Congenital indecision

I imagine it must be hard to be a two-year old, ruled by a mahoosive ego and id with no super-ego in sight. Add into this mix an inability to stick to any decision once it has been made. Tea time is now like the Somme, with forks and plates and bits of broccoli being hurled unwanted across the table and immediately mourned and desired again. As a result of the sudden development of hideous table behaviour I have instituted the naughty step. I counselled Georgia that if she banged her fork on the plate one more time we would leave the table and she would sit in the hall for a full minute. I expected this to mean absolutely nothing to her as she has zero concept of time and rarely appears to be paying attention. She grinned her grinniest grin and brought the fork down with a resounding clang on the dinner plate, all the while looking straight into my eyes. I escorted her to the hall and sat her on the bottom step, explaining why and removing myself to the sitting room ready to go and put her back on the step 150 times because that is what they have to do on Super Nanny. Weirdly she just sat on the step and cried. After a minute passed I returned to collect her and asked if she understood that she is not allowed to bang her fork on the plate. "Yes", she said. We returned to the table and began our slightly tepid meal again. About 30 seconds passed before she demanded her glass of water. It was passed and she immediately began bashing it with her fork. Realising the error of my ways I explained that she was not allowed to bang anything with her fork or any other cutlery. We did three trips to the naughty step in that meal.

On each trip to the step I recalled a conversation I had with a friend who is an educational psychologist and has a horror of Supernanny (but LOVES the dog whisperer). I can't remember why she said the naughty step was so bad because wine had been drunk. I have thought about looking it up but once I used it and it seemed to work looking it up and finding a reason not to do it anymore seemed a bit daft.

She was also fairly disappointed that I was teaching Georgia to say please and thank you before she could fully understand the concept. I have calmed down enough since my initial incredulity at that to say simply that we might have to agree to differ.

Naughtiness I feel I can handle. It is as plain as the massive hooter on my face that we are being tested to see where the boundaries are. What is far more exhausting is the constant push-it-away, scream and cry, ask-for-it-back routine. Does this ever end? A normal stream of Georgia at the moment is something like this

"I don't want it take it away where is it sob sob I want it give it back where is it I don't like it No No No Georgie wants it No No I don't like it" ad infinitum.

I got this fantastic text from Callum last weekend when while I went to a rehearsal he took Georgia to a bonfire party.

"I want to go home - I love fireworks - too loud [tears] - more - I'm scared - another firework party [tears as we left] -i like bang bang - more party - i not like firework - I tired".

I think she liked it. Maybe. She wants to go again this weekend - perhaps.

I want that one

Today we have been shopping with Lou from Little Britain, only a more annoying version. We wisely decided to go to Toys R Takingoverourentirehouse to get Georgia something she doesn't need for Christmas. I envisioned a little wooden train track and a little wooden train engine to go round said track. Callum clearly had grander plans and we ended up loading into the trolley most of the current UK rail network and rolling stock plus a few stations and random 'sights' that might come in useful. Still, it'll be something to look at when we can't move from the sofa because the entire downstairs has been taken over by track and associated tat. It must be a boy thing. I hope it is a little girl thing too, but Callum just may be excited enough for both of them.

Georgia ran round the shop like...a little girl in a toy shop I suppose. Initially there was some selectivity in what she wanted - unholy and weird but selective. A number of items were greeted with 'I want that one' in the piercing shouty voice accompanied by the pointy finger. First was a giant fuscia pink and white very hairy dog which she presciently mistook for a monster. Then there was a pink and white pony about the right size to sit on, and to place various pandas, bears and noddys on. Then there was a motorbike, a big girls bike, several scooters (all too large), a number of cars, tricycles and other bizarre modes of transport she couldn't do without. Eventually it was anything her eye lighted on, culminating in an awful plastic shopping trolley with enough pointy edges and poor design to cause serious harm to an observant and careful adult. It was complemented by it's well-thought out contents, the like of which even Kerry Katona would fathom to be poor food choices for small children. As each item was demanded I countered with increasingly less well considered arguments against the choice.

'It's too big/small for you'

'You are only allowed one of those when you no longer use your dummy' - good one that - or it will be when she actually really wants something and can remember making a bargain for more than 30 seconds.

'It's too big/small for our house'

'It's dangerous'

'You already have one at home'

and then gradually my arguments became less honest and considered.

'The shop wont sell that to someone wearing stripes'

'It will make the dogs cry'

'The man says that is poisonous'

'Its against the law'

Other parents were laughing at me as I hid round the corner peeping at Georgia through a wall of stuffed toys as she lay on the floor screaming and hollering and pointing and enunciating properly 'I want that one'. There were audible guffaws when I tried to pick her up from that position. She has learnt the 'making myself impossible to grasp' technique. I don't know how toddlers acquire this skill but all of a sudden she has worked out that if she writhes and twists and keeps her arms right above her head then an adult cannot get a purchase on her and when they try to lift her in this way all that will happen is they will look stupid. Its all she can do to maintain the screeching and pointing during this manoeuvre; you can see the smirk behind it as she suppressed the urge to laugh.

While Callum queued forever behind someone at the wrong till, (we always pick the wrong till, with the bonkers woman or the faulty goods or the wrong/missing barcode) I toook Georgia for a ride on the nearest money gobbling mind numbing ride. Georgia was happy on the mechanical musical marvel that is Bob the Builder's digger, tooting his horn, singing his song, patting his hat, while the parents led their children past as quickly as possible. All you could hear was a little echoing chorus as tens of little voices said accusingly 'See, it is working'.

Holidays other people's children

We are just back from sunny (and sadly also rainy and thundery) Majorca. We opted for a quiet resort with and a family club. Having never done this sort of holiday before we had very little idea what to expect. In my head I envisioned motorised scooters, smelled lots of cigarette smoke and heard lots of parents yelling at 'Kanye' and 'Chardonnay'. Lacking much imagination I concluded it would be much like 'Benidorm' the TV programme and hoped that I would be pleasantly surprised. In my more optimistic moments leading up to our departure I reasoned that it would be packed to the rafters with people like me who had toddlers and limited budgets and would be looking for a safe and quiet resort. I cringed at my barely concealed snobbishness and hoped Karma was something that only affected other people when I felt they should be punished for various crimes against my sensitivities. I know, I appall myself.

The airport in Palma was the first test of our nerve. Kyle, Devon and Declan were running amok and mum and dad were corralling them verbally from a distance while smoking in greedy catch-up gasps. I sighed as I tried to peel Georgia off the revolving gate between baggage claim areas, which she had climbed to the top of while I was busy looking appalled. She escaped onto a luggage carousel while I uselessly asked her to 'Come here now' in middle class tones. Kyle/Devon/Declan's mum looked at me disapprovingly as I had to clamber onto a luggage carousel to haul Georgia back from the chute where the bags come out. Eventually, with a kicking Georgia under one arm and an increasingly harassed Callum waiting for an eternity for the bags to arrive I elected to get Georgia a drink of something orange coloured, guaranteed to give us five minutes peace. Kyle/Devon/Declan stood quietly and patiently by mum and dad while I wrestled Georgia through the revolving gate trying to unravel her spaghetti legs and arms as we went. We met Kyle/Devon/Declan by the drinks machine as they co-operated with each other to insert Euros and get ice cold water to drink. I had to leave the baggage claim area and go to a shop some miles away because I only had notes - much to the relief of the remaining passengers.

Kyle/Devon/Declan's mum and dad continued their noisy but effective parenting outside the airport and we followed them to a jaw-droppingly extensive collection of coaches. My feet were heavy, full as they were of my sinking heart. Kyle/Devon/Declan et al headed for one of the larger coaches and Callum, Georgia and I were peeled off from the herd and steered to a small minibus. Cue orchestral music and sun emerging from the clouds. We travelled in comfortable air conditioning to a pleasant looking hotel fairly close to a beach. The foyer was empty, the pools contained a smattering of children whose parents looked to be operating on the hands-on rather than vocal control technique. I sighed a sigh and we went to our room to unpack. All seemed right with the world until I stepped onto the balcony and heard 'Devon/Kyle/Declan, come 'ere NOOOWWWW' reverberate across the pool area from a little pall of smoke in the distance. It appeared that we ended up at the back of the queue at the airport and our mini-bus, rather than a sign of the exclusivity of our hotel, was because of our general tardiness. Karma.

Peppa Pig

We have been very busy. It is exam board time and I am the exams officer; the students are being awarded their degree classifications (11 firsts and 23 2:1's - I am vicariously proud) and it takes every waking minute to create the impression that we know what we are doing and to spot the phenomenal number of errors we have made leading up the production of a students final marks. I comfort myself that we do spot them, and I will get some sleep next week in all likelihood. Any way, in the midst of all this life goes on. I sang in a concert at the Birtsmorten Court church last weekend and a wonderful concert it was too. I get to sing some fantastic music with the choir at the Crescent Theatre and with some amazingly talented people too.

The day before the concert we went with friends to a beer festival in a pub beer garden. One of our friends was singing with a band and it promised to be a sunny and relaxed day. We had an invite to stay overnight but I feared it would turn into one of those nights and perhaps that was not conducive to singing Purcell, Elgar and the like - I am not keen on being adult, forward thinking and sacrifice - it usually means, like on this occasion, that you go home and hear later how much fun everyone had once you had left. Sigh.

It very much like one of those Toploader videos where heaps of attractive people and their children precariously travel in the back of open trucks through gloriously picturesque and sunny countryside, and wind up having a huge loud party at the end of this journey with much dancing, laughing and singing. You can imagine Nigella in the midst of it dolling out dainty morsels of food from expensive enamelled tins that your granny hated using for their impracticality. It would have been completely perfect if Georgia had been able to enter into the spirit of the day rather than preferring to spend much of her time in a distant corner of the beer garden, well away from all friends and other children, playing on a wooden castle just behind the band. Not very Toploader video at all. I also seem to develop a lack of parenting skills when in these social situations. Eating paella at home does not cause us any problems at all, but in this pub Georgia managed to cover the floor, the tables, the chairs, me, Callum, herself and Craig in sticky fishy rice - and Craig is a vegetarian. Sorry Craig. I found myself saying sharply 'Oh for goodness sake Georgia' while trying to wrestle a wildly mobile fork from her death grip. As I made a final grab for it a lump of squid landed in my eye I managed to see the faces of the people walking past. Their sympathy appeared to lie with Georgia.

During the course of the afternoon I had a very brief conversation with someone about children's TV. Their child believes there is only one TV channel (CBeebies) and they deliberately don't have sky so that they don't get sucked into the vortex of endless drivel. TV is restricted to x time per day, I forget how much. I am not sure avoiding sky facilitates the avoidance of drivel but its an admirable effort anyway. We do have sky (I like drivel) and I remarked that we had so far managed to channel Georgia's interest in TV into two programmes, Night Garden and Peppa Pig. I hate being misunderstood but as the following exchange demonstrates, I should just learn to live with it.

ME: At least I don't mind watching Peppa Pig, I think she has a bit of an edge.

Friend: [touching my gently on the shoulder and looking concerned] ah, bless you, trying to justify letting Georgia watch TV

Me: No, I mean I like watching Peppa Pig, I don't have anything against TV [thinking: well, I do have issues with TV, I mean, it is bad for children to watch too much TV isn't it? Or is that just a middle class myth with no evidence behind it? Didn't I read somewhere that TV was okay as long as you watched together and talked about it? But there isn't anything wrong with Peppa Pig whichever way you look at it. It's funny and the situations are realistic and Peppa can be annoying and Daddy Pig is a bit of a show off and always gets his comeuppance, and maybe that's why I like it because it reinforces my prejudices...]

Friend: Yeah right ...

Me: No, no, I mean I like it, its good that Georgia likes it too because then we can watch it together and I read somewhere....[friend makes and excuse to leave as she senses the rapid internal justification process she had seen flick across my consciousness was now going to be delivered verbally]

I have a friend whose birthday it is today (Happy Birthday K) who posted on Facebook that she is sick of bl**dy Peppa Pig. I am coming close now but for time being I am grateful that I do like it. We have bought into it big style, Peppa Pig blanket, pajamas, wellies, bag, beach towel, train set, play park, balls, books and cuddly toys. This is how the marketing works. I am looking for a Peppa Pig toothbrush because I imagine Georgia will like to use it more than the random other children's toothbrushes I buy. I can hear my sister's eyes rolling while I type this.

Go Peppa. Go K.

Two year development check

The results are in, even the health visitor (HV) couldn't deny that Georgia has grown and developed since her last developmental check. I was slightly apprehensive about the tests that would be administered having heard from a friend about the questions. Georgia only does colours if she feels like it and mostly she doesn't. I needn't have worried, they do colours in the 3 year check. Nursery staff keep telling me she is a little genius but she leaves the evidence of this with them when we come home. As if to underline this the HV did finish with a colour knowledge check (match the coloured paper square to the square of colour on a page in front of you) and she got zero. No clue whatsoever. I have to go back to that book I keep ranting about and point out that it insists you introduce colours to your baby from about 6 months old, presumably at about the same time you are teaching them to drive.

We talked about how she eats (use of cutlery gets a tick), what she eats (food is good), how many teeth she has and how well she cleans them (hmmm, not great on that one - we go for frequency rather than thoroughness). Then she demonstrated that she can jump up and down and stack bricks (7 of them to my great and poorly concealed surprise). Next we established that she can turn pages and identify details in a book (yup- although it had a dragon in it and it was difficult for the HV to get Georgia to move on from shouting DINOSAUR GRRRRR - Peppa Pig Mania still rules). We discussed sleeping (not such a big tick for someone who still insists on waking up at 4am but the HV put this down to the somewhat disrupted year she has had). We then moved on to whether she is able to take off any of her clothes for herself and I said no - we went swimming afterwards and she was running through the changing room discarding items like Reggie Perrin heading for the sea. Typical.

She was asked to point to pictures to show where she sleeps so she pointed at the bed and said 'In a bed' in a tone that suggested she was concerned the HV might not be able to tell what the picture was, how helpful. Then she was asked what she kicks. She pointed to a picture of a cup of tea and I saw the genius score coming down somewhat. She was given a couple more opportunities and continued to point at the cup and say very precisely 'a cup of tea' until with some exasperation she told the HV that she kicked a cup of tea all over the floor. 'Oh' said the HV, and asked what else she kicks and then she obligingly pointed to the ball. Adults can be very dense. Somewhat superfluously the HV asked if she was talking in 3 or 4 word sentences and almost had to shut Georgia up to hear the answer as she gabbled away about the train she was playing with and Peppa Pig. Yes, at least 3 or 4 words. She was also asked to play with a dolly, point out its eyes and nose and point out her own nose and hair. As this exchange was going on I was hoping that the HV was on the ball enough not to ask Georgia to point out her own eyes which could have been a disaster - clearly she has either made that mistake before or it is something that is covered in HV school. She then gave the dolly a drink and fed it as requested, although she pointed out the HV that dolly needed to sit up to eat and drink before ramming a cup into the doll's face with worrying finality. A couple of my friends stayed on the previous night and the husband told me that their 7 year-old is pompous. I can see how that starts.

She copied the HVs circle with some crayons and then a range of lines but she glazed over when asked to add eyes to the HV picture of a face. She did that once everything was packed away. Good girl. At her one year check she started walking the day after. Her sense of timing suggests she will be right at home on the stage, always leave them wanting more.

It was an interesting and reassuring experience. She ticked all the right boxes and I got some feedback that we are coping well with her tantrums. We are also okay to wait a while longer to potty train. Although she has wee'd on a potty she probably only did so coincidentally and because other little dudes were having a go. She is interested but not ready and the HV told me that taking her too quickly will lead to regression when she is a bit older.

She scores age 3 for speech which amazes me, 2.5 for most other things and 2 for getting undressed (mummy's fault) and other 'personal care' skills. I appreciate that these tests mean very little unless something specific is identified for which help is available. All children develop at different speeds and most get there in the end. So why do I feel such a sense of misplaced pride? I think it must be because after 2 years of not really knowing what I am doing, someone whose credentials I respect told me we are doing a good job. I liked it even though a lot of the results are completely nothing at all to do with me.

Nearly 2: chocolate cake, Glamba Samba and Tantrums

Its hard being nearly two. First a birthday party that is not on your birthday because all your little buddies will be away because mummy couldn't hold on till the due date and gave birth inconsiderately on the August bank holiday. The birthday party was a great success despite its lack of proximity to the actual date. We had three two year olds and two four/five year olds naked and frolicking in the back garden while Callum barbecued up a storm. There may have been some beer and wine drunk and it was a fabulous way to spend a hot August Sunday afternoon. Georgia also received a Peppa Pig. Her world is officially almost complete.

I made a chocolate cake from the Be-Ro recipe book. It is a stupendous recipe. You can see the size of the cake and the also the developmental quirk that is no ability to delay gratification that characterises two-year olds (and many 42 year olds). We managed as a group to demolish the lot once doggy bags to take home were prepared.

Meanwhile Georgia is experiencing a sudden onset of uncontrollable frustration. I have mentioned her inability to cope with being greeted in the morning by the 'wrong' parent. Yesterday her nursery had Glamba Samba. I made an effort to leave work early to come and be with Georgia while she enjoyed drumming Samba drums and dancing. The nursery owner was

very enthusiastic about it and told me to be there at 4.30. I arrived at 4.30. They were packing up the drums. Georgia was inside the nursery and looked like she had not been in the garden at all with the drums. It soon became obvious that Glamba Samba was arranged for the slightly older children but we gatecrashed anyway. They obligingly put on a little extra drumming and dancing for me and all the other poor parents who had arrived too late.

Georgia was utterly bemused and refused to dance anywhere except on my hip. Eventually she warmed up and used the maracas, drummed the drums and did her special boingy dancing. It was fantastic and I am definitely going to book them for a party when Georgia is a little older. The four year olds were having a whale of a time. At the end of the music Georgia sat herself in a little covered wooden structure, which she declared was a bus. I tried to tempt her out with promises of p.a.r.k but she wasn't interested. I tried ice-cream, no dice. I tried olives, no thanks. I tried Peppa Pig, no. That's it in my repertoire of bribes: ice cream, olives, park, Peppa Pig. After some time when even the latest to leave children had left I manhandled her out of the bus and put her screaming under my arm. Her cries of 'More bus, more BUS, MOOORRE BUUUUS' got louder and more insistent the further we got away from the 'bus'.

With her under one arm, I gathered her little possessions in my teeth and tried to lever her into the car still screaming - stiff as a board as I tried bend her into a car-seat shape. Next she was uber mobile as I tried to capture her flailing arms and pin her down into the seat straps. She has a dummy in the car but threw this once too often past my head into the driveway of the nursery while we wrestled and so it was removed to the front of the car. This clearly made matters worse and I got 'MORE BUS, DUMMY DUMMY, MORE BUS' until I gave the dummy back at which point the refrain changed to 'MORE BUS NO DUMMY NO DUMMY MORE BUS' in between shrieks and sobs and accompanied by a flying dummy being hurled at my head and then instant regret and loud grieving. I drove home with the windows down to try and dissipate some of the noise, passing slowly along the congested roadways with her still screaming and passersby looking irritated at the disturbance. I prised her out of the car at the other end still screaming, she ran to Daddy still screaming and he took her to the park, still screaming. Stamina, commitment, passion. All good qualities.

It was with some trepidation that I spent a couple of hours with her this morning, wondering what unintended slight or poorly planned activity might fail to meet with her approval, or meet too much with her approval and lead to another half hour or more of the high pitched high volume torture. We were lucky and actually managed to get dressed, brush teeth, play and get to nursery without issue. Fingers crossed for later.

Separation anxiety and rejection - it's a fine line.

I've been away or a while looking after my grumpy father who has just had his hip replaced. He was looked after very ably by a group of nurses who would probably rather have pushed him out of the window if my experience was anything to go by. I have been at his house for two weeks (but back for a couple of days in the middle to go to a fabulous wedding) and so I have had the opportunity to recover from sleep deprivation and start to miss Georgia. The second week was like hell, I missed her so much. The intention was for me to work on my thesis while with Dad and so I left Callum home alone with Georgia. I did work on my thesis although I also had to put up with Dad 'helping me':

Dad says 'You need a break'; Dad means 'I'm bored -let's go out'
Dad says 'You are over complicating it'; Dad means 'I haven't got a clue what you are on about'
Dad says 'You shouldn't be bothering with this'; Dad means 'I'm not in the slightest bit interested in what you are doing'
Dad says 'Those nurses haven't got a clue what they are doing'; Dad means 'I refused my pain killers this morning and now I am in pain and it is their fault'.

Sigh.

On my return home I collected Georgia from nursery with Callum. As I opened the door to the Pumpkin Room (I know, don't ask) she ran screaming across the room towards me, arms open, shouting MUUUMMMMMYYYYYYY in the most gratifying way ever. I was clung to for the whole weekend and I loved it. We had a fantastic weekend involving lots of naked children, a paddling pool and an enormous chocolate cake of which more later. This morning she woke at 5.30 as Callum went out to walk the dogs. I had stupidly stayed awake till 1.00 am and then tossed and turned all night so I was really chuffed she was awake. Seconds after waking she started screaming, the blood curdling type. I went to see what the problem was and she shrank from me into the farthest recess of the cot, clambering up the side in an effort to get as far away from me as possible. I coaxed her, I tried to distract her, I fetched milk, I pretended to do something interesting, I left the room and came back again, nothing affected the shrieking and sobbing. She managed to articulate DAAADDDDDYYYYYY with frequency during this episode. I managed to remove her from the cot which made matters far far worse but she also refused to go back in again. I tried dummy, milk, Peppa Pig distraction, nothing. She finally came to a halt about 30 minutes later and drank her milk, looking at me accusingly over her bottle for not being DDADDDDDDYYYYY. I guess she has got used to me being back then.