Well, it was one of those weekends. A weekend that started with me innocently asking Matt the questions: "where the hell are we going to send Eliott to school?" and "how are we expected to live through another baking hot summer without a garden?" And ended with a very nice estate agent coming to value our house and telling us we've likely made a tidy sum on our (partially trampy) flat.
Aye, just when you thought it was safe to laminate your address book, we're planning yet another move. This time it could be for keeps - it appears we can afford a house! (In a slightly less convenient area with a greater chance of midnight mugging). It's not until next spring, but leave a space in your diary for the house-warming, or should I say, GARDEN PARTY!
This news has cheered me up no end - although not nearly as much as Eliott's formal speech therapy assessment. "There's nowt wrong with him" was the upshot of that experience.
Other news from the last hundred years includes the scintilating tale of my mystery illness. It started on holiday - I blame Flambards and its' classy fast-food eatery, "Gannets" (that'll learn me). Two weeks of meeting my meals again far sooner than expected and I'm a stone lighter in weight and a few commissions short of an income. Damn. I'm feeling much more human now and shall no doubt get me mojo back with regards to work. No news on the "sample" I had to provide for the doctor (why oh why is the plastic scoop so small?????) but no doubt they would have rung if I had bowel cancer.
Talking of shit, Eliott is frequently covered in it at the moment. He is determined to potty train himself, pulling his pants and shorts down this morning on the common and plonking himself on Ezra's pot, while I continue to bury my head in the sand and insist he's not ready. On Friday he took himself off to the bedroom, clearly unimpressed with my sense of smell, and reappeared nappy-less, with dump all over his hands and feet. Several hours of scrubbing and several litres of Zoflora later and Matt commented that our house stinks of dogs. Two days later and it's back to humming of human waste again.
Is it any wonder our des res is worth a small fortune?
Monday, July 31, 2006
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
You know when you're back from holiday when...
...you're desperately trying to concentrate on work while, in the next room, you can hear your child shouting "nooooooo - Superman!" while your husband tries to watch a show about The Beatles.
There's no place like home.
There's no place like home.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Talking! Talking!
I never believed the positive people who told me he'd suddenly start talking.
This morning, Matt sat with Eliott in the living room.
'Can you say mummy?' he asked.
'Mummy,' said Eliott.
'Can you say Daddy?'
'Daddy,' came the reply.
'What about batman?'
'Batman.'
'Ball?'
'Ball.'
'Go?'
'GO!'
This went on for some time. Before today, Eliott has never repeated words on demand. Now he's repeating his entire repertoire - and having a go at words he's never attempted before. His confidence increases with every one - he even pointed at himself and tried to say 'Eliott' this afternoon and attempted 'grandama' on the phone to my mum. It might not sound like much to those who have 25 month olds singing songs and saying sentences, but once he gets going I daresay he'll catch up with his peers and will have a few surprises in store for all of us ('Mummy, why have you been slagging off X, Y and Z for the last six months?' etc. Gulp.)
I'm so relieved it physically hurts. It's changing him - he's really coming into his own. Each day that has passed over the last week has seen bigger smiles than ever, more outgoing behaviour - the actions of a little boy, as opposed to a toddler. It's so wonderful to see him bloom like this and amazing, if unsurprising, that language is such a key to it all.
He's also decided to potty train himself. I put him upstairs for a nap this afternoon and continued bashing away at my computer as he shouted 'weeee' from on high. 'He's having a good time,' thought I, as the 'weeee'ing increased in volume and urgency. I finally decided to investigate five minutes later to find him nappy-less and pissing all over his pillow. For the rest of the day he continually removed clothes and nappies and took himself off to the pot. Although several wees were on target, many more are currently festering on the carpet, sofa and various other soft furnishings in the 32 degree heat. He might be ready, I am not.
Any road up, I'm well pleased that we can celebrate his achievements with a holiday at the end of the week. Let's just hope it doesn't rain!
This morning, Matt sat with Eliott in the living room.
'Can you say mummy?' he asked.
'Mummy,' said Eliott.
'Can you say Daddy?'
'Daddy,' came the reply.
'What about batman?'
'Batman.'
'Ball?'
'Ball.'
'Go?'
'GO!'
This went on for some time. Before today, Eliott has never repeated words on demand. Now he's repeating his entire repertoire - and having a go at words he's never attempted before. His confidence increases with every one - he even pointed at himself and tried to say 'Eliott' this afternoon and attempted 'grandama' on the phone to my mum. It might not sound like much to those who have 25 month olds singing songs and saying sentences, but once he gets going I daresay he'll catch up with his peers and will have a few surprises in store for all of us ('Mummy, why have you been slagging off X, Y and Z for the last six months?' etc. Gulp.)
I'm so relieved it physically hurts. It's changing him - he's really coming into his own. Each day that has passed over the last week has seen bigger smiles than ever, more outgoing behaviour - the actions of a little boy, as opposed to a toddler. It's so wonderful to see him bloom like this and amazing, if unsurprising, that language is such a key to it all.
He's also decided to potty train himself. I put him upstairs for a nap this afternoon and continued bashing away at my computer as he shouted 'weeee' from on high. 'He's having a good time,' thought I, as the 'weeee'ing increased in volume and urgency. I finally decided to investigate five minutes later to find him nappy-less and pissing all over his pillow. For the rest of the day he continually removed clothes and nappies and took himself off to the pot. Although several wees were on target, many more are currently festering on the carpet, sofa and various other soft furnishings in the 32 degree heat. He might be ready, I am not.
Any road up, I'm well pleased that we can celebrate his achievements with a holiday at the end of the week. Let's just hope it doesn't rain!
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