Tried to model Bitzer from Shaun the Sheep for M's birthday cake. He ended up having a nasty accident with a cake pop stick when my patience ran out!
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 July 2015
Wednesday, 8 July 2015
Tomorrow, you will be four
To my beautiful boy,
Tomorrow you will turn four.
It seems hardly possible that it has been four whole years since you made your rather fast appearance into the world, bang on your due date. Time has passed in a strange way: there have been many long days, some difficult, some filled with joy, but the years have seemed short.
As we leave behind being three, I feel like you are entering a new phase in your childhood. You are now very much a little boy, and not a toddler, and not even a pre-schooler for very many more days. When I think back over this last year, I realise just how much you have changed and grown. It has been a year of big changes for you. And I have been struck by how adaptable and positive you are.
You left the security of your lovely childminder's setting in October to begin your adventures at pre-school. You took it completely in your stride: I was half expecting a few tearful drop-offs and a bit of sulkiness when you got home, but you have been mostly enthusiastic and happy to be there.
Just after you began this new adventure, your little brother was born, and you became a big brother. I am continually proud of how you have taken this new role and become the most caring, kind and affectionate brother you could ever be. Your love for F is plain for all to see, and your gentleness towards him and adoration of him is the most wonderful thing to witness. You have never once shown any jealousy of him, even though you have had to adjust to not having my full attention like you used to. I am so proud of you for how you have coped with this, and to me, it shows what a big-hearted little boy you are.
As you turn four, let me describe what you are like. You are a bundle of energy (you always have been), and we recognise that you need to expend that physical energy every day to remain at your happiest. You enjoy trips to the park, where you love playing hide and seek, crazy golf, and where, over the past year, you have become ever braver, venturing onto climbing frames and slides that would have daunted you a year ago. You were given your first bike last Christmas, and although you've had a slow start on learning how to ride with the stabilisers on, you are now just beginning to master the pedalling motion, and are thrilled with yourself when you move along.
This time last year, you didn't really play imaginatively, relying on me and Daddy to help you make up stories with your toys, and needing someone to play with you all of the time. Now, I hear you chattering away in the midst of your train set or your Sylvanian Families toys, giving voices to the figures, and narrating scenarios. It's so lovely and funny to listen to. Your favourite toys at the moment are your wooden train set (you are now skilled at making complicated tracks and 'countries'), your Lego Duplo sets, and your various board games. Although you've always liked crafts, I never thought you'd be a child who sat and coloured pictures, but now you have the concentration to spend quite a while at the kitchen table creating lovely pictures. Your pen control has improved so much, and you are so proud when I display one of your pictures on the kitchen cupboards.
At the moment, you are such an affectionate little thing. You will often fling yourself at me, saying, 'Mummy, I love you soooo much!' and shower me with kisses. You are always ready for a hug, and love to sit on my lap, twiddling my hair when you're tired. You are much freer with your affections than you were when you turned three. I love it. I never want this to change, although I suspect it will, one day.
How will the coming year change you, my lovely little man? You will start primary school in a few weeks, and that is bound to bring some huge changes. But for the moment, I have you here with me for the summer and I'm going to enjoy your company.
So, happy birthday, my beautiful, funny, kind, crazy boy. I love you to the moon and back.
Love,
Mummy xxx
Tomorrow you will turn four.
It seems hardly possible that it has been four whole years since you made your rather fast appearance into the world, bang on your due date. Time has passed in a strange way: there have been many long days, some difficult, some filled with joy, but the years have seemed short.
As we leave behind being three, I feel like you are entering a new phase in your childhood. You are now very much a little boy, and not a toddler, and not even a pre-schooler for very many more days. When I think back over this last year, I realise just how much you have changed and grown. It has been a year of big changes for you. And I have been struck by how adaptable and positive you are.
You left the security of your lovely childminder's setting in October to begin your adventures at pre-school. You took it completely in your stride: I was half expecting a few tearful drop-offs and a bit of sulkiness when you got home, but you have been mostly enthusiastic and happy to be there.
Just after you began this new adventure, your little brother was born, and you became a big brother. I am continually proud of how you have taken this new role and become the most caring, kind and affectionate brother you could ever be. Your love for F is plain for all to see, and your gentleness towards him and adoration of him is the most wonderful thing to witness. You have never once shown any jealousy of him, even though you have had to adjust to not having my full attention like you used to. I am so proud of you for how you have coped with this, and to me, it shows what a big-hearted little boy you are.
As you turn four, let me describe what you are like. You are a bundle of energy (you always have been), and we recognise that you need to expend that physical energy every day to remain at your happiest. You enjoy trips to the park, where you love playing hide and seek, crazy golf, and where, over the past year, you have become ever braver, venturing onto climbing frames and slides that would have daunted you a year ago. You were given your first bike last Christmas, and although you've had a slow start on learning how to ride with the stabilisers on, you are now just beginning to master the pedalling motion, and are thrilled with yourself when you move along.
This time last year, you didn't really play imaginatively, relying on me and Daddy to help you make up stories with your toys, and needing someone to play with you all of the time. Now, I hear you chattering away in the midst of your train set or your Sylvanian Families toys, giving voices to the figures, and narrating scenarios. It's so lovely and funny to listen to. Your favourite toys at the moment are your wooden train set (you are now skilled at making complicated tracks and 'countries'), your Lego Duplo sets, and your various board games. Although you've always liked crafts, I never thought you'd be a child who sat and coloured pictures, but now you have the concentration to spend quite a while at the kitchen table creating lovely pictures. Your pen control has improved so much, and you are so proud when I display one of your pictures on the kitchen cupboards.
At the moment, you are such an affectionate little thing. You will often fling yourself at me, saying, 'Mummy, I love you soooo much!' and shower me with kisses. You are always ready for a hug, and love to sit on my lap, twiddling my hair when you're tired. You are much freer with your affections than you were when you turned three. I love it. I never want this to change, although I suspect it will, one day.
How will the coming year change you, my lovely little man? You will start primary school in a few weeks, and that is bound to bring some huge changes. But for the moment, I have you here with me for the summer and I'm going to enjoy your company.
So, happy birthday, my beautiful, funny, kind, crazy boy. I love you to the moon and back.
Love,
Mummy xxx
Tuesday, 19 May 2015
9 lessons learnt during the pre-school year
We are approaching the end of my big boy's days at pre-school. As one of the youngest in his year group, turning four in July, he has only been there since September, so it's a stage in his life that seems to have gone by very quickly.
Here are my nine lessons learnt by being mummy to a pre-schooler:
1. If there is a uniform, buy it. And buy more of it than you think you're going to need. You want to send your little angel out into the big wide world dressed in something half decent, but trust me, it's going to come back (even after a half-session) with green paint up the sleeves, snot on the cuffs, and yogurt spattered down the front. I wave goodbye to a dapper little chap in the morning and invariably collect a street urchin at 2.45pm.
2. That your pre-schooler will spend much of their pre-school year being poorly. No sooner do they finally get rid of that lingering snail-trail of a cold than they fall prey to another bout of the lurgy. They're mixing with a group of children with various combinations of germs, and it's inevitable that they'll spend more time poorly than well. And you will get these germs too. Wider members of your family will also join the infected. This year, I've had about three colds, one horrendous dose of the flu, and an episode of laryngitis. One particular nasty virus did the rounds of M, F, me, my mum, my sister, my nan and my mother and father in law. Stock up on Calpol for them and paracetamol for you.
3. That, even if your child is fortunate enough to escape the dreaded nits, you will spend much of your free time sitting on the floor with your child's head clamped between your knees, inspecting their scalp like a mother orang-utan.
4. You will make very many journeys home from pre-school, (hoods up against the gales and the rain) holding your child's sticky hand, pushing the pram with the other, with enough pre-school art wedged under your arm to start a new Tate Modern. It usually comes in the guise of a loo roll inner tube stuck precariously with sticky tape to an empty tissue box stuck even more precariously with sticky tape to a cereal box, all daubed in yet-to-dry paint. 'Look at my rocket, Mummy!' Then, when you get home, you have the dilemma of how long you have to keep the thing on display before moving it closer and closer towards the recycling bin and then finally judging the best moment to ditch it. 'Mummy, where's my rocket?'
5. At the beginning of the pre-school days, much like the first few weeks of a new school term when you couldn't wait to write in your pristine exercise book and use your sharp new pencils, the first few weeks of preparing lunchboxes for your child is a real novelty. Visions of lovingly prepared mini salads, wraps and sliced tropical fruits give way to the same rotation of three bog standard sarnies, yogurt, apple/banana/Satsuma and maybe a little treat like a cake or Freddo frog. Make friends with kitchen foil and sealable sandwich bags, because those mini Tupperware containers ain't coming back home! And plastic spoons are a necessity, otherwise your cutlery drawer will soon become rather bereft of teaspoons.
6. Don't stress about the Accident Book. The first couple of times that M's key worker informed me that he was wearing a wristband (theme-park style) because he had had a 'little accident' I went into a mini panic. It turns out that he stubbed his toe. One particular day, I collected him and he was sporting two accident bands (a badge of honour?) but it's never been anything more than a little bump on the head or a knock on the knee.
7. Getting out of the house and to pre-school punctually, and at the same time as the entire area's workforce, the local primary school kids, and the local secondary school kids, is a bit of a skill to master. I've learnt this year exactly how much of a time buffer I have to build in to our departure to take account of the following:
8. You will receive invitations to a LOT of birthday parties of children you don't know. You're not even sure whether your child knows the birthday boy/girl. I've tested M by asking him if he knows certain kids in his pre-school, and then by making up names. He always says that he knows the made-up child. You begin to realise that it doesn't matter whose party it is; as far as your little one is concerned, there's a bouncy castle, and sausages on sticks and fairy cakes, so who cares? The time then comes for your own child's party and you feel the temptation to do something different to the tried and tested party in the sports centre with the bouncy castle and the sausages and the cakes, but come to the realisation that it's a popular format for a reason. Chiefly, that (a) it's not in your house, and (b) you don't have to supervise pass the parcel for 30 four year olds.
9. But all of this comes with some good parts. As well as a bit of a break from the constant Lego, trips to the park, and at-home crafting sessions, you will also get to see that look of absolute adoration when you arrive to collect your grubby, yogurt-spattered, wristband-wearing, paint-daubed cherub, and feel your heart swell as they squeal, 'It's MY Mummy!!! Can you carry this rocket, Mummy?'
Here are my nine lessons learnt by being mummy to a pre-schooler:
1. If there is a uniform, buy it. And buy more of it than you think you're going to need. You want to send your little angel out into the big wide world dressed in something half decent, but trust me, it's going to come back (even after a half-session) with green paint up the sleeves, snot on the cuffs, and yogurt spattered down the front. I wave goodbye to a dapper little chap in the morning and invariably collect a street urchin at 2.45pm.
2. That your pre-schooler will spend much of their pre-school year being poorly. No sooner do they finally get rid of that lingering snail-trail of a cold than they fall prey to another bout of the lurgy. They're mixing with a group of children with various combinations of germs, and it's inevitable that they'll spend more time poorly than well. And you will get these germs too. Wider members of your family will also join the infected. This year, I've had about three colds, one horrendous dose of the flu, and an episode of laryngitis. One particular nasty virus did the rounds of M, F, me, my mum, my sister, my nan and my mother and father in law. Stock up on Calpol for them and paracetamol for you.
3. That, even if your child is fortunate enough to escape the dreaded nits, you will spend much of your free time sitting on the floor with your child's head clamped between your knees, inspecting their scalp like a mother orang-utan.
4. You will make very many journeys home from pre-school, (hoods up against the gales and the rain) holding your child's sticky hand, pushing the pram with the other, with enough pre-school art wedged under your arm to start a new Tate Modern. It usually comes in the guise of a loo roll inner tube stuck precariously with sticky tape to an empty tissue box stuck even more precariously with sticky tape to a cereal box, all daubed in yet-to-dry paint. 'Look at my rocket, Mummy!' Then, when you get home, you have the dilemma of how long you have to keep the thing on display before moving it closer and closer towards the recycling bin and then finally judging the best moment to ditch it. 'Mummy, where's my rocket?'
5. At the beginning of the pre-school days, much like the first few weeks of a new school term when you couldn't wait to write in your pristine exercise book and use your sharp new pencils, the first few weeks of preparing lunchboxes for your child is a real novelty. Visions of lovingly prepared mini salads, wraps and sliced tropical fruits give way to the same rotation of three bog standard sarnies, yogurt, apple/banana/Satsuma and maybe a little treat like a cake or Freddo frog. Make friends with kitchen foil and sealable sandwich bags, because those mini Tupperware containers ain't coming back home! And plastic spoons are a necessity, otherwise your cutlery drawer will soon become rather bereft of teaspoons.
6. Don't stress about the Accident Book. The first couple of times that M's key worker informed me that he was wearing a wristband (theme-park style) because he had had a 'little accident' I went into a mini panic. It turns out that he stubbed his toe. One particular day, I collected him and he was sporting two accident bands (a badge of honour?) but it's never been anything more than a little bump on the head or a knock on the knee.
7. Getting out of the house and to pre-school punctually, and at the same time as the entire area's workforce, the local primary school kids, and the local secondary school kids, is a bit of a skill to master. I've learnt this year exactly how much of a time buffer I have to build in to our departure to take account of the following:
- a point-blank refusal to get dressed/brush his teeth/get in the car
- a little brother nappy explosion
- getting stuck behind the school bus
- being unable to park within a mile of pre-school
- a last-minute breastfeed for little brother
8. You will receive invitations to a LOT of birthday parties of children you don't know. You're not even sure whether your child knows the birthday boy/girl. I've tested M by asking him if he knows certain kids in his pre-school, and then by making up names. He always says that he knows the made-up child. You begin to realise that it doesn't matter whose party it is; as far as your little one is concerned, there's a bouncy castle, and sausages on sticks and fairy cakes, so who cares? The time then comes for your own child's party and you feel the temptation to do something different to the tried and tested party in the sports centre with the bouncy castle and the sausages and the cakes, but come to the realisation that it's a popular format for a reason. Chiefly, that (a) it's not in your house, and (b) you don't have to supervise pass the parcel for 30 four year olds.
9. But all of this comes with some good parts. As well as a bit of a break from the constant Lego, trips to the park, and at-home crafting sessions, you will also get to see that look of absolute adoration when you arrive to collect your grubby, yogurt-spattered, wristband-wearing, paint-daubed cherub, and feel your heart swell as they squeal, 'It's MY Mummy!!! Can you carry this rocket, Mummy?'
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