Stamps foot

Dot writes: I was writing a post to explain where we are (Norfolk) and what we are up to (trying to make Hugh eat something) but I’m typing one handed with Frank on my knee and somehow I accidentally deleted the whole thing. So I’m giving up in disgust for the present. See you soon.

Testing

Dot writes: am I the only parent who gets desperately nervous before developmental tests? I know they’re meant as a help – an opportunity to pick up any problems so the nice HSE people can say “we see your child would benefit from the early intervention programme, but we’ve just cut the funding” – but I’m afraid the signal they send to me is EXAM! EXAM! And it’s really important to pass exams, or preferably to come top in them (I was swotty at school), so I get really nervous and I try not to communicate my nervousness but at the same time secretly coach Hugh (and soon Frank, no doubt) by brightly exclaiming “look at the RED car!” when I see a red car and making him name his body parts and taking every opportunity to count things and… you get the picture. But he still did ok, which shows what fundamental strength of character he has. Even though his test this morning was scheduled just before nap time and then delayed, he cooperated quite nicely in attaching names to pictures and his speech was pronounced to be satisfactory for his age. He was also weighed and measured and is in the 75th percentile for both height and weight. I am pleased about this as I always worry that he is a little on the fat side; but evidently not, and hurrah for that. He didn’t get an opportunity to show off exotic words like “concrete” and “bulldozer” but never mind. There isn’t actually a bursary hanging on this.

Photos

Failed passport photo attempt

Frank wonders what the point is

Frank and his pet ghost

Janus child

Dot writes: yesterday was awful, awful, awful. Hugh woke at 5.25 (not wet, no apparent reason) and was in a foul mood all day; every possible activity was served with a lavish garnish of crying, moaning and whinging. For example: he came in from a walk, played with a toy aeroplane for five seconds apparently cheerfully, and then cast himself down on the floor kicking and shouting. It was something to do with the toy box – no, he didn’t want the toy box – no, he did want it, bad mummy – no, he wanted milk! MILK! So I refused the milk because tantrums aren’t the way to get what you want and being kicked doesn’t make me feel very generous, but on the other hand the tantrum wasn’t about milk, so maybe I was being horrible – how could I possibly get this right? I got so desperate in the afternoon I handed the boy to his father and escaped with Frank to Blackrock, where I bought Secrets of the Baby Whisperer for Toddlers. I now know that I must be sensitive to my child’s particular personality, allow him to explore and grow, and not crowd him when he is playing. Which will solve everything. Actually, I think the advice in the book is mostly good and it could help us be more authoritative and consistent; we are better at hugs than rules, on the whole. I still have no idea what that tantrum was about, though.

Today he woke at 6.25 and everything is so much better. We have been to the park in the rain, eaten a good snack of apple and toast and achieved the all-important nap, and now I am typing with Frank on my lap and Hugh asleep in the kitchen. (In the buggy, not the sink or anything.) Hugh walked part of the way to the park and was very good about holding my hand and not running off, and he had his toast neatly at the table instead of wandering about with it. Today I am enjoying his cute-little-boyness instead of wanting to swap him for cinema tickets.

Hugh and Ken were sharing a shower this morning (it’s a routine that works for us) when Ken realised he had no towel. From downstairs I heard the call of “Dot! Dot!” And then a little voice joined in: “Dot! Dot!” I don’t really like it when children call their parents by their first names, but on the other hand it’s very cute indeed the way Hugh wants to be just like his daddy…

Then in the park I let Hugh play on the wet playground equipment – all by himself, because no other families had braved the elements – and I was hovering near him and chatting to him because I was a bit worried he would slip over. But he started to wave me away and, when I didn’t immediately get the idea, he said “shoo”. Clearly I was crowding him. Perhaps he has been reading The Baby Whisperer too.

This little piggy…

…had lots and lots and lots of milk, and thought YUM.

Paradox

Ken writes:

If God does not exist, then it’s not the case that if I pray my prayers will be answered. I do not pray. Therefore God exists.

I came across this today in discussion of the paradoxes of material implication. The interpretation of the conditional ‘if I pray, my prayers will be answered’ is at issue. Is it equivalent to ‘either I won’t pray or my prayers will be answered’ or is there a more intimately conditional meaning? If the conditional is treated strictly conservatively and in accordance with classical logic, then the argument is valid. So the soundness turns on whether the premise is true. It looks plausible though, doesn’t it?

Dot wonders…

…how people with full-time jobs are supposed to keep up with all the admin needed to hang on to daily life? I sometimes feel it’s a day’s work just to be an adult, own a car and live in a house, even before you get round to cleaning it or cooking dinner. In the last couple of weeks we have: imported the car (two trips, two hours each); insured the car; taxed the car; changed Ken’s license (two trips); got a new battery for the car; insured the house contents; and for the second time made a special trip to get a form stamped to confirm to the Child Benefit people that I do indeed have a job in Ireland. This week we have the car’s NCT, Frank’s two months immunization, registering the family with a new doctor, and Hugh’s developmental test. If I were actually at work at the moment I’d be taking at least three half-days off. Here’s an idea to solve youth unemployment: why not assign each family a footloose eighteen-year-old to do all this tedious running about and waiting on hold to call centres? It would teach them responsibility and probably increase vocations to a life of celibate poverty to boot. I hear the religious orders have some recruitment problems at present.

Enormobabe

Dot says: babies are supposed, as a rough guideline, to double their weight by six months. Frank has almost managed it at eight weeks: 13lb 8.5oz / 6.125kg today (adjusted to allow for nappy etc). I remember worrying a bit when Hugh had the same massive weight gain and being reassured that he would slim down when he was a toddler. Well, he isn’t a sofa-bound blob exactly, but he packs a fair punch when running at one’s knees from behind. Anybody involved in midget rugby, you know who to call.

Sir Hugh and the Field of the Burning Fowl

Dot writes:

[A mother (for example, the mother of two small boys when her husband is away) scales vast mountains and deep canyons of emotion, solves problems of fiendish complexity, and draws on profound wells of courage, endurance and baby-wipes. But somehow, when she tries to tell people the details of her intense, absorbing experiences, they come out oddly boring. So I am going to recount the events of Wednesday in a language that does them justice: the language of Adventure. There will be occasional translations and annotations in Boring for the literal-minded.]

Part One

The knights, Sir Hugh and Sir Frank, had feasted richly [had breakfast] in Castle Home and the minstrels’ song [the morning dose of Bob the Builder] was drawing to a close.

“It is time for a quest,” said the wizard Gandot [Dot, of course]. “We must journey to Castle Library and seek the books of wisdom, which in Sir Hugh’s case tend to concern diggers. Let us mount the steed Buggy.”

So they mounted the steed Buggy and journeyed to Castle Library. Sir Frank fell asleep, for this was not his quest.

At Castle Library Sir Hugh quickly saw a Book of Wisdom concerning diggers. But, alas! it was already in the possession of another knight [the other little boy was a bit older and, as is the way with children who've outgrown that kind of behaviour, seemed wholly nonplussed by Hugh's mini-tantrum]. Sir Hugh, overcome by rage, couched his lance and prepared to do battle. Gandot had to restrain him lest he forfeit his honour as a knight and fail in the quest. Fortunately she spotted another Book of Wisdom also concerning diggers and Sir Hugh’s terrible rage subsided. But then, most treacherously, Sir Hugh was attacked from in front by a beanbag and a wooden box and was grievously wounded. [He tripped over, slammed into the edge of the box, and got a cut and a humdinger of a black eye]. Gandot had to apply wizard salves [cuddles - couldn't put on a plaster because of where the cut was]. But Sir Hugh had triumphed in his quest. He left Castle Library with four Books of Wisdom, including one about trains that he grabbed at the last minute and that’s definitely too old for him.

Sir Hugh and his wound

Part Two

“It is now time for another quest,” said Gandot. “We must seek out the House of Succour, north of the Sea of Liffey and beside the Field of the Burning Fowl [we'd been invited to visit the lady who's doing my teaching while I'm on leave; she happens to be the wife of my head of department, and they live near Phoenix Park on the northside]. It is a long and arduous journey and we may get lost. This is my quest,” she added magnanimously, for Sir Hugh and Sir Frank were both overcome by weariness. Gandot strapped the sleeping knights to the great steed Scenic and set out. Fortune smiled on their journey and they did not get lost, negotiating the high passes of the North Circular Road with surprising swiftness. At the House of Succour Sir Frank awoke and undertook a quest for boob. The Lady of Succour feasted Gandot and Sir Hugh upon fish pie and chelsea buns, and then she led them all to the Field of the Burning Fowl where Sir Hugh jousted nobly [there's a great playground in Phoenix Park] and Gandot and the Lady conversed with courtesy and delight. Sir Frank repeated his quest for boob. As Gandot and the knights made ready to depart the Lady loaded them with fair gifts [lentil soup, bread, jam and a couple more chelsea buns, all homemade]. Then Gandot turned the great steed Scenic towards Castle Home, little knowing that this was to be the hardest part of the quest [though I should have seen it coming as it was rush hour].

Part Three

This time fortune did not smile on the journey. Dark had fallen; lashed by winter’s sleet and battered in the howling winds, Gandot and her knights fought their way across the northern wastes [it was raining]. The Glue Trolls [traffic jams] were out, sucking and dragging at their steed’s feet, and when Gandot tried to leave the North Circular Road for a different path the Misdirection Wraiths sent her straight back onto it. They were heading for the toll bridge! And she could not find her gold! For a moment Gandot panicked, thinking she had left her gold at the House of Succour, but then she remembered it was in the pocket of her coat. [So I stopped and got it out of the car boot.] So slow was the steed’s movement that Gandot was able to consult her map and find a road that crossed the Sea of Liffey by the Custom House, but that too was infested by Glue Trolls and she resigned herself to the toll. At least it meant avoiding the dreadful troll-haunts of Ballsbridge. But the toll-route too was full of trolls, and so was Strand Road in Sandymount, and the great steed itself seemed almost to be turning to stone under their influence. Sir Hugh’s courage was failing; he began to weep, and then he succumbed to his exhaustion [it was actually rather a good thing both boys were now asleep]. Gandot struggled on alone but she too was faltering, and wishing she had not left all the food in the saddle-bags. But inch by inch she battled against the trolls, and inch by inch they yielded, and finally, battered, starved and aching she reached Castle Home once more.

[It took over two hours to drive from Phoenix Park to Dalkey. Two hours! My clutch knee still hurts just thinking about it.]

Even then their travails were not over. Sir Hugh awoke under the influence of a pernicious enchantment that caused him to wail, grizzle and insist on sitting on Gandot’s knee, just as Sir Frank also awoke and began an extremely urgent quest for boob; weakened as she was by hunger, Gandot could scarcely summon her wizard powers. With her final ounce of strength she provided a cereal bar for Sir Hugh and some chopped pear which was also meant for Hugh but which she ended up eating herself. The elder knight was persuaded to settle for snuggling against Gandot’s side while the younger completed his quest. And, slowly, they all regained their strength.

[And after a bit I finally got to eat some of that bread and it was absolutely yummy.]

Boy seeks Dad

Dot writes: Ken has been away since first thing yesterday and isn’t back until tomorrow afternoon. Hugh has been taking it surprisingly well considering the passionate attachment he has been showing towards his father ever since Mum got taken over by that boring baby. He does seem to understand that Ken is not around and didn’t try to go into the bedroom to him as normal when he got up this morning. But just now he reached his limit. He lay down on the floor and began a chant of “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.” Poor little thing. He is now recovering with the aid of an alternative male role model – Bob the Builder.