Friday, April 29, 2005

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.

Friday, April 22, 2005

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.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

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.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

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!

Monday, April 18, 2005

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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Sunday, April 17, 2005

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.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

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.

Friday, April 15, 2005

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.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

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!

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

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!'

Monday, April 04, 2005

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.

Friday, April 01, 2005

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.