Monsieur ‘Crobe and I are on our own for the next 7 days, as daddy has gone away on a jet plane. I’ve started as I mean to go on and eaten a takeaway and Laughing Cow triangles for my dinner (culinary standards are not very well maintained when G’s away).
The boylet had seconds at nursery today. This is unheard of for my anorexic gnat. Last weekend I took him to a children’s party and watched him eat a single raisin in 5 separate interminable mouthfuls (I kid you not) while the other children polished off cheese & jam sandwiches, crudités, a whole box of raisins and whatever else was in their lunch bags.
When he does deign to eat, he reserves his appetite for foods consisting of 50/50 butter and sugar. Our breakfast scoring system goes something like this…
Toast & jam?
Belgian waffles with syrup?
Animal-shaped shortbread biscuits?
Pancakes with Nutella?
Our survey says: Ding!
Pancakes with anything other than nutella?
Anything remotely wholesome?
Our survey says: Uh-Urrrrrgh!
Our survey says: Yes please (but only on 3 random days per year, which you will have to guess)
Lately I’ve discovered the trick of delivering cheese on toast via the medium of animal-shaped cookie cutters. I suspect this novelty will have a very short lifespan but it’s been doing sterling work for me this week. The only down side is my hog-like compulsion to hoover up the perimeter of cheesy toast myself before eating my own dinner.
In other news, the boy is on a new regime at home this week. Firstly we’ve started giving him goat’s milk before bed to see if it reduces his night time congestion. I think it is helping and he seems very excited by the picture of a goat on the carton, so it’s win win, really.
Secondly we’ve started the onerous process of training him to go back to his own bed when he stealths his way into our room in the small hours. This is the sort of thing that only works if you do it with zero tolerance, so one of us has to get up and re-settle him every time he appears. The deal is – if he sleeps in his own bed all night he gets a sticker. And after 5 stickers he will get a little reward.
We’re 5 days in so far and he’s achieved 4 stickers. The first night was dreadful – he cried for ages, but did at least get a sticker. The next three nights he tried his luck at some point each night but I took him straight back to his own bed and then he slept there for the rest of the night. Last night, alas, was a bit of a regression, with several night-time visits and lengthy boo-hoos and arguments about being sent back to bed. Yawnarama for me and no sticker for microbe. Am keeping fingers crossed for tonight… but I fully expect the matching luggage under my eyes to grow in scale over the course of the coming week
In other news, the boy has developed a profound love of warthogs, mainly thanks to The Lion King and 64 Zoo Lane. (If only he would sleep in his bed for 5 days in a row, he would experience the joy of being given a small plastic warthog of his very own!) In the meantime he has to content himself with stirring declarations like “Mummy, I love warthogs!” and “Mummy, I am adorable, just like a warthog!“.
He also desperately wants a piggy bank. I don’t think he has any idea what a piggy bank is for – but at least two of his picture books show children’s bedrooms with piggy banks in them, so I’ve promised him one for his birthday. (I wonder how quickly it will become a relic of a bygone age… will coins still exist in a few years time?)
He had his first introduction to the concept of money last weekend when G gave him a pair of 50p coins in order to buy a souvenir from the steam museum at Kew Bridge. (Yes, dear reader, it’s Fogeys-R-Us in the Microbe residence. Do you remember the days when you could get a museum souvenir for a pound?)
Anyway the museum was full of gigantic steam engines and water-gadgets and levers, so what souvenir do you imagine the boylet chose? A train? An engine? Something steam-related? Of course not. He chose a toy cat. I was a little bit disparaging about this choice but, in retrospect, I can see that it is very cute. The Microbe has named her “baby Harriet” and he likes to cuddle her in bed and tell the glorious anecdote about how he paid for her with his coins.
Well – I might as well shuffle off now as I don’t think my eyes will remain open much longer (total fogeyville) but I shall leave with a few pics from our museum day… which reminds me that I probably need to get us both shorn this weekend. x