And More on Reading

Just...a magical moment.

It may only have had thirteen letters of the alphabet in it, but, just in time for World Book Day one young man is mightily pleased with himself:

The journey begins...

Currently reading: Exposure by Helen Dunmore

On Reading

What if the English teacher, reading researcher and four-book-club member produced a non-reading child?

Gertie reads for England. I can't stop her. It causes late nights and all pocket money spent in the Lions charity bookstore. Thank goodness for them.

Gilby has to be bribed. Literally. Like - 'If you read me a chapter then you can watch another match on Match of the Day' (or play FIFA for half an hour, or anything else football related.)

Though I did catch him doing this:

Which I suspect means that he will take after his father in terms of reading habits.

Currently reading: Pica by Jeff Gardiner

One on One

That's over, then.

January's gone and good riddance. It's the month of the year I'm most rubbish at.  And, as I like a good list -  here's one to reflect on Things That I Failed To Achieve in January:

• Keeping my temper with Gilby
• Using the rowing machine
• Losing even a pound of weight
• Maintaining my blogging regime
• Serenity - generally

But we did start to achieve something that I had tried for last year: spending time independently with the kids. It was a thought I had a year ago when Gertie fell down a mountain and was in hospital.  I had to spend hours with her in intensive care and had plenty of time to realise that we never did that - just take time out with them individually.  (Not the circumstances I would choose, but it made the point.)

So - under far happier circumstances this year - Gilby got a father-son trip to the Emirates to watch his beloved Arsenal play in the FA cup.  Thankfully it was a win (against Sunderland) so record intact.

Gertie got a mother-daughter trip to Birmingham to see the Strictly Come Dancing Roadshow. Not bad photos with the zoom lens.  (Last year's Christmas present - not quite as good as the car, but up there.) It manages to casually suggest that we weren't in row ZZ:

And Eddie...well, neither of us are quite brave enough to tackle him alone, yet.  But he does do a nice impression of a snooker player:

He came last at his feis, but goodness me he looks the part.

And he has his sister to keep him in check when they are dancing.

His time will come.

Currently reading: The Fatal Englishman by Sebastian Faulks

January Blues

Hearth-Father is in the throes of some sort of mid-life crisis.

We have a rowing machine in our bedroom.

Alcohol is but a distant memory, 'carbohydrate' has become a dirty word, sugar is the devil's work.
In a thank you letter to friends who invited us for supper last weekend, I felt the need to apologise for our 'uncharacteristic sobriety' and promise that it wouldn't happen again. 'Microbiome' has entered our vocabulary.

In the sixteen years that we have been together I have never known Hearth-Father come home from work and not have a glass of cider. Men's Health magazine has a lot to answer for.

Time to take stock as we near the end of our self-imposed Dry January.

I should be pounds heavier in the bank from all of the money saved from not buying wine. Surely?
I should be pounds lighter in the flesh from all the healthy eating...?

Neither.

And, for some reason, I seem to shout at the kids more.

Roll on February.



Currently reading: The Gut Makeover by Jeanette Hyde (in keeping with the theme)

How Long Before Robot Gets It?

Junk modelling.

It's got a lot to answer for.

Every day that Eddie goes to preschool I find his 'picture bag' bulging with objets d'art. Jet-packs, light sabers, swords, shields, things cut from magazines and stuck, inexplicably, on thick cardboard. We need Pickfords just to get out of the building.

Each lovingly crafted item then comes in for further complex additions and embellishments. Tonight, for example, we had to make paper flames to protrude from the end of the Button Moon inspired rocket (itself made from two flowerpots, a cardboard tube and two tonnes of sellotape).

These are not neat little pictures that can easily be stored away for posterity. They are giant mountains of junk.  Take robot, for example, in the picture below.

So how long, realistically, should these items be on display? Is half an hour enough?

Our neighbours must think that we are super-green due to the amount our recycling has increased in recent months.

And I have got very good at feigning surprise when we can't find something the following morning.  Though I can't help casting a guilty look in the direction of the fire...

So, how long before robot gets it?

Currently reading: All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

How Not to Receive A Christmas Gift

In the tumble back to school for the new year, we missed a haircut for Eddie.

Consequently he looks like a young Justin Bieber. Never an image I would have consciously sort, and bizarrely inappropriate for a four year old.

But that is the least of my problems.  I know that one of the joys of children is watching them speak their mind, but, when a close family friend arrived at the weekend bearing some late Christmas gifts, the conversation went something like this:

L: Happy Christmas Eddie! (Handing over wrapped present)

E: What is it? (Sound of tearing paper)

L: It's a hat. I thought it would suit you.

E: Ugh. I hate it. (Throws present up in the air and runs from the room)

L: (Laughs, awkwardly)

E: (Running back in) Anyway, are you having a baby?

L: (Shocked) Er...no, I'm not.

E: Oh. Why are your boobies so large, then?


She didn't stay long.




Currently reading: Waiting for Sunrise by William Boyd

Christmas According to Gertie

It began a few weeks ago with the raised eyebrows, mocking tone of voice and fingers making inverted commas around the word 'Santa'. For Gertie, aged eight, some of the magic of Christmas seemed to have been lost.

And yet it has been something of a social whirl since she broke up from school. There have been parties and play dates and sleepovers. In fact, she has barely spent a night at home and when she has it has usually been accompanied by a friend. And many of them seem to be just that little bit less cynical and worldly wise than Gertie; and I imagine that over those late night bonding gossips and midnight feasts (the sweet wrappers and orange peel beneath her bed is a sight to behold) the question of the man in red must have come up.

And there has been a definite shift in attitude in these final few days. So, whether it is posturing for the sake of her younger brothers, a kind of 'Santa agnosticism', or a last ditch attempt to make sure that her stocking was filled - more magical discussion and less eye-rolling has taken place (the Santa-tracker app was also instrumental) and all is well.

Currently reading: The Road That Led To Where by Sally Gardner

Currently driving: Triumph Spitfire in Pageant Blue.  Clever Hearth-Father in his choice of Christmas present! Who needs Santa?