More on What Maia Will Do When She Grows Up

Maia, Pat, Cleone and I were in the car going to the beach, when Maia started talking about what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Thankfully, my constant chatter about how princesses-have-to-have-Other-Jobs seems to have sunk in a little bit.

She now wants to be an Ice Cream Maker.

As well as a Doctor, a Singer and a Dancer. And, of course, a Princess.

Getting on Swimmingly

Maia, Tristan and Teaghan loved it when Pat joined them in the pool at Patrick Snr's house. They jumped on him with glee, trying to dunk him under. He, in turn, roared with comedy monster vigour and threw them about like dolls.

Maia, because she doesn't swim as well as the others, clambered less, and was therefore thrown around less. Her role evolved into a kind of little monster cheerleader. She would float next to the chaos of yelps and roars and flying children and holler

"Come on people, KEEP HIM DOWN!"

I Am No Longer Bitter About Barbie

Ha HA! Common sense seems to have reared her pretty little head in Maia’s dealings with her Barbie Doll. Either that, or there really is such a thing as natural justice.

Having finally got a Barbie Doll for her 4th Birthday (oddly enough, not from us) Maia has been toting her about, brushing her hair, having tea parties and generally playing with her in a way that differs very little from the ascribed Barbie Doll role.

Part of the reason I don’t particularly like toys that have very clear characters already set for kids is that I think it limits their imagination. This is magnified an hundred-fold when those characters have clearly defined and rigid gender-roles.

Barbie is Barbie, and you brush her hair and make her look pretty, rather than use her in an adventure to, say, go pirating. Pirate Barbie has yet to hit the shelves – and given the kind of things that have (Mermaid Princess Barbie and Ballet Dancer Barbie and Secretary Barbie) I wonder if she ever will. Bet Pirate Barbie's outfit would kick ass, though...

Anyway, Maia seems to be breaking free of the “Barbie must always look pretty” tyranny.

With this new knowledge, I hope, comes an awareness (a pretty big jump coming up, watch for it) that she doesn’t need to conform to set gender roles in her imaginative play. Which, if you ask me, is only one step away from believing she can be Prime Minister/President/Rock star/whatever she wants when she grows up.

Anyway, back to Maia Breaking Free of The Tyranny that is the Prettiness of Barbie …How do I know?

Well, last week, I came across Maia toting Barbie by the hair. The Anorexic Plastic One was dressed in combat gear, courtesy of Toot and Puddle, and Maia was force-feeding her taramasalata.

That’s my gal.

And when you are President, I have one request. One full size Pirate Barbie outfit please…

Here Come the Clowns, There Goes Maia

Ladies and Gentlemen, MMJ has a phobia.

Maia is terrified of Clowns. We discovered this at the weekend, when we had two birthday parties to attend. The first was for Olivia, and was held in a Church Hall.

Andy the Clown, a pretty inoffensive example of Clowns That Entertain Children (or should that be ironic-hand-quotation-marks "Entertain"?) was doing his shouty, bewigged thing on the stage.

Maia took one look and went and hid in the coats. Not as in "oooh, look at me, I am being funny" hiding, either. Proper "I am NOT going in there" hiding.

Took us 15 minutes of sitting by the coats to get to the door and it was another 20 before she left my side. She started to warm up to him when his wig slipped a little and she could see that the red shaggy look he was sporting wasn't his real hair (even though I had been telling her that, she obviously needed to see it for herself). Then she watched the magic show and was ok with him. That is, until he brought out a trick that involved pictures of other clowns. Then she was off again.

It was really unsettling to see Maia like that - she has always been so independent. I have never spent the first part of a party with her clinging to my legs.

Then again, clowns are pretty scary. It is not like she is scared of something completely innocuous like postmen, or leaves, or supermarket trolleys.

If you ask me, it is perfectly reasonable to be wary of clowns. If only because they ain't funny.

Noonah writes "Baby sitting - just who is in charge here?"

One evening last week, Erica and Pat set off for a Maia-free evening, leaving me in charge at home. Maia, however, had other ideas.

She said goodbye to Mummy and Daddy at the front door and waved and blew kisses until they were safely in the car. Then she firmly shut the door, looked me straight in the eye and said, in a very determined tone, "Now we can have a feast in the dark."

Somewhat taken aback, I burbled "Feast in the dark? But we've had supper..."

It was definitely bath-and-bed time. It soon became very clear that I was not going to get away with hurrying her upstairs for ablutions and slumber right away. So, since grandmas are allowed to spoil a little out of sight of the parents, we set off to the kitchen to prepare for a Feast in the Dark.

Maia announced that she wanted Food. What food? "Feast Food" she replied in a manner which left me in no doubt that she had suddenly realised she was dealing with a complete idiot. So, under Maia's direction, we collected Feast Food - sliced bananas, sliced oranges, small squares of marmite on toast, milk and a glass of water each.

We took our Feast Food into the front room and turned out all the lights and sat in front of the fire and ate our feast.

Damn but the kid has some great ideas!

Fireworks Night

The view from out the back of our house is great. Sheffield, like Rome (and erm, Prague and lots of other place) is built on seven hills. We look out over a lot of them. Can't be arsed to count how many as I am always distracted by looking at the clouds, or marvelling that we are pretty much in the city centre and yet it is so green. Anyway...

Bonfire Night, we went to Isabel Berginty's house for food and drink and fireworks and all had a lovely time. Paula and I got ever so slightly freaked out tho, as the kids played really well upstairs, and came downstairs all in their own clothes. Very rare and notable occasion. Hence my noting it.

Anyway, we got back home to see that our position on top of hill number 1 was affording us a great view of everyone else's fireworks, all for free! Also got a (destruction-free) sense of what it might be like to live in an active warzone - explosions going off all around, and the smell of cordite hanging heavy in the air.

Maia and I sat upstairs in the back bedroom with the lights off, oohing and aaaahing at the pretty sparkles. Pat came in for a bit but then, deciding that fireworks are like flying a kite for him (fun idea, boring in practice) left us to it.

We agreed that our most favourists were the "'splodey ones with dust" followed by the ones that were pink and purple. A sparkling night...

Bangfires and Skelingtons

Maia was invited to go trick or treating round at Isabel Berginty's house yesterday. There was a little gang...George "I am not George, I am a monster!", Isabel, who was a bat/spidergirl/witch, David (Isabel's younger brother) who was a batmonster, and Maia, who went as a pink and red witchfairy.

They were all doing fine, going from house to house and stocking up on sugary booty until...some overly enthusiastic 10 year olds jumped out at them. They had been lying face down on the pavement, and when the group approached, they jumped up and revealed their scary skeleton fronts to the group of, now terrified, 4 year olds.

The little 'uns got a bit jumpy after that, and soon after retreated to Isabel's house for bread and soup and a VAST amount of sugar.

On the way home, a little sugar crazed, Maia stated very firmly that she didn't like the bangfires and skelingtons. We assured her that there wouldn't be any more until next year.

Maia's Magnificent Mischief

Maia and Miss Isabel Verginty had a playdate here on Sunday. They got up to some extraordinary mischief, and had a really good time.

They are at an age where they don't want to be supervised and this creates a trade-off. On the plus-side, a playdate now means being in the house with them as they play. You can even get on with Other Stuff. When they were younger, it was a much more involved process, with stories and painting and baking. Truly exhausting. On the minus side, they get up to some seriously mischievous stuff.

The bestest and most mischievous incident this week involved umbrellas, a bottle of water and a nice big space. In the living room. They were playing Rain. On the carpet.

When I yelped at them that it was raining outside and they could go outside and play with umbrellas, they said they didn't want to. They might get wet. Grrrrr.

The day was filled with giggles and mysterious stomping and thumping and crashbangs - all of which were non-harmful and enjoyable for all but moi, as I hared upstairs each time to see if anything (limbs, chunks of wall) was missing/damaged/ruined.

They wolfed down mountains of baked potato with beans peas 'n' cheese followed by white icecream with pink sauce (homemade stewed fruit, dontcha know.)

Maia is all set to go to Isabel's house on Friday afternoon for a return play. I will warn Paula to expect pleasant havoc.

Frog's Legs and Talking Jamaican

Pat was 38 this week (Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday TO YOOOOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEEEEEAR DAAAAAAAAAAAAAADY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOOOOOOOOOOU...early. Very early.)

Maia and I wrapped Pat's presents after school, and decided that we would hide them and play a game of Hot and Cold with Daddy so he could find them. On the phone to Pat about 20 minutes before he came home, she was cheerfully explaining the plan, when Pat asked her if she knew what his presents were. "Yes", she said, "A jumper...and a .."

I jumped in and rescued some mystery from the situation through my giggles. It is a low down dirty trick, is you ask me, to ask a 4 year old to spill the beans...

Anyway, he came home to find A Very Excited Maia. A Very Excited Maia who promptly ran towards the (hidden) presents, shouting "Hot Hot Hot!" Once there, she said "Daddy, I am going to help you open them" and proceeded to not let HIM help at all.

Presents opened and admired and thank yous said, we went out for a meal at Froggies Bistro on London Road. A tres chic little cafe-style French restaurant, Froggies was a bit deserted at 6.15, when we wandered in. It was somewhat lacking in atmosphere even though we were there. Maia did her bit to fill the place with sound and movement.

Maia was very adventurous with her food. She tried:

frog's legs ("Quite nice. Is this the bit that bounces?" "Ummm, not any more...")
baby mushrooms
red pepper
poppy seed bread
salt cod croquettes
veggies with toasted onion seeds and
cassis sorbet

She also tried some of my steak. Now, she goes to a nursery that serves vegetarian meals. We rarely have red meat in the house (though I will order it when I go out) so she is not a huge fan. She will sit and chomp through a stack of biltong with her daddy, I don't think she counts that somehow...

So I chopped her a tiny bit of my steak, said it was like squishy biltong and urged her try a bit.

She pulled a funny face, stuck her fingers out and to the sides and said, in a pitch perfect Jamaican accent, " Ah dooon't laack steeak"

New catchphrase. Although goodness knows where it came from. Even my Jamaican accent isn't that good.

Steeeeeeeeeeve!

Boy, this girl likes having visitors. Steve arrived last night for dinner and Maia was so excited, she rushed about saying "Steve is here! Steve is here!!" all the while jumping up and down like she was attached to a spring.

Part of her excitement was due to the fact that, last time Steve came over, Maia persuaded him to read her a bedtime story. Not only that, but she got him to read one of the ones that Mummy and Daddy tend to try and hide because they are either: Too Long or A Bit Dull or Too Princessy or Don't Rhyme Properly.

Steve, being a Story Reading Novice, didn't know how to extricate himself from the rubbish books. Then again, we bought them, so they must be OK on first reading. And Maia likes them...

Fun Evening? Not So Much...

OK, am beginning to see just how different it must be if you have a kid and don't work from home. I have had an avalanche of work. Most of it is with the States, so I have been working a full day (mostly on my company stuff) then picking up Maia and sharing dinnerbathbed duties with Pat, and then going back to work till late.

Now, if I wasn't working from The Garage, and my journey to work took more than 20 seconds, I would never see her.

I mean, NEVER. The night before last (when Maia and I had all these great plans for a fun evening) we had a surprise dinner guest. So, straight after school, we had to go food shopping. I had been planning a Cereal for Dinner Day, and that is strictly family only. Then the latter part of Maia's day was spent watching me cook and listening to Pat play music downstairs. I think she had fun, but I felt rotten. No part at all was spent colouring, playing, looking at guinea pigs and enjoying each other's company. And she didn't even get fish fingers, because we were all out. Ugh.

Have got her from 1pm today though, so we are going to have a run about in the park with George and have tea with Isabel, George and possibly Sofia. Then it is the weekend, so should get some good stuff in there... And I am going to go stock up on fish fingers.

Maia's Plan for a Fun Evening

Yesterday was a bit crazy, what with work, dinner and Pat and I talking about grown-up stuff.

Maia was playing by herself for a bit. She does not do this terribly well. She has never been one of these kids that finds themselves a little corner to go and play with trains or dolls or anything. If she retreats to a corner, it is usually to rehearse for her next "Watch me, Mummy, I am going to do a Show!" And we have only just got her to retreat for that - we used to be treated to the whole shebang - rehearsal, show and encore. All at top volume.

We talked about her day at storytime and she said that she had not had a very fun day. We agreed that we would try and make tomorrow better. How were we going to do that? Well...

Tomorrow, she said, she wanted to play with me after school, instead of being on her own. Now, I am a people person too, so I know exactly where she was coming from.

Her plan for today is that we:

Come home from school
Play in the garden
Bounce on her trampoline
Watch the guinea pigs in their outside home
Come inside and do some colouring
Have some dinner (fish fingers and peas and beans, please)
watch a little bit of tv (Scooby Doo is best, if not, then SpongeBob Squarepants would do)
have a bath
go to bed and have stories.

Sounds like a good evening plan to me. Will let you know how we get on.

Catherine F's wedding

A couple of weeks ago, we went to a wedding reception in East Sussex for my friend Catherine Fisher and her new husband Mick. Maia was a superstar. She was so excited about camping that she didn't really complain about the long trip down there.

When we got there (after a bit of a diversion to get lost) Maia settled into the serious business of Making Friends. There were a load of space hoppers in the field by the marquee and Maia bounced her way into a few groups of kids and adults to say hello.

Later on, after dinner and speeches (and a rather amusing episode with an insistent Maia, a box of confetti and the bride who was eating her pudding) she and I were bopping on the dance floor. I had her high on my shoulders to see exactly what was going on, and three (3) separate groups of people, whom I had not met, said "Hi Maia, how you doing?"

She replied "Good! My mummy and I are dancing!" When I asked Miss Maia who these people were, she said "People I met. They like me."

What a superstar.

We spent the morning after the night before picking sloes to make homemade sloe gin. Have to say, she is better at making friends than fruit-picking...

Getting Uno Up On Pairs

We have graduated from Pairs/Flip-Flop to Uno.

Proud/Boasting Mummy Moment coming up...

Uno is a moderately complicated card game that involves matching numbers or colours and playing a variety of Action Cards. It says on the packet that it is for ages 7+. But Maia has got it. She can play really quite well.

We play open (cards on the table) so she gets help/we make sure she doesn't cheat. Also, she has trouble holding all 7 cards in her hand at once.

Maybe that is why they say it is for ages 7+. Hand size...

Actually, no...I am going to take it that she is massively advanced and super-bright. Obviously.

:D

Card Sharp as a Tack

Maia is a card sharp.

We have a (somewhat reduced) deck of Charlie and Lola cards that Maia likes to play the memory games Pairs and Flip-Flop. In each, you lay out the cards face down and flip over two to see if you have a pair (if they match) or a flip-flop (if there is a connection between the cards...ie. cereal and bananas, bird and nest). She is a FIEND at this game. Her phenomenal memory means she regularly beats me, and I stopped letting her win ages ago.

She is also getting pretty well acquainted with the concept of Bending The Rules To Suit. If you are doing well at a game of Pairs, and she turns over a flip-flop winning pair, she claims that. Then has another go.

However, if, later on, you turn over a flip-flop, she claims to be playing Pairs, and won't let you go again. Grrr. What may be cute now is going to get her beaten up later in life, so I have started to explain the benefits of Playing By The Rules. She is not yet convinced.

Mum and Maia moved on to Real Cards the other day, and she is pretty good at those too. They were naming the suits, and she remembered all of them apart from one. After a little think, she triumphantly announced the missing suit was called "buckets!"

And so it shall be from now on.

4. Four. FOUR!?!?!!

Bloody hell - I cannot believe it! Miss Maia Ani-jo Sunshine Packington-Cull is FOUR. (And a day. Bad Blogging Mummy)

It is so odd that four years ago, I didn't even know her. And now I can't imagine my life without her.

Happy Birthday, my most excellent girl.

Papi's Riposte/Re-Post

No, really...

This is all a rather pathetic and wimpish attempt to divert attention and sympathy away from the Real Right Thumb Disaster.

Which happened about the same time, to about the same anatomical region, and has not (yet) been cyber-broadcast!

You can picture, if you will, the scene...

H-overworked, h-underpaid, hassled and harried, hungry humble hemployee arrives home hexausted and (as is his wont) opens fridge and peers inside for snackables prior to dinner.

Spotting a likely quiche, he grabs quiche dish with right hand and attempts to transport it to kitchen counter with every intention of carving it into munchable slices while simultaneously pouring glass of red wine.

At which point said quiche dish shatters for no apparent reason (and yes we did buy it at Kelly's, if you must know).

Said quiche dish, being empty of quiche thumb-side and heavy with quicheness on opposite side, gravity then takes over and everything then starts heading south at a considerable rate of knots.

All that is, except for a portion of shattered porcelain, which tarries awhile en route to gouge huge chunks of thumb.

Dinner is no longer an immediate or viable prospect.

During 4 hours in ER and en route to 20 stitches I tried to enliven proceedings

"Are you allergic to anything?" said the nurse

"Only quiche dishes" said I.

Then I tried a real ancient one on the doctor...

"Will I be able to play the violin after this?" Answer...... "I don't see why not"

"Well, I'd better start taking lessons then"

Oh dear - you see what boredom does!

Anyhow.

Just for the record, I myself and me am not guilty of extreme klutz-ness in shutting my own digit in the doorjamb.

Ergo........I am a victim of circumstance and, as such, far more deserving of tender sympathy.


Posted by Papi

No Picnic

Paula, Olga and I joined forces and children and were off for a picnic in the countryside.

The kids were hot and ratty, and were sniping at each other the whole way there. And the way there seemed to get further and further away the more and more they ratted. Honestly, a 20 minute car ride in peace feels like moments, while in rattiness feels like forever.

Anyway, ignoring the ROAD CLOSED signs posted on the A57 added an extra frisson to the whole affair, so when I finally spotted the little dirt road that led to the track that led to the bridge that led to the sublime little picnic area by a stream, I was really relieved and excited. Out I hopped to open the gate and get us into the sunshine and fresh air, slamming the door to Paula's solid, Swedish engineered car with gusto.

There was a split-second where I glared at the offending thumb, recently yanked from between cardoor and car, when I thought it would be alright. Where I WILLED it to be alright. That was before the blood came.

"Ah" I said. "Slight problem, guys, I think we are going to have to turn around and get me to a hospital."

Three little faces turned towards me, taking a well-earned break from ratting at each other. I, quite calmly I thought under the circumstances, informed them all that I had hurt my thumb.

"It is OK, Mummy, we will go right home and run it under a cold tap. That is what you do when you hurt yourself."

Paula is a GP, who took one look at the thumb (nail Not Where It Should Be) and called the hospital. I decided to go with her advice instead.

Kids were bundled off to Olga's house to play in the yard, while I went and got hospitaled.

Ho hum. No picnic after all.

Going for a Tramp in the Woods

Ah, the idyllic English countryside...wooded paths, silken streams, a fabulous little playground tucked away in a lovely little park. And, look, there! A cafe, serving locally produced, delicious ice-creams. Yes, the English countryside comes alive in summer.

Which is more than can be said for the tramp passed out in the middle of the green when we sat to enjoy our aforementioned ice-creams.

Everyone was being hugely British and just Getting On With Enjoying The Sunshine, ignoring the somnambulent, rumpled pile of humanity in the middle of all this greenery.

In fact, what could be more British than two boys carrying on a hearty game of football around him? To be honest, it was a bit of a relief when the ball accidentally rolled (thwacked?) into the side of his head, as it meant he started to snore loudly. At least now we all knew for sure that he was alive.

The father of the boy who kicked the ball had a stern word with him (about how to ensure accuracy while kicking a football, and avoid...ummm...obstacles, I imagine) while trying to contain his giggles.

Eventually, up he got (lurching a bit). Off to find a more peaceful place to rest, I suppose. The collective guilt (over enjoying ice-cream when people don't have houses, over laughing when said people who don't have houses and sleep on the grass get gently thwacked in the head by a football, over the British trait of finding humour in every tragedy, not matter how large or small) was pushed back a bit, and we sat, more easily, in the sunshine.

Maia-ciavellian

Last weekend, Sue, George, myself, Maia and Mum all went down to the Meersbrook Park Walled Garden, to have a nosy about (adults) and a run around (kids).

Maia and George were winding each other up a bit. George wouldn't let Maia win races, and Maia wouldn't let George sing the alphabet on his own. Seriously.

One exchange revealed the development of a scheming side to our Maia Miss M. She and George were running around, when she jokingly called him a "Silly Billy." This provoked a pretty strong reaction, as he howled and made a big fuss over the fact that it was Not Nice to call people names.

During his protest, Maia's face was a picture. Still, calm and totally calculating, you could almost hear the cogs whirring away.

Needless to say, for the rest of the afternoon, George was called a Silly Billy at every opportunity.

I figure, no, it is Not Nice to call people names. But I can totally see how it would be rewarding to do so after a reaction like that.