Word Meld

Video

DVD

or as Maia calls anything that makes pictures on the TV...'Diveo'

Naughty Cat!

It is vile weather in Sheffield. Noonah was coming into the house from the office, and encountered Scotty, mewling pathetically just outside the catflap. He was a Very Wet Cat. Once she opened the door, she saw the reason. Beckett was sat, growling, just inside the door and pouncing on any cat who had the temerity to try and enter.

Noonah came upstairs and laughingly told Maia and I this story.

Maia sighed, and went through to the kitchen. From there we heard

"Scotty, come here please. Beckett, I want you to say sorry. You are a very naughty cat."

When she came back into the living room, I asked if Beckett had said sorry. She turned to me with a comically profound look of disappointment on her face and said

"No. He is a Very Naughty Cat."

Just Like Daddy

Noonah came into the loo this morning to find that Maia had peed all over the floor.

"Agggh! Maia! What happened here?"

She looked up, sheepish, and said

"I was trying to pee like Daddy. But I can't."

There then followed a discussion about how boys, like Daddy, can pee standing up, while girls, like Maia, have to sit down.

When I came downstairs a little while after the incident, Maia told me all about it. Then she proceeded to list all the boys she knew who could pee standing up - Daddy, Alec, Papi - and then all the girls she knew who had to sit down - Mummy, Noonah, Hannah. I got the impression that she thought it would be much more fun to stand.

Wait till she hears about writing names in the snow...

Christmas Tinkerbella

Father Christmas is amazing. How could he have possibly known that Maia needed a Tinkerbell costume? And yet, there it was, on her bed when she woke up on Christmas morning.

She whipped off her pjs and wiggled into the green and pink and glittery and furry dress (neglecting/refusing to put on any knicker-knacks) and proceeded to twinkle around for the whole day.

The beer and mince pies left out for Father Christmas had gone. The carrots and water left out for the reindeers had been eaten, and the reindeers had even left us a -ahem- 'souvenir' (crafted out of flour, coffee beans and glitter) on the grass.

Presents were opened about 12.30, which was pretty restrained. Highlights for Miss Maia were a puppet theatre complete with hand and finger puppets from Mummy, Daddy, Noonah and Papi, a complete (as in totally blows George's out of the water) pirate kit from the Holls and a face painting kit from HelenInAustralia. The afternoon was spent as a puppeteering, face-painted, pirate-hatted Tinkerbell. Which, if you ask me, is a pretty good way to spend Christmas.

So Young, Yet So Wise

Maia clambered into Noonah's bed in the morning, and demanded a story. Noonah, tired as she was, started telling her a story (which is quite a cunning device to have a half-brain snooze...)

She was happily spinning a tale about Rory Purple McBarry (a dragon) and Princess Pink Maia (guess who), when Maia decided it was her turn to contribute. So here it is:

Romance, According To Maia.

Princess Pink Maia lived in a tower. The Handsome Prince climbed up the walls of the tower and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Princess Pink Maia woke up, and kissed her Handsome Prince. And he turned into a frog.

The End.

Now, how much time and heartache would we save the women of the world if that was the version we read when we were young?

For Every Barbie Moment...

Maia and George were playing. George was SpiderMan and Maia was Tinkerbell. After a while of calling SpiderMan in to help with a situation (puppy in peril, mostly), Maia got bored.

She decided that fluttering around being a fairy was not the most fulfilling career a girl of her talents could aim for.

So she got herself a sword and went to rescue the puppy herself. She was still TinkerBell, but this time, she was a Different Tinkerbell, as she explained patiently to George. One with a sword.

That's My Gal...

Erm...Not QuiteThe Christmas Story

Maia has a somewhat confused grasp on the concept and purpose of Christmas. I don't think the fact that her first nativity play is called Humph the Camel has helped tremendously. It is about the camels that took the Three Kings to see Baby Jesus.

While I am sure it is a great relief for the teachers to do something a little different with the kids at the nursery, it ain't great for explaining about Christmas to a three year old. So far, she thinks it is about camels, Father Christmas, HER birthday and presents. For her, naturally.

I am also a bit wary about telling her the whole Christian thang, given that I am a non-believer. I would feel duty-bound to tell her all the other stories from all the other religions, so she might be able to make up her mind if she fancied Getting Religion sometime in the future.

And we already have enough confusing stories at bedtime, thank you.

The newest one is called Melrose and Croc. In it, a lonely yellow labrador called Melrose hooks up with a small green crocodile (called Croc) at Christmas, somewhere snowy with palm trees. Croc is new to town, while Melrose has just moved in to a fabulous des-res on the shorefront. They don't know each other at all at the beginning and are all set for a truely rubbish Christmas all alone, then they bump into each other at the ice rink, go for tea, move in together and get presents from Father Christmas. All on the same day. Thank God they didn't meet on Clapham Common - for then the whole thing takes on a whole new level of meaning and becomes a rather different story. (Although does it? How come Jesus doesn't have any FEMALE apostles? I'm just sayin'....)

Also, I am pretty sure you can't mention the Jesus story without the Immaculate Conception bit, which is tricky, as we have yet to tackle Maculate Conception. See also the God bit, the Church bit and the Father-Son-and-Holy-Ghost bit (seriously, are they trying to be scary?).

Top of the league is the Coming Back From the Dead bit. This is particularly tricky, as Manky Cat is still at the bottom of the garden and I don't want to give the kid nightmares...or ideas.

So we will have to muddle through with a blend of camels, consumerism and fudging the issues. Merry Christmas!

School Report

Well, there you have it. I quite like Mrs Hunt again. We went to our very first Parent-Teacher event at Collegiate Montessori, to be told that Maia is lovely and sociable and bright and well behaved and wonderful.

Well, we knew that anyway, of course (and so did you, I am sure) but I had a twinge of wariness given Mrs Hunt's propensity for being disappointed in ME when my child behaves like a normal three-year-old. With terrible aim.

Anyway, Maia can recognise her shapes, count to 5 (I was thinking 5?? She can go to 20 and you are happy with FIVE???) and knows all her colours, apart from brown (which is fair enough, really, it is not pretty). She is well behaved, knows the rules and regulations of the school and happily does what the teachers ask her to do.

We are supplementing her reading lessons at home in a way that gained enthusiastic approval from Mrs Hunt.

Oh, and Maia is is excellent at Music. So much so that she is a star in the Christmas play.

Excusez-moi while I go and purchase a Volvo 4x4 and explode with my own smugness.

A Lesson in Retaliation Without Retribution

Maia lost her sticker yesterday. She had earned it by singing really well in the music lesson, but was stripped of it by Mrs Hunt when she...erm... kicked George.

Now, I didn't pick Maia up yesterday, Noonah did. And she rushed in, scooped her up and rushed out again - leaving scant time for Mrs Hunt to deliver the Telling Off that I am sure was due.

The full story of the incident emerged this morning. According to Maia, George kicked her...so she kicked back.

Herein lies the problem.

Some form of retaliation is appropriate. I do not want to make her into a child that blithely accepts being kicked. Or the kind of kid that runs to a teacher everytime someone does something to her. However, I need to teach her to be a bit sneakier.

I think we will work on getting her to say in a very loud voice

"NO! Kicking/Poking with Cutlery/Snatching is NOT NICE. Do not do that to me again, please."

That way we can stop her being kicked, alert any adults (*coughMrsHuntcough*) that someone has kicked her, and best of all, pass the tag of Tyke Troublemaker onto to someone else.

Ha!

The Girl Still Got Curls

OK. I know I promised pics of The Haircut. But I was a bit depressed, as I thought her curls had gone forever. We had layers cut in to the top and I thought that would make the curls bounce up.

But it hasn't, really.

Until this morning. For some reason, the Curls have returned.

Now you can can have a picture...

Told Off AGAIN!

Consider my wrists well and truly slapped.

I went to pick up Maia early yesterday (read, on time) and was pretty pleased with myself. Until Mrs Hunt spotted me, and approached with A Look on her face.

'We've had a little problem with Maia this lunchtime'.

'OK.'

'She was being a bit silly, and poked at another child's face with her cutlery.'

'Oh God. Was anyone hurt?' I said.

'No. She didn't actually get them in the face. But she got pretty close.'

'OK.' I was a bit puzzled...Should I be concerned about her aim, or her intent? Somehow, I don't think I was displaying the appropriate level of concern.

Nearly poking someone in the face is not a good thing to do. Not saying it is. I am sure Debrett's has a section devoted to Things Not To Do with Cutlery that includes a No Poking rule.

But she is three. At three, kids do this kind of thing. I hope she was told off, put on the Time Out Chair and told never to do that sort of thing again. I even hope she missed pudding (that way she will REALLY remember.)

Maybe I have a misunderstanding of what 'In Loco Parentis' means. I am happy for the school to discipline Maia. That is partly what I pay them for - to socialise her to a new set of rules, give her the social skills to conform to a group norm etc etc. I also like to hear what she gets up to during the day.

I just don't want to be told off for it.

The Incident Report - Supplementary Information and Conclusions.

Now it seems that Maia did poke at someone with her cutlery. George. Whose OWN Mother admits he regularly waves his cutlery around. Ha!

The Incident, as I see it.

George was waving cutlery.
George got Kassy in the head whilst waving cutlery.
Maia retaliated, on Kassy's behalf, by getting George in the head with HER cutlery.
Maia gets caught.
Maia gets told off.
I get told off!

In fact, if you look at it this way it is all because Maia was standing up for Kassy.

Therefore, ergo

Maia = SuperHero, Defender of Others, NOT Maia = Thug

therefore, ergo

I = SuperHero's Mum, NOT Mother of cutlery wielding Thuglet.

Hurrah!

Rock, Paper, Scissors...

I have taught Maia to play Rock, Paper, Scissors. She is pretty good, having a decent dash of sense and a long attention span. She also has a pretty strong desire to win.

We were playing in the car (verbally...'one two three ROCK!') and had a few good goes. The good thing about playing RPS with kids is that it is down to chance whether they win or not - you, as the adult, can't really throw a game. Which is good for teaching the huge bundle of ego that is a 3 year old that they can't always win.

Maia had won a few, lost a few, when we had this exchange.

'One two three...PAPER' I shouted.

Maia was quiet.

'Don't you want to play anymore, Maia?'

'Yes. I was thinking.'

'Ok, ready? one two three...'

'CAR!' she shouted, very pleased with herself, safe in the knowledge that car beats everything.

I tried to reason that Car might not beat Scissors, as they might be able to cut the tyres. Or that Rock might be able to bash it up. She was having none of it.

So there we have it. She has turned the game of Rock, Paper, Scissors into a game she can always win. The Ego has landed.

Hair Today...

We are going to get Maia's hair cut this afternoon. Following her last few hair disasters (all my fault, I admit) we are going to a Proper Hair Dressers. It may cost more initally than me wielding kitchen shears, but it will save a fortune in hats. Especially since the type of hats that cover a wonky fringe are few and far between.

Will post pics after.

On Sharing Special Things

I was downstairs, taking a leaf out of Noonah's book, pottering. Maia was upstairs, quietly playing in her room. Or so I thought. After a sustained period of peace and quiet, I knew something was up.

'Maia, sweet-pea, whatcha doing?' I called up the stairs.

'Sharing'

'Sharing what?'

'I am in here, sharing your special things'

I took the stairs, two at a time, to find her bedecked in bracelets and necklaces, filling one of my evening bags with booty.

I gently removed the Tiffany necklace (she wasn't too bothered - it is a bit subtle for a three year old magpie) and let her keep the rest.

She spent the next hour or so, naked, bejewelled, running around the kitchen, singing Zippedy-Doo-Dah.

Certainly ain't boring, that kid.

Chinese Wonders

Maia LOVES getting packages. Especially packages that contain wonderful things from all the way across the world.

Papi was in China for a buyer's trip for Kelly's and picked up a couple of things for Miss Maia while there.

First to emerge from the (very efficiently unwrapped) parcel was a cheong-sam dress in bright red silk, embroidered with dragons and peacocks. She immediately whipped off her PJs to put it on (Later, we only just managed to extract her from it to get her to school). A matching pillow case confused her slightly, but once it is put around a pillow I am sure she will get the point.

Her last, but by no means least, was a big box. I had hidden it under the table with the intention of saving it, and letting her open it after school. However, her keen sense for unopened presents meant she knew exactly where it was and as soon as she knew it was for her, she was desperate to open it up. Seeing as she asked nicely, we decided to open it there and then.

A great big eagle kite was the result, and she loved it. We are going to hang it from her ceiling, where it will fit brilliantly with the jungle theme. Then, when the wind is up and the rain is gone, we will go fly.

Xie xie, Papi.

More of Maia's Words

The newest is rader dader. Pronounced 'ray-der day-der' with a long A. For those of you not blessed with a Universal Translater, this is what Maia calls an iron. Similar, and yet distinct from the rater sater, a much more colourful way of saying blood pressure monitor.

You can't blame the kid, really... Having never seen anyone in the family flattening clothes with a hot triangle, she can be forgiven for being unfamiliar with the word.

It is a good thing she was not born twins. They would probably have a whole language by now.

We Learn That Kite Flying In The Rain Is Not Fun

Following our No Wind Sunday, we decided to try and lift a kite yesterday afternoon. It was certainly windy enough, and only a little bit damp.

When we got to the park, a soft, misty rain stated coming down. We walked on, about 50 yards into the park, and the rain started coming down in earnest. Maia looked up at me, and it was fair to say her enthusiasm for the whole affair was somewhat muted.

We promptly scooped her up, and headed home.

Once there, armed with cups of hot milk and tea, we decided that Kite Flying In The Rain Is Not Fun. But being toasty warm, and watching CBeebies while it rained outside was. So we did that instead.

On The Dangers of Lies

We went to Sunday lunch at Strines Inn, after a lovely drive into the countryside. Maia was hungry, and to distract her from the wait, we began telling her outrageous lies about where the food came from.

We described how sausages came from the sausage tree, and how the cook had to go and pull them off the tree REALLY HARD, because the tree didn't like giving them up. We told her about the bean melon, which you have to hit with a mallet and split open before you can scoop out the baked beans. And about the chip mining in Norfolk.

This whiled away the time well, and in due course our dinners arrived and she tucked in.

After lunch we wanted to go fly the new rainbow kite that Peter and Linda bought her, but there was no wind at all. So we went to Meersbrook Park instead.

We decided to take a walk to the Walled Garden, through some woods. Maia got a bit upset while we were in the woods, insisting that there were Bears. We went and had a look in the couple of places that she thought might contain Bears and reassured her that Bears stay out of Meersbrook Park, By Order of the Park Keeper.

She seemed reassured until quite near the end of the walk. She stopped, demanded to be carried, and said "I don't want to be in the woods any more. There are Bears and Sausages in the woods."

We weren't really able to reassure her too well on that one. We were laughing too hard.

Maia Hits Teenage Early

We were sat at the dinner table, Pat, Maia and I, chatting about our day.

I asked Maia what she had been up to at school.

She looked at me, sighed and said " .....stuff"

uh-huh.

She wants make-up too.

I had heard that childhood was getting shorter, but man - this is ridiculous!

Grannie Lone Pushes the Present Bar Sky High

Cleone bought Maia a little blue doll's pushchair for Lucy (her talking doll) and Annabell (her odd-looking Oxfam rescue doll). Maia was more than overjoyed. I heard her reaction as she opened the present, and it went a little something like this...

"WOW!! I needed this for my babies!" She was wide-eyed with awe at Grannie Lone's mindreading abilities, perhaps forgetting her almost constant requests for a pushchair over the past few weeks. When she told Noonah that Grannie Lone had bought her a pushchair for her dolls she was so excited, she jumped up and down while reiterating just how much she needed it.

She trundled around in bliss, naked as the day she was born, pushing her babies in her new blue pushchair. I don't know where the dolls and babies impulse has come from although I am pretty sure it is nature not nurture. She gets balance, anyway. We have a Thomas The Tank Engine Book. I think...somewhere...

Interest In Noonah's Present is Pretty Low

Noonah's birthday present from Maia, myself and Pat was not wrapped. Therefore Maia's interest in it was pretty limited. Noonah, on the other hand was thrilled. We bought her a fig tree in a big terracotta pot for the courtyard.

Maia, who clearly couldn't understand why someone would get excited over a present that wasn't wrapped, took one look at it and said 'Are there any other presents?'

Grannie 'Lone, Peter and Linda, Fliss, and Bob and Sue came to the rescue with a series of packages that she was able to open with (or more accurately for) Noonah, and therefore order was restored to the birthday experience.

The New Super Hero On the Block

Maia's means of deflecting monsters has been pretty constant for a year and a bit - she flings out her hand, palms out, and yells 'SpiderMan!', or very occasionally, 'Batman!'

For the original post about this, click here...
http://maiamaiajumbalaya.blogspot.com/2004/12/ranking-of-superheroes-according-to.html

However, following a trip to Tescos with Noonah, the All New, Superist of Super Heroes is...

'SuperMarket!'

Daddy is Three!

Well, if you add on 34 years, I suppose he is.

Maia was very excited that there was a birthday in the offing, especially as the person whose birthday it was didn't seem to mind that he didn't get to open any of his own presents. Maia took over, and when gently asked if she thought Daddy might like to open any of his presents, she said No, he liked her helping. And he seemed to, so that was fine.

We made a chocolate cake topped with Noonah's Wonder Icing (made from nutella, cream cheese and a dollop of cream...seriously amazing) and decorated with Milky Way stars, sugar flowers, glace cherries, candles and hundreds and thousands. The sugar put Maia into a bit of a spin, but all in all, a pretty good day.

Tomorrow, Noonah's birthday! I wonder if she gets to open her presents?

Stuart Gets More Than He Signed Up For In The Guest Bedroom

Grannie, Grandpa and Stuart (my dad's mother, father and brother respectively) are up to stay with us for a few days.

As ever, Maia was not overcome with shyness, and has been charming one and all. Grandpa set about reading Winnie-The-Pooh to Maia pretty soon after arriving and, of course, got all the voices right. (Though I enjoy reading W-T-P, I feel a bit of a fraud sometimes. I remember Grandpa reading them to me, and it sounds wrong when I do it.)

Stuart and Maia seemed to get on fine, but nothing in the evening indicated just how comfortable with him she had become.

About 2 am, Maia padded through to the guest room, where Noonah normally sleeps, and appeared at the side of the bed. Stuart, not wanting to upset Maia, gently told her that it wasn't Noonah tonight. But Maia didn't mind one jot. She scrambled up the side of the bed and snuggled down. She proceeded to kick, wriggle and squirm her way through the night.

I don't think Stuart minded one bit. In fact, he seemed to think the whole thing very sweet, and told us about it this morning with a soppy grin on his face.

Your Words Are Boring. Maia's Words Are Better

The latest in a long line of inventive, funny, or just plain odd names that Maia has for things is punder-punder.

What is a punder-punder, I hear you say?

Well, here's a hint...

You put boobies in it.

:)

The Great Art Give-Away

After a bit of an art avalanche in Maia's room yesterday I have decided to Share The Love.

That's right folks - if you would like some of Maia's very own, unique, handcrafted art pieces, then send me an email (ericajane@pinacolada.co.uk) and let me know the postal address to send them to.

A brief description of some of her work...

The Artist Currently Known As Maia tends to work mostly in the medium of glitter paint, poster paint and crayon. She prefers brushes, fingers and occasionally toes to create her unique and evocative pieces. My especial favourite is Sailing Ship on an Angry Sea. Or.... wait...that is Cat with Bird, or is it the moving, Rothko-esque, Brown Splodge?

Who can tell?

Anyway, if you want some, mail me.

Maia Discovers Static

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Party - Boing Boing Boing!

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Party - Music In The Flowery Tent

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Party - The Bandmasters

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Books - All the Way From Australia

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Here's A Little Number You Might Know....Twinkle Twinkle....

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Bear Can't Quite Reach The Pedals

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Bell Technique

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Ah Ha! Three Wheels For A Three-Year-Old

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Now What Might This Be?

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An Apology To My Younger, Idealistic Self

Oh my. Well, I think my younger, more idealistic self would be pretty shocked to see me with a baby in the first place.

But imagine the look on her face when she sees that my child is (as of a shopping trip this morning) clutching a doll. Or, really, A Dolly. It cries, it moves, it has a dummy, it has pink clothing...The Full Doll-Monty.

Maybe my inner idealist would be comforted by the fact that the doll that Maia chose is, erm...black.

A Proper Book - With a Helpful Feature For Parents

I am reading Big Bang at the moment, by Simon Singh. Written by superstar science geek and author of Fermat's Last Theorem and The Code Book, Big Bang charts the development of theories on the origins of the universe - bringing in history, religion, politics, physics, maths and science. Very readable, but also quite challenging. Especially when tired.

So imagine my delight when I discovered the amazing feature at the end of Chapter One... Crib notes. At the end of each chapter, the author has put in 2 pages of clear, diagrammatic notes, which basically fill you in on all you missed/forgot/can't be arsed to read.

It is perfect!

Now, if we can get someone to do War and Peace, Lord of The Rings and Ulysses I will be the best-read Mummy in the park.

Everyone's A Critic

I was taking Maia to school this morning, when I realised that I was sans the blue thing. Pat's little ipod mini has a playlist just for Maia, with Bob the Builder, songs from Mary Poppins and other delights on it. Leaving the house without it earned me a 'tut' from the back seat.

We turned on Radio One and found ourselves confronted with a rubbish dance track.

Maia, very put out, said "This is not a Proper Song, Mummy"

So I switched over to Radio Two. You will be relieved to hear that Karen Carpenter and Coldplay sing Proper Songs.

Radio Two, down wid tha kidz. Whoda thunk it?

Three is the Magic Number

Well. Three. Wow! (and, as an aside - a year of blogging! yay me)

I decided long ago that Maia Miss M was not going to have a Gymboree 'do' for her third birthday. She was going to have a bouncy castle, a handmade cake, sandwiches in the shape of stars, music in the flowery tent, lots of friends round and hopefully a minimum of tears, spills and clowns.

We did pretty well. All my grand plans for baking, cake decorating, party bag decorating and other organised activities flew out the window as soon as I saw Maia and Charlie christen the bouncy castle. There was no way that any self-respecting three year old would choose cake decorating over Bouncing.

So we let them run feral. Well, more like managed wildness, I suppose.

I wasn't sure how PC/appropriate it was to drink at a toddler's party, so I reasoned that if anyone else said yes to wine or cava, then I could drink too. Paula and Olga (Isabel and Sofia's mothers respectively) were therefore press-ganged into having a glass of cava with me. Rock on!

In attendance were: Maia, Charlie, Isabel Verginty, Sofia, George, Alex and Adam. And mothers for all and a father or two.

About 20 minutes after arriving, Isabel Verginty and Sofia did a very impressive raid on Maia's room. Isabel emerged clutching a little red piano and a book, Sofia had garnered a doll backpack, a book and a bear. They both looked very pleased with themselves. They disappeared into the flowery tent on the lawn with Maia. When I peeked in, Maia did not seem at all put out that they had raided her room - on the contrary, she was looking at them in a proud 'I got good stuff, hey?' kind of way.

In fact, Maia was in her element. She was happy and self assured (verging on the bossy) all day. I had never seen her interact with this group before, and I wonder how much of this confidence was down to the fact that this was Her Patch, and She Was Three. Then again, I think she holds her own at School, too.

I think everyone had a good time, despite a couple of banged heads and little spats, they all got on really well.

After sarnies, cake, music, running about and A LOT of bouncing, we furnished them with party bags made out of Winnie the Pooh face flannels tied up into a little hobo sack. Each one had a goldfish bath squirter, some bath bubbles, a box of raisins and a little cake inside. They went off at about 5 ish, happy and knackered.

Maia and Charlie (who was staying later than everyone else) used some of their bath bubbles that night, as they had a joint bath. Charlie is a whizz at the squirters, but Maia still prefers Old School Splashing. It does cover a greater area...

Maia and Charlie hung out with Finding Nemo in the front room, covering each other with stickers, while Austin, Lisa, Chris F, Steve, Pat, Noonah and myself all had dinner.

Maia was so tired when it was finally time for bed, she was asleep before stories were finished.

Happy Birthday, My Most Excellent MMJ.

I am a Domestic Goddess. Or Queen, maybe. Lady-In-Waiting? Yes.... I Am A Domestic Lady-In-Waiting.

I was going to Bake a Birthday Cake. Then I realised that this was a dreadful idea, that had potential to go very wrong. Betty Crocker trumps Nigella, so I Assembled a Birthday Cake instead.

What I did do, all by myself, was make my own icing. Hence my status as Domestic Lady-In-Waiting.

I wanted some pink on the cake, so I figured, rather than use a nasty E numbered concoction, I would mix icing and cooked, strained raspberries to get the pink.

It worked, after a fashion. I thought - by virtue of the fact that it took time, effort and a lot of raspberries, it would look pretty and natural and full of goodness. It was very tasty, but man, it was pinker than Barbie Pink. It looked as fake as anything that could possibly come out of a bottle. It was Pink.

I quickly sacked off the idea of decorating the cake with blueberries and raspberries and opted for colourful sprinkles instead. In the shape of a giant 3.

The kids loved it, and they got a little bit of fruit while eating birthday cake - and that has to count for something...

Three Wheelin'

Maia's Papi has bought a fabulous red trike for Maia's third birthday. It has sat, waiting - gleaming - in the office for a week now. We have kept it a secret, and will give it to her on Saturday. Figured it would be better to give it to her the day before her birthday, rather than on the actual day when we won't have time to take her down the park and let her go. Besides, I can't wait!

She has been really interested in other people's bikes at the park. We sat and watched the BMX-ers at Millhouses Park for ages, and she was most put out that she wasn't able to join them.

I instigated a conversation with her about what she wanted for her birthday - and she said 'A Bike' - first off, no prompting. She first said that it should be yellow, but after some subtle suggestion (What about red? Do you like red? I know, how about red?) she decided that it should be Red. With blue wheels.

Well, it doesn't have blue wheels...but here it is.




Hope to have pictures of Maia riding it as soon as - though they may be blurry. Have the feeling she will be tough to catch once she gets on.

Slip-Sliding

Maia found a novel way to get down the stairs this morning. She went feet first on her belly, and slid.

She was going fast enough to get my heart in my mouth, but she seemed to have it under control. And it was obviously lots of fun, because she scrambled upstairs with the garbled excuse of fetching a dress or something, just so she could do it again coming down.

She calls it Slip-Sliding. I think this is one activity that will stay Just For Maia.

I Have Seen The Future....And It Is Star-Shaped

In order that we have calm, stress-free evenings and nights, we have been trying to get Maia to do two things: Go To Bed Like A Big Girl, and Stay In Bed All Night.

We have tried encouragement. We have tried leaving her to cry. We have tried letting her into our bed in the middle of the night, and Noonah has had her in her bed. But it was getting silly. No one was getting the sleep they needed, least of all Maia.

Time for Bribery and Corruption. Every time Maia Goes To Sleep Like A Big Girl, she gets a star sticker on her star chart. Every time she Stays In Bed All Night, she gets another star, presented with fanfare and enthusiasm and lots of kisses.

When she has built up 5 stars, she gets a treat. Sometimes it is a gingerbread man after porridge in the morning, or on very special occasions, I make pancakes.

She now goes to bed like a dream, and doesn't emerge from her room until a civilised hour. What a star.

And I Shall Call It....

Maia has a little bit of a lisp, which means she mispronounces stuff sometimes. It is usually very cute... blutterfly, rather than butterfly is my favourite.

Sometimes, she doesn't even bother with the real word, she just makes up her own. The most recent is the 'Rater Sater'.

'Rater sater?' I hear you cry, 'What is that?'

It is actually Noonah's personal blood pressure machine, and you know what? Given that the real word is sphygmomanometer, I think Rater Sater will stick.

George

We had a barbeque last week. The weather made it more of a Sunday Lunch (ie inside) but we ate barbeque food, valiantly cooked in the cold by Pat.

In attendence were Jenni and Neil, who ventured across the Pennines for the day. CJ and Steve were oop north and dropped in. And then there was George - Maia's friend from Collegiate Montessori, who brought his parents, Sue and Simon.

George and Maia played together very well, devising a drinking game (!) which went for a good 1/2 hour. They would take a sip of drink, then run from the kitchen to the stairs and then run back and take another sip. Being toddlers drinking milk rather than rugby players drinking beer, they didn't slow down for a second.

While the adults were eating, George and Maia watched some TV and played in the front room. They had a great time, and Maia infected George with the Get Naked Bug. They stripped off and ran through to the dining room, naked as the day they were born, to waggle their bottoms then run away shrieking.

When things were winding down, Sue came through to the front room and told George that it was Time to Go. Maia, although she had loads of fun, obviously agreed.

She began explaining forcefully that It Was Time To Go. Whilst frowning.

It doesn't seem to have affected their friendship, though. She is still really excited that George will be coming to her birthday party. Although woe betide him if he outstays his welcome.

eLearned Behaviour

Noonah and Maia went out on an expo-tition yesterday after school. The park was wet, so they went to Tesco and Homebase (fun fun fun!) While at Homebase, Maia was playing in a little toy house. I called up to see what time they were going to be home, so I could cook food.

Maia got on the phone and started telling me what she was up to. Suddenly, she seemed to realize that it would be much more fun to go and play rather than talk to me. So, she said

'Bye Mummy! I am just going to go and check my email!'

And off she went.

It is the spookiest feeling when they mirror back what you say. I am going to have to make sure we keep up the good work on not swearing. She would pick that up in a second.

Can't Argue With That...

Bathtime

Maia was engaged in cleaning the tiles beside the bath while I washed her. (Aside...does it make me a bad mother if I am secretly hoping she might clean for me when she grows up? Probably does, hey?)

Anyway, while scrubbing the tiles, she found a little yellow mark she couldn't remove. We tried soap, bubbles, baby wipes, shampoo and elbow grease but nothing would shift it.

She asked what it was, and I answered 'A stain.'

'A stain? It is because it stays there even when I clean it.'

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I imagine they call innate logic.

333 - The Mark Of The Clown

So, another weekend, another birthday party. This time, her classmate Adam was three and we went to (guess where?) Gymboree to celebrate.

All well and good, with the same branded games and songs and sales opportunities, until the very end. We were just collecting the goodie bags when they whipped out a stamp and purple inkpad. Before you could say Marketing Tactic, Maia had The Mark Of The Clown on the backs of both hands and the tops of her feet.

Pretty hard to get off too...not even the Mighty Baby Wipes would shift it. I think a session of completely branding free play is the only way to remove it. Homemade playdoh coming up.

Garners Get-Together

We spent Sunday afternoon with the Garners, who very kindly allowed us to gatecrash their Family Get-Together before our trip back up to Sheffield.

Maia took a couple minutes to suss out the rest of the kids, and where she fit in - age, will and strength-wise.

Tom (5) and Charlotte (almost 3) are Tanya's two. Nishi (5) and Maia (2) are Mandy and Gustavo's oldest. Layla, Mandy and Gustavo's new baby, is only about 6 weeks old, and therefore wasn't included in Maia's sizing up exercise. She knew, if push came to shove, she could take her. The others, she wasn't so sure about.

It took her about 20 minutes to come up with a strategy. She would play with Charlotte and Maia, no problem. She would play with Tom and Nishi, unless Tom got boisterous, and then she would run as fast as she could to the nearest adult and seek protection. It seemed to work pretty well. Incidentally, the Other Maia and Maia got into a verbal tussle over Who Was Maia. We won.

The range of hair and skin colours on show made the group look like refugees from a Benetton advert. Nishi is the darkest skinned, with deep brown eyes and dark hair. Other Maia is lighter skinned but with the same curly, chocolatey hair. Tom is fair with auburn hair, Charlotte is olive toned with dark hair, and Maia is fair and honey blond. All we needed was a Swede and a Nigerian, and we would have sold loads of jumpers.

After a brief break for sausages, someone got out the paddling pool and garden hose. At the mere mention of water, they all stripped off, and within seconds were descended upon by Mothers Bearing Suncream. Benetton be banished - now they looked like a gang of multi-cultural wood nymphs, cavorting in the afternoon sunshine.

David made his play for Favourite Grown-up early on, with an energetic and very well received round of Spin Me Round...He would grab the nearest child by the arm and leg and spin them around in the air, all the while making pretty good airplane noises. As soon as one child was put down, to wobble off the dizziness, the rest would rush at him shouting 'Me next! Me next!'

Gareth's game of Hide and Seek was more popular with the adults then the kids. Not surprising, given that it was geared more towards getting the little 'uns to go somewhere and hide quietly while we could drink wine, but he was soon rumbled.

Maia was hugely reluctant to put her clothes back on when it was time to go. I only managed to get her dressed after she realised that she couldn't slide down the slide with a bare bottom, which meant our departure was delayed by 20 minutes while she fully exploited her new slidiness.

The trip back was pretty hot and sticky and she was a bit fractious (or perhaps I was. It had been a very Maia-intensive weekend.) As soon as we got home, we zoomed through bath in record breaking time and she zonked out as soon as her head touched the pillow. Lot of material for happy dreams this weekend.

Charlie's Party

As an experiment in Staying at Someone Else's House, it was not an unqualified success. As a Birthday Party, it was pretty good.

Charlie is 4 weeks older than Maia, and this Saturday we went down to Weedon to celebrate with him, his parents, grandparents, 27 of his closest buddies and their siblings, dogs and assorted hangers-on. It was quite a gathering.

We are planning Maia's party at the moment, and Saturday (while fun) definitely confirmed to me the virtue of Keeping the Numbers Down. Policing a tug-of-war over a draught-excluder snake between two dogs, an 8 year old I don't even know and three toddlers is not the way I wish to see in Miss Maia's 3rd year.

Maia and Charlie haven't seen each other since The Havell Boys were christened a couple of months ago. They were a bit standoffish with each other at first (probably swamped by the numbers) but after everyone had gone, they spent the best part of two hours running back and forth, excitedly bossing each other about.

Bath time was hilarious. Charlie has an extensive collection of little squirty toys. They are tricky to work, but he is a pro. The shark, in particular, was Maia's favourite. She tried to make it work, failed, got bored and put it down. At which point Charlie picked it up and squirted her. Interest piqued again, Maia picked it up, tried to make it work....failed, put it down again. At which point...

They did this back and forth about 4 times. After the fourth or fifth time getting squirted with something she had proved to herself didn't work, she took the low tech approach and splashed him full in the face. Then ensued a full scale water war with a soundtrack of excited giggles.

Bed time was less successful. Maia is pretty good about going to sleep in her own bed now, but it still takes a good 1/2 hour before she is asleep. Charlie only has to look at a pillow and he is off. So, in a strange room, hyped from the day, she wasn't going to go down easy. In the end, Pat lay down with her. From the contented snores that emanated from the room the 3 times I went to check, I don't think she was the only one sleeping...

Next morning, we were woken by Lisa and Austin's puppy, Milligan, snuffling around our heads. Maia had been collected, blearily, from the top of the stairs to join us downstairs in bed at about 3am and was annoyingly perky for it being a mere 4 hours later. As the Sunday was Charlie's actual birthday, she spent the morning 'helping' him open his presents. At times she was far more interested in the opening than he was, but when the bicycle came out, she was all about the present. He wasn't that fussed, but she almost pushed him aside to get at it. We had a word about sharing, and how it was Charlie's bike etc etc, but by that time she was off!

So, mantra for Maia's birthday - Keep The Numbers Down, Buy A Bike.

Party for Alex and Isabel

Maia was invited to celebrate a classmate's 3rd birthday this week. Alex and his sister Isabel have birthdays scarily close together (they are 3 and 2 respectively - gasp!) so it was a joint operation. Held at Gymboree on the Ecclesall Road (the In place to be for Sheffield under 5's) there were probably 30 kids there - most bringing along a parent or two. Quite a gathering.

As an aside...Gymboree is a lesson in Getting Branding In Early and Parting Parents From Their Cash. All the songs somehow shoehorn the brand name in there, and oh look! You can buy the CD! They play bubble games, and oh look! Branded bubbles! They do clothes, shoes, games, toys, parties, activity centres. They are the Tesco of the Toddlers. And of course, we will be returning.

Anyway, Maia started off in her Mellow Yellow dress. Very soon, she realised that the dress, pretty as it was, was not letting her run about and climb and jump in the way she wanted to. After a few unsuccessful trials at tucking it into her knickers, we decided to change into the other party clothes I had brought. (Check me out! Talk about preparation. Think I might be getting the hang of this parenthood thing.)

Part of the joy of the day was to see just how much in demand Miss Maia was with her peers. She spent most of the time running about with New Bestest Friend Kassy. Three sets of parents came up to me to say how much their child talked about Maia. I wittered something about her being a very sociable girl and really liking the school and her class. Well, I couldn't very well tell them that she only really talked about IsabelVerginty and Kassy, could I?

We ate sandwiches shaped like hearts, managed to avoid too many e-numbers and I made friends with Kassy's mum, Tammy. All in all, a pretty good party. And for one that doesn't involve champagne, that is good going.

Blasted

I was in London when the bombs went off. I was way down in Battersea, staying with Hannah, and miles away from any danger. We got a call from Andrew, who had driven up to Sheffield very early in the morning, telling us to turn on the TV. We watched events unfold with horror. I wasn't able to look away, terrified of what I was seeing but unable to switch off.

Whether it is a trick of genetics, social conditioning or just true love, the first thing I wanted to do was come home, give Maia a kiss and make sure that she was OK. Even though the chances of terrorists attacking Meersbrook are pretty limited, I wanted to be with her and make sure she was safe and well. More than that, I just wanted to hold her.

The police, security services, Transport For London - everyone was advising people in and around London to stay put. So I did. Hannah and I stayed up late into the night talking about stuff, shell-shocked. I drove back today, and I am going to go and pick Maia up now.

I guess they are different issues, but it seems so sad that something like this should happen today. After all the optimism generated by the Make Poverty History campaign, the G8 really felt like an historic opportunity for the most powerful men in the world to at least try to do something about The Big Stuff. The poverty that kills a child every 3 seconds. The curable diseases that make daily raids on Africa and carry off people in their thousands. The man-made climate crisis we seem incapable of halting, even though we know how to.

The juxtaposition of the hope and optimism that motivates those goals (compromised and messy though the result will always be) and the hatred that is expressed through blowing up people is so stark. But then maybe that is not really a discussion for a blog about my baby.

Speaking of, gotta go. I need to hold her for a bit.

Stinkle Toes

One sunny day I made the mistake of telling Maia that, if she didn't wear socks with her pink shoes, she would get stinky feet.

This now means that as soon as we get in the car from nursery, she whips off her shoes and socks and spends most of the journey home demanding that I smell her feet.

Right now, she still smells pretty sweet. Her toes are a little sweaty, but not actually stinky. I do hope it is something we can wean her off before she actually starts getting wiffy.

Role Play - Not So Fun for Daddy

Couple days ago at the park (in between sniffling and demanding that I play Billy Goats Gruff on the wooden bridge), Maia decided we were going to play Families. She would be Daddy, Daddy would be The Baby and Mummy would be Mummy. Got that?

Being The Baby was, without doubt, the most work. Pat was presented with a pine cone to use as a pacifier, a cardboard bee as a bottle and, just to ramp up the parental embarrassment factor, Maia wanted to change his nappy. In the park. In public.

She was quite insistent, as well. We were kind of stunned and not sure what to do - do you stop it because someone, somewhere might think it is inappropriate to play nappy changing, specifically with Daddy? She changes her teddies' nappies, when they are playing The Baby. Daddy was The Baby, so he needed a nappy change.

In the end, it was over in seconds. Weird though. It is awkward when their totally innocent play gets muddled up in our very adult ideas about bodies and how we should relate to children.

The game was abandoned pretty soon after. We opted for the coward's way out of Far More Billy Goat's Gruff, Far Less Nappy Changing Daddy in the Park. In public.

My Little Angle

Maia has a cold. She developed it at record breaking speed, too - I noticed a couple of bogies while we were at the park yesterday, and within 20 minutes rivers of The Green Stuff were flowing from her nostrils.

When she has NoseNiagara, her sleep tends to be really disturbed. In the early part of the evening I was in her room four times to wipe her nose, tuck her back in and pick her up off the floor as she rolled out of bed (twice). I decided that she would be better off in a big bed with me, so I could do all the necessary caretaking within the comfy environs of my own duvet.

Pat relocated to the spare room with something approaching glee, as it meant he got the bed, the whole bed, and nothing but the bed.

Maia and I settled down pretty well. Then, in one co-ordinated and expertly planned manoeuvre, she wiggled herself perpendicular to me. Feet tucked under my tummy, she pushed, and I found myself spilling over the side. OK, I thought, I'll pick her up and move her.

Done.

Just as I was falling back asleep, she did it again.

This time, I thought I would be clever. I also moved across the bed, so apart from my feet dangling over the edge, we had loads of space.

It was at that point that she started to get sarcastic. She went at right angles again, head on pillows at the top of the bed. I gave up.

We slept fitfully, and Maia woke me up early to say that I wasn't sleeping in the bed right.

"You should sleep at the top of the bed, Mummy, like this" she said, angelic in the bright morning sunshine.

Uh huh.

Favourite Songs

Pat has a little blue iPod mini (...oooooh, pretty!) and has gathered together a selection of songs to play for Maia in the car. Here is what Maia is mostly listening to at the moment:

Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport Rolf Harris
The Court of King Caratacus Rolf Harris
Ning Nang Nong Spike Milligan
Hippo Rhinostricow Spike Milligan
Louie Louie The Kingsmen
The Monster Patrick 'The Daddy' Cull
Sing a Rainbow Patrick 'The Daddy' Cull
Colonel Hathi's March Jungle Book
The Bare Necessities Jungle Book
I Wan'na Be Like You Jungle Book

We try and time our entrance to the school car park so that we are blasting out Colonel Hathi's March (the elephant one from Jungle Book) on our arrival. Helps with getting her up the hill...

'Quick....MARCH! Hup two three four, giddiup two three four...'

A Competitive Streak

Maia is into racing, or more accurately, winning at the moment.

'I'll race you to the top of the stairs!' is a great way to get her upstairs and motivated for a bath - her reluctance to leave whatever she was doing totally forgotten in the rush to be first.

'I'm going to win!' she gleefully shouts, as the grown-ups luxuriate in the fact that they are winning a bigger game.

This weekend we went for a really cool walk in the countryside. We saw sheep, cows and ducks, and then had a few rousing choruses of Baa Baa Black Sheep and Old MacDonald. We did a mini nature trail and learnt about stinging nettles (the easy way, no dock leaves required), searched for and found pinecones, picked buttercups and tested them against our chin.

After sausage rolls and ice-cream and oranges, we began to make our way back to the car. Maia was on the verge of fractiousness, and was demanding that we carry her. Instead (with a view to an early bedtime) we decided to race to the car. I was winning, and then Maia shouted in a stern, borrowed tone

'Stop, Mummy. It is not a race.'

Then she put on a dash of speed, overtook on the inside and got out in front.

She would have won anyway, but boy, she gets extra points for cunning.

Maia Meets Patrick

Patrick Balfe, a friend of my mother's from Nassau, stayed with us for a few days last week. Maia was slightly unsure of him for about 3 seconds, but after he complimented her enthusiastically on her lovely wellie boots, she warmed up.

So much so, in fact, that Patrick got a full introduction to both sets of wellie boots - blue and pink. He dutifully exclaimed their splendiferousness, and this spurred Maia on to show him her matching umbrella. Once all the ingredients for a game of 'It Is Raining Inside' were assembled, she tramped about the kitchen, wellies and umbrellas ahoy, trying to protect everybody from the rain.

A very successful visitor indeed. One breakfast-time he even let her try his (precious) Frank Cooper's Orange Marmalade. I think she really wanted to like it, and exclaimed how it was very nice, until the taste actually hit her. At which point it, and the toast it was on, was summarily ejected. Maybe next time.

Northern Sole

Well, it has begun. Maia's inevitable slide from the rounded, long vowels of Southern England to the flatter, shorter sounds of the Northern tongue.

We were in the park last week, being prevented from getting any speed up on the slide by her wellie boots. I suggested she take them off, and try again. This produced the expected speed and 'whhhhheeeeee'. So successful, that she padded up the stairs in her pink and purple socks to go again.

I heard her chattering to herself, and as I tuned in, I heard it.

'My socks will get all mooky. Mooky mooky mooky socks'

Not mucky (or mah-ky, I suppose) but 'mooky'.

Next stop glass, grass, bath and looove. The transformation has begun.

Talk About Fabulous, Darling!

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Deeley-Bopped, Injins and The Bubblator

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I didn't even see the arrows!
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I've Got A Brand New Combine Harvester

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At Truly Toddler Combination - Yoga AND Cheese

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The Musician

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Handprints with Alec

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Mellow (?) Yellow Dress From Kathy

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Maia's Room In Pictures

Flowerbed
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A tree AND a height chart
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A leafy corner
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Night light
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'I Don't Beleeeeeive It'

To celebrate the sunshine - yes really, in Sheffield! - we had a barbecue and ate outside last night. Maia didn't really enjoy it that much. Never-the-less, she spotted that we were enjoying ourselves and in an effort to fit in, began exclaiming how lovely everything was.

'This is REALLY lovely' she said, her face betraying her true feelings. 'I really like this.' Then, rather bizarrely, she channeled Victor Meldrew and said 'I don't beleeeeeive it!' It was a really surreal moment. It was as though she was taking the piss. I looked at her for a beat, remembered she is only 2 1/2 and decided to think of it this way.

She is a very social little being, likes being around people. If she is unsure about a situation, she will take her cue from the people around her, like we all do. I suppose she is in the process of learning how to disguise her true feelings in order to fit in with the group.

Another possibility is that we do have a habit of talking things up...'Come on then Pickle, let's go and have a bath! It'll be really fun!' when she knows full well it really won't be as fun as the painting/drawing/running around that she was doing at the time.

Then again, she might just be the most sarcastic toddler ever. I will let you know.

Fear of Flying (Things)

Maia has developed a very real fear of Things That Fly. Despite my attempts to show her that they can't hurt her, she cowers when midges, flies, bees - pretty much anything winged and mobile comes her way. Spiders don't seem to phase her. Snakes she has only seen in books, but they don't seem to present problems. Just winged insects.

'A buzzy bee!' she says, as soon as she sees something approaching, and adopts a look of such fear that at first I thought she was joking. It was only as she cowered, hiding her head in her hands, that I realised that she isn't that good at acting.

A healthy respect for bees and wasps is a good thing, I think, but her fears seem to be getting to her even at night. She woke up a few days ago complaining of bees that stung her knees during the night. I tried to explain that it was a dream - a story in her head that didn't really happen. She looked at me, wide-eyed and affronted, and informed me that, actually it did.

Going to go and buy some books about friendly flies, and productive bees. Maybe I'll try and deflect her fear onto something useful like car filled roads, or sharp things. But for now we will have to keep ducking.

Weed On in Weedon

It was my own fault - I was excited to see Lisa, my friend from antenatal classes, and so forgot to offer Maia a pee after our journey down to Lisa and Austin's house in Northants.

Charlie and Matthew were getting christened, so Maia was in a lovely green Church-Church Party Dress. It had great big pink flowers all over it, and a really full swishy skirt. So, off we went, Maia to play in a playhouse in the garden, me to find Lisa to catch up. After a while, I joined Maia in the playhouse. Suddenly I heard a splashing noise, and saw the look of surprise on Maia's face as she got caught out. Ah.

Amazingly, due to the fullness of the skirt she managed to miss getting the dress wet at all. We had a quick shower, borrowed a pair of pants and socks from Charlie, put on the wellies that had been lurking in the car and we were good to go.

A more eclectic outfit than originally planned, but that often happens with Maia. I am sure God didn't mind.

Maia Says 'Knickers' to Boredom

Noonah, Maia and I went to Meadowhall on Saturday to buy some essentials for Noonah's holiday, a present for Charlie and Matthew's christening, and to return a skirt bought in haste and repented much.

Shopping with Maia is a bit of a trying experience at the moment. She is at the stage where she wants to do everything By Herself, and therefore resents general safety measures like holding hands in crowds. She is also a magpie, and will have colourful beads and knick-knacks if you don't keep a close eye.

Noonah gamely offered to look after Maia while she returned a skirt to Zara, while I ran off to do some SAS-style targeted shopping in BabyGap.

While talking to the shop assistant in Zara, Noonah bunched a bit of her long black skirt in Maia's hand and instructed her to 'Hold on'. This she did for a while. Then she got bored.

She decided to hold the skirt in her other hand...but that didn't hold any great excitement. She then decided it would be much more fun to dive under Noonah's skirt, and make a tent. Noonah figured it was as good a place as any - at least she knew where she was.

Then, bored of the SkirtTent, Maia looked up, grabbed hold of the knickers so conveniently placed within reach, and yanked.

This produced a much more satisfying result - suddenly she was the centre of attention again! Noonah swooped her out of the SkirtTent, and finished her transaction while trying to subtly rearrange her undergarments.

We are pretty used to Maia trying to get publicly naked at every opportunity, but she has never before tried to enforce it on any of us...

Hannah Bannannah and the Pink Snails

Like royalty, or a sometimes benevolent tin-pot dictator, Maia dishes out the tasks of taking care of her to those around her. This weekend, the household (and therefore, Her People) included Hannah, who came to stay on Thursday night. Now, Maia already knows she likes Hannah. Hannah has a very natural way with kids - always crouches down to talk to them, and is interested in what they are doing without a hint of embarrassment or condescension.

During the day, Hannah and Maia spent some time playing in the garden...spotting spiders that jumped and deciding that snails weren't pink. Later that evening, Hannah was bestowed a rare honour. She was allowed to Read A Bedtime Story.

An honour indeed, probably of higher ranking than being allowed to accompany Maia while she pees. Maia took evident delight in the fact that Hannah really got involved with the story book (a task in itself, given Maia's insistence on a totally non-linear picture book that pretty much lists a series of animals under nigh-on arbitrary headings....'Noisy' 'Wild' 'Spotty' etc etc.) Then again, Hannah is an actress, so probably used to being asked to read odd things by people. Checkov, anyone?

Anyway, Maia enjoyed the experience so much that she tried to prolong storytime to well past the normal 20 minutes. In the end, I went in and swiftly brought proceedings to a close with a run through of Mog and Bunny. She settled down pretty quickly after that, and I hope she dreamt of pink snails.

Mission Impeccable Meets Match: Self Determination

Mission Impeccable is going ok - apart from that one (very public) failing to wear nice stuff, I have been doing pretty well. As has Maia.

Until now.

Self determination has hit, and that means she decides what she wants to wear. She really enjoys the process of selecting her clothes for the day, and if she looks somewhat eclectic, then who cares?

For example, today she went to school in a dark blue teeshirt with a picture of a monkey on the front, aqua shorts with a rather fetching seahorses print, and blue raindrop wellies. All pretty co-ordinated, but still a little odd. We have sent a change of clothes to school with her, but as Mrs Hunt seemed to be quite taken with the 'Summer Rainshower' look, I am not convinced she will come back in anything different.

In Innocentia Veritas

Noonah and Maia went swimming yesterday at Pond's Forge. I took the opportunity to sit up in the viewing platform and read my book. In fact, I spent so much time laughing and clapping and showing proper appreciation for the splashing and jumping and kicking that Maia was doing in the pool below that I didn't really get anywhere with the book. Anyway, she loved it, and we are going to make it a regular weekly event. Next week, we have agreed that she will Put Her Face Underwater.

On the way home, Maia was chatting away, narrating our journey. On the turn into our road, the subject turned to Where She Lived.

"Upper Albert Road. Number 42a. Alec lives here. Mummy lives here. I live in Upper Albert Road" and so on... We turned into the drive and Maia said "Is Daddy here?"

"No, darling" I replied, "Daddy is in Barcelona at the moment."

"But he lives there" she said, insistently pointing forward.

Misunderstanding, I said, "No, sweetie, he lives here with us, he just visits Barcelona for work."

"No" she said, pointing at the garage, "He lives there!"

Now, Pat would be the first to admit that his garage-based music room has been seeing a lot of him, especially this weekend when his friend and Whatever's Clever bandmate, Steve, came to stay. However, although hobbies are important, when your kid thinks you live in the garage, it might be time to moderate the time spent on them...

Arts and Crafts

This afternoon looked like rain, so our planned afterschool park expedition was cancelled. To make up for it (and for the fact that as soon as we had decided not to go, the sun came out, in a somewhat mocking manner) Pat and Maia sat down to some quality time with the new craft set. Now this is a craft kit to beat them all...it has feathers, glue, stickers, colourful foam buttons, glue and glitter. But most of all glitter.

I left them happily squidging away with glue and making nice colourful splodges, and I returned to a silver glitter explosion. Apparently, glitter, when poured onto the table when Daddy is looking at something else, creates an amazing picture. There was glitter on the table, all over her chair, on the floor, in her shoes, in her hair, all over Daddy, liberally sprinkled on the fruit bowl and her new monkey.

I got out the vacuum cleaner and began to hoover it up. After trying to wipe the glitter off Miss Maia and failing, I hoovered her too. She then took off all her clothes and ran about - twinkling away like a tiny Tinkerbell Godiva. I have a feeling this one will run and run.

Adventures with Alec and Sarah - Wella Fancy That!

Alec and Sarah had a dinner party while Noonah, Pat and I were away. Their friends Joel and Nikki came round. Apparently, Nikki was a HUGE hit with Maia Miss M.

The first thing Nikki said to Maia was 'Haven't you got lovely hair!'

Maia smoothed down her locks with her palm and said 'It is Goldilocks hair. You can buy it in the shops.'

Nikki now wants to come and babysit...

Spot On

After dinner, Maia sat down to do some colouring. Grabbing a pink crayon, she dotted the paper with spots.

'It is got chicken pox!' she said, eyes wide. Noonah and I laughed.

There was a notice on the door to the Beehive (her class) saying that another case of chicken pox has been reported. So we decided to ask Maia who else had chicken pox in her class.

'I have.' she said. 'Oh no you haven't.' we said 'You are all better now.'

'Umm...IsabelVerginty!'

'No...IsabelVerginty is back in school. It can't be her...who else might have chicken pox?'

'Ummm...Kate.'

'Ah ha.'

Later, after she had dotted the paper with a few more spots (blue, this time) Noonah said 'It is like Kate - she has chicken pox as well'

Maia looked at Noonah, eyes wide as if to say 'REALLY??'

Chinese whispers - toddler style.

A Saturday Spin in the Park

We had a group expedition to Meersbrook Park on Saturday. Maia had four of her peeps in attendance: Alec, Sarah, Mummy and Daddy. Everytime we go to the park, as soon as Maia sees the swings she starts yelling 'Hello Swings! Hello Slides! Hello Roundabouts!' It certainly makes for an entrance. This trip was no exception. There were lots more people in the park than our normal afterschool trips, so her precociousness was cool and mildly embarrassing in equal measure.

Maia loved having so many people to join in with her playground activities. She would holler 'Swings!' and then point to the person that had the honour of pushing her that time. As Alec and Sarah were heavily into the spinny things, it was mainly Pat that got to do the pushing.

She has figured out which of the eight spinny things is the Very Best (the yellow one) and makes a beeline for it as soon as we get through the gates. Some of the other kids also like the yellow one, and I have started a couple of 'Hellowillyoubemyfriend' conversations with their parents over the mild squabbling, grudging sharing and eventual bonding over the Yellow Spinny Thing.

This trip, there was a group of three friends (two women and a man) there, all with toddlers and tiny babies. I started up a conversation with a red-haired lady called Imogen, who had a tiny baby strapped to her front, and a toddler haring about getting his trousers filthy.

I suppose the strangest thing about it all (apart from the feeling that I have been transported back fifteen years, and am again the New Kid In School) is that the only thing that we have in common is that we have bred. We haven't met through work, or a hobby, or because we go to the same pub or bar or restaurant, but because we have managed to procreate. I am sure I will find some friends who have babies, and I hope some of them will come from meeting in the park. I just wish it was as easy as it looks for Maia. I need an adult equivalent of the Yellow Spinny Thing.

Here Comes the Sun

Maia came into my bed this morning, after waking up at 5.40am. She stumbled through, face and eyes puffed with sleep, and snuggled down, stealing my pillow and warm spot. She cracked open an eye and looked at me accusingly.

'Mummy, can you turn the light out please?'

'Sweet-pea, that is the sun, not a light. Close your eyes and it will be dark.'

'But can you turn it out please?'

'Close your eyes, baby, then it will be dark'

She closed her eyes for a bit. Then opened them again.

'Why can't you turn it out?'

Was now the time to discuss the limits of human endeavour and achievement? To talk about the sheer magnitude of the universe and our tiny part in it?

Nope, now was the time to make a tent with the duvet and make it dark for her. I may not be omnipotent, but she doesn't have to know that yet.

Mission Impeccable

I was away at the beginning of the month visiting Kiki (Dr. Kris' new and tres cool moniker) in DC and New York. While I was there, I decided, after two and a half years of looking a mess, I was going to make it my mission to leave the house every day Looking Presentable. Maia leaves every day in clean clothes, and mostly wears things that match. (Apart from socks - that is a challenge that even Hercules would shirk from.)

So, Mission Impeccable meant:

clean clothes - no food, or goo, or muck, or ooze,
a little bit of make-up,
and if possible, wearing something other than jeans ALL THE TIME.

Unfortunately, as soon as I got back, Maia got sick, so I spent a week pinned to the sofa in my jammies. Since she is now up and well (despite her pleas of 'But I have a little bit of chicken pox' when she doesn't want to do something) I have been sticking to Looking Presentable. I have been wearing jewelry. I have been matching accessories. I have even been wearing skirts and heels. All in all, pretty good.

That is, until the day before yesterday. I had to get her out early, and in the rush, managed to leave the house in track suit bottoms, the top I had slept in and without brushing my teeth. Of course, we got there at exactly the same time as all the other people who I have been steadily, secretly vetting as to who will be my Friends Who Are Also Parents. I wanted shout 'You should have seen me yesterday - I looked gorgeous!' but didn't think that would do my friendship prospects any good at all. Will have to try harder.

Your Cat Was Called What?

Yesterday, as I was helping Maia into her coat, Mrs Hunt popped her head around the door and, with a rather puzzled expression, asked me what our cats were called. I listed Beckett, Scotty, Harley and, erm...the late Manky Cat.

'Ah ha!' she said. 'I thought that is what she said, but then I wondered if I had misheard!'

The class had been talking about their pets that day, and while the names Beckett, Scotty and Harley were accepted without question, Maia managed to confuse everyone with the revelation that our last cat was called Manky Cat.

Mildy embarrassed, I explained. 'He really was called Manky Cat. He was called something else when he was little, but that was pretty soon superseded when he got a skin condition and went a bit, well, manky.' Mrs Hunt retreated into the classroom, laughing.

I just hope they moved on quickly enough so that Maia didn't get a chance to regale the other tots with the tale of Manky Cat Now Lives in a Box in The Garden.

Sticking with Good Habits

Mrs Hunt (or the lovely Mrs Hunt, as she should be known) has a fabulous way of motivating Maia - stickers.

Maia gets a sticker when she is a good girl. She gets one when she plays outside without complaint, or goes to the loo at toilet time without crying. Mrs Hunt has a variety of stickers, ranging from gold and silver stars, to the characters from Finding Nemo.

I was a little worried that Maia might be monopolising the stickers and using up more than her fair share, so this morning I asked Mrs Hunt if I should bring in a packet or two to make sure that they didn't run out...Thinking about it now, I imagine it might come across as a bit of an odd thing to do. A bit like someone going to their lawyers and offering to buy them some ink cartridges as they seem to write lot of letters.

I can see now that stickers are a tool of the trade, not something exclusive and special to Maia. I suppose this is what comes of not having many other parent friends - not too hot on spotting what is exclusive to her, and what is a universal experience. Ho hum.

Anyway, I am wondering whether to introduce the Sticker Motivational Method at home. Thing is, I don't want to dilute their effectiveness. I think for the moment, we will just stick with the jellybeans.

Making a Meal of Dinner

Noonah, Maia and I just went out for a meal at Nonna's, a really nice Italian restaurant along the Eccelsall Road in Sheffield. I thought they might have pastaandpesto, or something similar. Hmmm.

Maia was not in the mood for food. She was in the mood for jumping, shouting, falling on her knees, banging, screeching, lying down then jumping up and shouting 'Surprise!' All in all, not a cool, calm, collected restaurant experience. She didn't like the potato and pea soup. She didn't like the fish, or the linguine, or the salami, or anything we got because we thought she might like it.

Looks like we will be dining in The Happy Eater until she is 12. Grrr.

Adventures with Daddy - Dylan Eat Your Heart Out

I have been allocated space at the back of the garage. It’s become a metaphorical shed. A place that I can record and play music and also contemplate my navel and the yet to be answered eternal question, 'why is navel fluff blue?'

Erica and I have discussed putting Maia’s voice down on tape as a record for her when she’s older, so I brought her in to do a spot of recording. On the track, backed by a nice simple guitar sequence, she says 'Hello' to everyone she knows, sings ALL the words to Bob the Builder and ends with a very strange line which I think has something to do with cat pee. A future in showbiz is assured.

Adventures with Daddy - Balls Up

When Maia was born a girl (and not a boy with an incredibly small willy)
I told anyone who would listen that My Daughter would play for England. Rugby, of course. However, things might not go the way I'd hoped.

A couple of weeks ago Maia and I were playing outside in the garden, enjoying a rare moment of Yorkshire sunshine, when she suggested we play with a football. OK, I thought, not the right shaped ball - but definately a start.

I picked up an old plastic regulation black and white football and kicked it to her.

'No Daddy' she said, pointing at a multi-coloured ball with a picture of a Fimble on it. 'I want to play with the pretty one.'

I was ever so slightly crushed, but on reflection she has yet to see a rugby ball. There is still time, Lord, still time.

The Importance of Being Aiden

OK, this happened a while ago, but I am only just now getting round to writing it out.

Maia was invited to a birthday party. An Incredibles invite came home with her from Collegiate Montessori, stating that Aiden would be 3 and could Maia come to the party being held on the blah blah blah. So, what do you buy for a 3 year old boy? Something with a superhero on it, of course. Girls get princesses, boys get superheroes. (At least they do if you buy toys at the end of the weekly shop with a toddler set to maximum frazzle. Arguments about childhood gender stereotyping are for seminars, not supermarkets.)

So, armed with a Spiderman lunchbox and drinking flask for Aiden, off we went.

Now, I haven't really met any of the kids or parents from Maia's school yet - there are a couple that I have a sort of 'smileandsayHi' thing going on with as we pass in the car park, but I don't know anyone. So, I don't mind admitting, I was kind of nervous.

We turned up at the house to find two girls, one a bit older than the other, both in fairy costumes. No boys. A little boy appeared after a beat or two. I said 'Is it your birthday today?' and he said 'No'.

Ah. OK. Well, I reasoned, Aiden must be in the other room.

Other guests arrived, and started to fuss over the smaller of the two fairies. Bugger. Aiden (not Aidenne, or Ayden, or Aydenne) was a GIRL. A girl in a fairy outfit.

I decided I would have to own up to the mother about the mis-gendered birthday gift.

'Oh, I knew this would happen!' She said. 'Don't worry! She loves Spiderman, and cars and trains and stuff. Same thing happened with her sister, Charlie.'

Well, I had to ask myself...which came first? The more masculine taste in toys, or THE BOY'S NAME???

Lesson learnt: Unisex presents from here on in. Buy up shares in Crayola, as every kid that has a birthday is getting crayons from us.

Chicken Pox Robs Alec of His Mojo

An unexpected consequence of Maia being a PolkaDot Princess is that, 3 days ago, she suddenly decided that Alec wasn't her favourite person anymore. She didn't feel like being tickled. She didn't want to laugh at fart jokes. In short, chickenpox stole his Mojo.

He was pretty gutted. From Godlike to 'I don't like you' in a day is a pretty steep drop. He joked that one good thing to come out of it was his removal from the post of Most Favoured Potty Person. But I don't think it was a great trade.

Now she is feeling better (but still spotty), he is in the process of being rehabilitated. Good thing too, as he is looking after Maia for 3 days all by himself in two and a half weeks.

Resurrection

Hallelulyah! After what felt like forever of not being herself, Maia has reappeared. She woke up yesterday morning, demanding porridge and playtime for the first time in a week and a half. She was making jokes, her face was animated and she began to assert herself. Welcome back, baby!

Maia with Tribal Art, Courtesy of Daddy

Prior to becoming a Polka Dot Princess, Maia and Daddy decided to Make Some Art. I think they succeeded.




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Obedience

I slept in with Maia last night, to comfort, administer hugs and water, and calm her down when she woke up grizzly.

Her chickenpox has reached the very itchy stage, and she was scratching at the spots. I wanted her to stop, and we had this exchange.

'Maia, darling, don't scratch'

She stopped. She started again.

'Maia, darling, don't scratch'
'I am not scratching, I am wiping.'
'Ok, well don't wipe, that is a lot like scratching'

She stopped. She started again.

'Maia, darling, don't wipe'
'I am not wiping. I am stroking'

I figured any kid that can get round the rules so well deserves to scratch/wipe/stroke her itchy chickenpox.

'Can I See in the Box?'

Well, we buried Manky Cat yesterday. I was in two minds whether to have Maia there or not, and had no idea how I was going to explain the whole thing to her. He had gone to cat heaven? He had just gone to sleep for a very long time?

I didn't want to get into the whole heaven thing, as we aren't planning on bringing her up in a faith, and I didn't want her to think that Cats That Go To Sleep get put in boxes and buried the garden.

So we just told her that he had died, and he wasn't coming back, and we were going to say goodbye to him now. She obliged, very cheerfully shouting out 'Goodbye Manky Cat!'

Unfortunately she followed it up with the somewhat less appropriate 'Can I see in the box?'

Although I was happy to introduce her to the vague idea of death, I didn't think we needed to go so far as a visual demonstration, so we made excuses and brought her inside for a glass of milk instead.

Manky Cat RIP

Well, it is surprise to us all - Manky Cat is indeed mortal. Or was. He died this morning, peacefully, after eating breakfast and finding a warm spot to snooze.

He was originally called Rumpit, but soon after he developed a skin reaction that made him a bit, well, manky, he was renamed Manky Cat. He will be remembered for his absolute conviction that he was human, not feline. For his gargoyle posing on the banister at 41 The Crescent during Mum's 50th birthday party. For his imaginative and extraordinary talent for finding new and interesting places to pee, most notably in the toaster and an upright bucket. Let me just repeat that - an upright bucket. That means he hopped on to the bucket, peed in it and dismounted - all without tipping the bucket over. No wonder we thought he was supernatural.

At dinner a few weeks ago, we were talking about the nine lives of cats. We came to the conclusion that the more wily and sarcastic, the more talented at opening fridges and performing feats of amazing agility to find high places to peer down upon his people, the higher up in the reincarnation chain they are. Manky Cat was universally agreed to be at the pinnacle of his lives. I hope he enjoyed spending his ninth life with us.

A Pox on All the Houses

Looks like Collegiate Montessori is much depleted of little peeps, as most of the group have been Struck Down with The Spots. Including IsabelVerginty. I think the Birthday Party is off. Never-the-less, I think I will still get her a present. Something spotty, of course.

A Pox on our House

Chicken, not small (obviously, otherwise you would be reading about this from a more established news source). Maia's week-long lethargy and sickness and grizzliness now has many manifestations - lots of red spots. They itch like crazy and mean she is grizzling with renewed fervour. Although at least she is now eating and keeping things down.

I phoned the school, to see if anyone else had come down with it, and sure enough it has been doing the rounds. It is majorly infectious, I know, and all kids have to go through it, but bugger bugger bugger!!

Unless IsabelVerginty is one of The Spotted Ones, party is definitely off this Saturday. I am going to try and find out who else is infected, and see if we can get the kids together to play with each other. Another week sat in front of bad kids TV (why is there no Sesame Street in the UK?) with a bored and ill child, and I might just come out in spots myself.

Pluke in the Countryside

We decided it was time to attempt another Sunday Outing. We were headed for the park, so that Maia could run around and get some air in her lungs and some bounce in her legs. However, as soon as she got in the car, she fell asleep. She has a bit of a cold, so we were alerted to her sonambulent state by her gentle snores. Or earth-rattling groundshakers, more accurately.

So, we went for a drive instead. Through Bakewell (home of the tarts) but we could hardly see the scenery for all the wax jackets. We decided to stop off at a country bookstore that turned out to have far more in stock than horse manuals, Jilly Cooper novels and Dick Francis compendiums. A cool little tea shop (extra 'pe' optional) fed us a very nice sort-of-sausage roll, cake, gingerbread men and a pot of tea and then we set off home, fed, watered and content.

Or so we thought. On the way back, 20 minutes from home, Maia started coughing. She has a very particular sort of cough that heralds a pluke, and sure enough, by the time I had screeched to the side of the road, she had managed to cover herself and the car seat in second-time around tea shoppe fayre. Ick.

As soon as we got home, we bathed a grizzly Maia, washed the car seat, cleared out the car and got sorted. She was pretty easy to put to bed that night, which is not a good sign for the week ahead. Man, sick babies are no fun!

IsabelVerginty and Fia

I think Maia may have found some friends! There were a few moments of concern that she hadn't found anyone at school to replace The Much Loved Lewis and Molly ('Trousers like Lewis, or tights like Molly today, Maia?') When I mentioned my concern to Mrs Hunt, I was told that, at this age, they play alongside rather than with other children. Hmmm. Maybe Maia was just playing alongside in a very together kind of way with all her other friends...

But fear not! To the rescue come IsabelVerginty and Fia. Or, as their parents would recognise them, Isabel McGinty and Sofia. Isabel is a gorgeous brown eyed, brown haired kid who looks like she has spark enough to power a household. She is 3 next month, and Maia's party invitation came through last week. (Honestly, Maia has a more active social life than I do). Sofia is taller, an almost willowy blond, and seems a bit calmer than Isabel. In a line, they look quite comical, with Maia a head and shoulders shorter than Fia, and blond and pale next to IsabelVerginty.

We mothers have hatched plans to start Friday afternoon swimming sessions with the three girls... so hopefully Maia's improved prospects for Sheffield friends will also be mine.

The Development of a Healthy Ego

Alec, Sarah, Pat, myself and Maia were sat down for a meal. Maia was at the head of the table, happily chomping into pastaandpesto, when she looked around the table, a thought clearly forming in her mind.

She pointed at Pat and said 'You like Mummy.' She pointed at Sarah and said 'You like Alec'. Then she pointed at each of us in turn and said 'And you like me, and you like me, and you like me, and you like me!'

With a big smile, she went back to her pastaandpesto while we all picked ourselves off the floor. I think her ego is coming along just fine.

Maia Tells a Stinky Lie - Adventures with Daddy

Being "The Daddy" to Maia has at times been frustrating and stressful. But these times are counter-balanced by her seemingly effortless way of bringing me to my knees, head in hands, trying hard to breathe through the paroxyms of surpressed laughter.

Once, when the whole family were sitting in the lounge chatting, she released a bottom burp that completely shattered the nerves of the cat stood behind her. 'Oh my goodness! Did YOU do that, Miss Maia?' Erica asked her. She looked at us, a picture of wounded innocence, pointed at me and said 'No. It was Daddy!'

The Nelson House Family Compound

They say it takes a village to raise a child - well, we have a family compound instead. In residence are:

Maia, Mummy, Daddy, Noonah, Uncle Alec (probably till June/July), Sarah (for holidays, weekends and whenever she can), Beckett, Manky Cat, Scotty and Harley (the cats). And some fish.

Everybody chips in. Alec recently graduated to Most Favoured Potty Person status... 'PEE!' Maia shouts, then surveys the available adoring adults to decide who will have the honour of accompanying her. I don't think he minds the pees, but he isn't all that thrilled about the poos.

She has a choice of people to sit down and have tea parties with. She has a choice of people who will watch the Incredibles, or Monsters Inc, or Finding Nemo with her (Pixar, I love you). She has lots of Her People at her size 5s, and that is wonderful.

We also have a guest room, so Her People who are not here (Papi, GrannyLonie, Patrick, Auntie Gen) can come and stay. You might even get to sit with her while she pees. If you are lucky.

Skoolz

For such a young child, Maia has had alot of different nursery experiences - 4 in almost 2 years.

Rainbow Nursery, in Dunstable, was her first. She started at 11 months, and it was the perfect starter nursery for slightly freaked-out mums. The baby room was very calm, very open and bright, with a separate sleeping area with beds and cots. It also had a huge picture window running the length of the playroom so you could peer in and check that your baby was happy. Of course, if you managed to slip out without said baby flipping out, they saw you make a guilty dash to the car. But the intent was good.

Rainbow documented EVERYTHING Maia did during the day. They wrote out how many nappies she had (and described the contents) who she played with, how she played, what she ate, how much she ate, if she slept, how she slept, when she slept. It was reassuring, and also a little odd.

Her next nursery was in Castelldefels, just outside Barcelona. It was in a row of shops, very bright and cheery, and the ladies there spoke absolutely no English - which is totally fair enough, seeing as they were Spanish. My rudimentary Spanish can extend to quite a few situations, but they don't teach you the phrase for 'My daughter's soft toy is called Cuddle Bunny ' in GCSE language class. We managed to establish a relationship based on Spanglish and smiling and pointing and mime. They may well have told me everything that Maia did during the day, which would have explained the Lots of Talking when I came to pick her up, but she seemed clean and happy at the end of her day there, so we were good.

After our return from Spain, Maia joined the fabulous Funny Farm in Bedmond, just near Mum's old house in Abbots Langley. The front garden was home to numerous ducks and chickens, some of whom occasionally felt bold enough to jump into the car. Ruby, a fabulously playful sheepdog pup, and Romany, a Bernese (?) mountain dog bigger than all the children, ducks and chickens combined, roamed the back garden. The Funny Farm was all about the social - not alot of book learning took place, but Maia loved it. She came home filthy, and you had to ask what she had been doing all day, how she ate, did she sleep all in the time it took to haul her over the half-door and track down her coat. Maureen called her 'In House' for all the entertainment she provided, and they were genuinely sad to see her go. So much so, that on her last day she came home laden with presents and kisses. A gem.

So I was pretty sure Maia would have no problems settling in to a new school once we got to Sheffield. I chose a Montessori school that offered the right hours for our work, and that also had the right feel about it. After the freedom of The Funny Farm, I felt Maia needed something more structured, more geared towards skill building, to prepare her for school. Now, she loves it. At the start, she hated it.

They like to gently introduce children to the school at Collegiate Montessori. Over the course of forever (ok, maybe a week) they start with an hour in the morning, then two, then a full morning, then possibly lunch, then an afternoon session, then morning and lunch, then a full day. OK. Now, I understand the reasoning. I recognise that a gentle introduction is better, so that the child builds up trust in the place and the people, and is not traumatised by a feeling of abandonment. But we had just moved house. We were all pretty ill. I had begun to experience Maia-Overload, and that meant she was not getting the fun and stimulation she really needed. She had to go to nursery and play with kids her own age who were not trying to entertain her while unpacking.

She yelled for her entire first hour. And, actually, most of her second. I was worried they were going to say that she wasn't suited to the school. I tried to help by saying 'Isn't Mrs Hunt lovely?' feeling horrible as I did so. Her reply was a clear 'No.' Towards the end of the week, she began to soften up a bit, relax a little, not howl when we left.

Now, we are lucky if we get a goodbye kiss. She shucks off her coat as soon as we are through the door, happily stomps in, says 'Hello!' to everyone and makes a beeline for the craft table. She comes home laden with art, baking and tales of new buddy IsabelVerginty. She agrees that Mrs Hunt is, indeed, lovely. And do you know what? She is.