*Coughsplutter* Foils Travel to Barcelona

Maia has a cold and a bit of a chest infection. As she is coughing and hacking like someone with a 50-a-day habit, I took her to the doctor yesterday evening. He told me what I already knew - that it was Not a Good Idea to take her on a plane. So, we are no longer going to Barcelona to see Pat for his birthday. However, as of this morning, he is booked on a flight to come over here for the weekend instead.

It has really brought home to me how free from artifice kids are - she is feeling rubbish and there is no hiding it. When she feels grotty, she grizzles and grumbles and groans. The flip side is, of course, that when she is grot (and snot) free, she is sunny and happy.

So, I have got a prescription to deal with the snottiness, and a Saturday afternoon painting session which may deal with the grottiness.

Might not have Spanish sunshine this weekend, but we will try and ensure a sunnier Maia.

Bounce Bounce Bounce Bounce

Maia has discovered jumping and bouncing.

An example:

bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce "Look Mummy, look" bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce "No, LOOK Mummy, look" bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce

"Wow, good bouncing Maia. Would you like to do some dancing?"

"Yes."

music starts....

bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce

Adventures with Daddy: What Colour is a Lesson?

Well the easy answer, for those of you who don’t know, is quite simple. It’s blue.

Having spent the weekend with Maia sans Erica, I now have a greater appreciation for the power of children's poetry and for biltong.

Maia's love of poetry meant that the car drive of over an hour to see her great Uncle Douglas, (GREAT) Aunt Hilary and cousin Harry, was an example of how good her attention span has become. She sat in her car seat and quietly absorbed the various poems, while her father listened in abject horror as a little girl who told lies was burnt in a house fire and one little boy who wandered away got noshed by a lion. One of the poems was about a little girl on her first day at school, wondering what colour a lesson is and whether a teacher is someone who brings the tea...(there is a connection).

Harry (who is an outstanding junior tennis player) was playing in the club final at Wentworth and we tagged along to watch. Maia and I calmly undid all the good work of Erica and Heather by drinking Ribena and eating blueberry Muffins there might have been some chocolate as well. After the game, which Harry won to nil, Maia decided that she wanted to play tennis. Thoughts of Wimbledon and fame and fortune as her coach wafted lazily through my head as I chased her round and round one of the courts. I then tried to get her to play catch. (Note to self...this needs a LOT more work before fame and fortune).

And then home...more poetry and biltong (mentioned earlier). Biltong is dried meat from South Africa - it's dried to an ancient recipe, handed down, some say, by the god Zeus - or not. It is an aquired taste and one which Maia has aquired...if you listen carefully, you might be able to hear ancestors on my South African side cheering quietly. So, the journey home was poetry and biltong - and a moment shared in silence (broken up by jaws masticating biltong) between Maia and myself that I will cherish for as long as I live.

When we got home I prepped dinner and just as I was about to hand Maia her food she asked

"Daddy...what colour is a lesson?"

I spent five minutes patiently explaining what a lesson was. This was met with a perplexed expression. She asked me again.

"Daddy...what colour is a lesson?"

The answer is simple....it's blue.

Going Potty

Maia Miss M is out of nappies during the day, and into Big Girl's Pants. In fact, Big Girl's Pants is not an exaggeration - she is so little that the very smallest ones we can find are a bit baggy on her.

We have a potty song that must be sung (at top volume) while she sits down and it goes like this:
(to the tune of Glory Glory Hallelulah)

Maia's sitting on the potty
Maia's sitting on the potty
Maia's sitting on the potty,
and she's going to do a pee or a poo!

It is getting to the stage where she nigh-on refuses to perform without her choral accompaniment.

Guess she will be fine if she ever lives in a house with no lock on the loo door!

Flights of Fancy Cheese

Last night I was making a salad when Maia started chatting away about Cinderella. I started to listen more closely and discovered that she thought I was putting Cinderella in the salad.

Worried that her imagination had taken a rather Grimm turn, I explained that I was using tomato, onion, olives, basil and mozzarella. No mistreated young princesses in MY salad.

It was only after I passed her a selection of the salad ingredients did I discover that mozzarella is mozzerella no more. It is, of course, Cinderella.