mostly dressing me in tartan and making me match my siblings...

Gilby has this morning received the 'player of the year' award for his football team and is marching around as though he as won the World Cup. The coach credited his hard work, captaincy skills and being a great 'reader of the game'.

And Eddie? 

Well, results for him to. He is still alive, narrowly escaping being throttled at several points through the weekend, and I ended up not phoning the police yesterday when I thought he was missing. Different levels of success...

Currently reading: Why Mummy Swears by Gill Sims

World Cup Fever

Sport rules right now.

The house sweepstake is going well. Good teams are evenly distributed so everyone still interested. Hearth-mother looking good with Belgium, Sweden, Denmark, Columbia and Mexico!

Not that Gilby needs any more stimulus, frankly. Old Statto can tell you the points in each group, the results  of each match, the goal scorers in each game and plenty of other trivia besides. To enliven things even further (as Germany go out in the group stages for the first time ever) we are hosting a German guest in the house this week so massive bragging rights result.

Today was also Gilby's sports day and he was on the winning relay team; his and Gertie's house team won the cup; and his U9 cricket squad are unbeaten in six games.

England cricket has been quite joyful in recent weeks. There is nothing but sport done or talked of at the moment.

So I'm getting in on the action. Hearth-mother has been asked to fill in for a netball team who are a player short tonight. The last time I did this was just before Christmas and I ended up in hospital. Just hoping that I, too, can ride the crest of this current sporting wave and make it through at least a quarter!

Hot and Cold

It was a birthday weekend of sun and fun with soaring temperatures and 'Wanda' as our home from home for the weekend. (Wanda, being a VW camper van.) I'm not sure they were built for a family of five plus pet. It was a bit of a squash and a squeeze...

but the children slept with Hearth-dog in a tent annexe (which felt like Wembley Stadium in comparison) so all worked out beautifully. 

A forgotten sleeping bag complicated arrangements for Sunday evening, and it seemed odd to receive a winter coat as a birthday present on the hottest day of the year so far (though it was the one I wanted, not complaining.) 

On Monday we spent the day at Shoreham beach, and Gilby, never one to run from a challenge, was first to dive into the waves.

His bold action occurred as Hearth-Father exclaimed, 'That's freezing! Only a lunatic would swim in there!' 

'Time for a beach selfie,' said Hearth-Mother, desperate to capture photographic evidence of the whole family having fun together.

'No, Mum, I'm too cold,' protested Gilby through blue lips, goosebumps visible from twenty paces.

'Won't take a second, and then you can warm up.'

'Ok, but I might be blurry..' shivered Gilby.

Happy Hour

It was a hot day.

Eddie was a long time in the kitchen and some worrying noises were emanating from behind the door. But he'd only asked if he could help himself to a drink. What could possibly be the issue?

At the point at which my interior monologue was suggesting that I ought to be on the verge of conducting an investigation, he emerged.

'Just making myself a little drink,' he grinned. 'Like I said.'

'MUM!' Gertie yelled. 'Eddie's cut up a lemon with the apple slice!'

You can't argue with his commitment. Though I have no idea where he has the idea that an afternoon refreshment needs to look like something that might be served by members of the Human League in Leicester Square. My similes are a little out of date. Something that would be presented during happy hour in the Atlantic Bar? Just googled that and it apparently closed in 2006. (I don't get out much, these days.) 

But what inspired him? No idea at all. Can't think where he gets it from. Nothing to see here. 

*Whistles innocently.