A Mummy, a Boy, a Bear and a Beast.

I realised today that I am officially a grown up. I am a Mother, a Wife, I even vacuum my own floor and sort lights from darks (and whites from brights and any other rhyming colour groups). I not only care for other people, but I care for them more than I care about myself. Here, is by no means a complete, list of examples why, and how, I reached adulthood.

# I talk to friends, regularly, about meals, meal planning and slow cookers.
# I get excited by my cake decorating magazine subscription.
# I get excited by the weird nozzles that come with my cake decorating magazine.
# I seriously weigh up the pros and cons between a normal mop and bucket and a steam mop.
# I look at steam mop reviews on the internet.
# I decide not to get a steam mop in-case it makes the laminate floor melt.
# I ask my parents for an acti-fry for my birthday.
# I talk, often, about fabric conditioner.
# I talk, often, about washing powder.
# Sunshine no longer means sunbathing but putting full loads of washing out on the line.
# Sunshine especially means white washes.
# Sunshine super especially means nappy washes.
# My most used phrases are 'Come on Boy', 'Beast, bed!' and 'What would you like for dinner?'
# The smell of bleach makes me happy.
# I chat to strangers.
# I think young hipster boys should pull their trousers up and stop flashing their pants.

And, lastly...

# If I don't start my day with tea I get sad, then angry, then sleepy.

Both the boys are dairy intolerant, for Boy this doesn't mean much, he has special butter, special chocolate and a complete lack of pizza. For Bear, however, it means two bottles a day of the most disgusting smelling prescription milk the world has ever seen. Nutramigen. Aka, nail varnish remover, seamlessly blended with rotten potatoes, dried and powdered for your convenience. Bear has been on this concoction for months, draining his bottles in a few minutes and casting the empty container aside. He likes his milk. Now though, he's no longer draining anything, he's sipping, chewing on the spout then chucking the full bottle away in disgust. Clearly his taste buds are now evolved enough that he actually realises what he's consuming.

This poses a problem. As I don't want his bones to crumble and his still emerging teeth to fall out through lack of calcium he needs to drink his milk. He needs to drink all the milk I deign to give him. But he won't, he just, won't. Googling away (as you do in any kind of crisis) I found an uppity woman who stated, quite clearly (on a post about cows milk protein intolerance) that children should not be drinking cows breast milk (Breast? Udder?) and should be getting everything they need through solid food including yoghurts and cheese. Because clearly these don't contain any cows milk. She then went on to rave about the benefits of hemp milk. Yes, hemp milk. Hemp as in the item that some may smoke to evoke certain illegal highs, or make sacks out of. Hemp most definitely doesn't have udders, or breasts, or any kind of milk giving system. How, in the name of Dickens, do you get milk out of some hemp? The same goes for almonds. And rice. I'm assuming rice milk is the left over murky water from over boiling. I hope I am wrong.

Lastly, on my milk-giving-receiving thread. Whales are mammals, yes? So they feed their young? How, exactly, do they do this without all the milk washing away? And without drowning? Answers on a postcard please.

I just read an article about allowing your children to feel their feelings. And rightly so, when the Boy is happy I encourage it, laugh with him, help him to dance and prat about. When the Bear had his recent jabs I cried with him, a solitary tear sharing his pain and shock and ouchiness. This is healthy, yes? Normal reactions to normal situations.

This article, however, said that this is not enough. If water was to spill on your child, for example, you should acknowledge that this makes them sad. Encourage them to explore the tears (which incidently would only make them wetter) and help them to feel the feelings of sadness. Apparently telling them off for spilling water and handing them a cloth to help mop it up is not in the 'good Mummy' guidelines.

The Boy frequently sulks because he doesn't like playing anymore. What do I do? Ignore him. He's being silly and quite frankly, it's not behavior I want to encourage. When he's screaming because he's scared of a hermit crab (real life situation) I talk to him about it, reassure him he doesn't need to be scared, I show him pictures of happy, friendly crabs and tell him they want to be his friend. I don't want him to explore his fear, being scared is scary, as Mummy I should be his rock who tells the creatures to go away, mops up his tears and send him on his merry way. As Mummy, I jolly them out of their sadness, cheer them up and tickle them til they smile.

We will not be exploring any tears, we will not be dwelling on why toast crumbs on his top makes the Boy crazy, we will wipe them off and move on. Growing up children will find bigger things to be sad about, things that are worthy of deep discussion and reflection sessions, but for now? A lack of chocolate buttons is not an excuse for tears. End of.

The Boy is getting very clever, we are doing secret maths today, this mainly involves cars, wheels and the taking away of wheels. Regardless, he knows a car has 4 wheels, and if you remove them (literally thanks to the Bears car rocker) it has less than 4. He is a genius. My mind was wandering into the future, of Boy becoming the next Stephen Hawkins, of his big fat brain helping to shape the modern world. Then he poured his cup of juice into the back of a toy truck and brummed it all over the coffee table. Dreams shattered.

Bear, on the other hand, is into more physical activites at the moment. He climbs, gets stuck, falls on his bum then cries until I pick him up. At least his padded cloth bum is absorbing most of the impact, I hate to think of the bruises he'd have in a pampers. Bear can also point (into your mouth, then fish hook your lip), clap (the top of Boys head in a slappy motion) and shake his head no (at everything you ask him to do). He's hilarious in a very-cute-but-not-doing-what-he's-told way.

Both the boys are getting very big, very fast, this is freaking me out slightly. Then I remember that the Beast will never grow old, and all is right in the world.

The Bear is going to turn 1 tomorrow. One whole year old. I'm slightly in shock. But am determined to celebrate. I've created a beautiful rainbow cake, 6 layers of different coloured sponge all stuck together with lashings of butter cream. Only my cakes didn't rise properly, and I ran out of butter. Once the Husbands home (brandishing the finest dairy free butter in all the land) I will sandwich the bright, flat, cake biscuits together and stick a candle in the top. Voila. Cake, done.

Tomorrow proves to be busy, photo session, soft play and a lovely family dinner. The chances are the Bear will get cross, quite probably scream and most definitely fall asleep at some inappropriate moment. Ah well, at least there will be cake. Of a sort.

So, happy birthday for tomorrow my little Bear. You're growing up too quick.

A liebster is a thing where people basically ask me questions about myself, then I have to pick more people to ask questions too. I got liebstered twice so feel it's probably time to respond. My first nomination came from Leoarna at http://notdifferentbutinteresting.wordpress.com/ . She asked me these things:

1. You’re a blogger. That much is self-evident. But why do you blog? And, in the time you’ve been blogging, have your reasons for doing it changed?

I started blogging to keep track of the funny things the Boy did. Now I have a Bear too. He's also hilarious. My blog amuses me, and records little things I'd otherwise forget. It's a bonus that other people like it too.

2. What story does your family always tell about you?

When I was a child I didn't really eat. Well, not in a conventional manner. I used to store unwanted food in my cheeks like a hamster to dispose of later.

3. Social media; ‘in’, or ‘out’, and why?

Neither really. I'd like to be in, well, maybe dip a toe in. I wouldn't, for example, use real names etc on my blog or post nudie pictures of my boys on facebook. I'm also very easily confused by twitter/blog websites/life.

4. Which television or radio show would you like to go to the recording of, and why?

Dexter. Because it's my latest tv obsession. I wish there was a deeper, more thoughtful reason, but there isn't.

5. Leonardo da Vinci said, ‘Where there is shouting there is no true knowledge.’ What are you truly knowledgeable about, that, perhaps, you just don’t talk about that much?

I like to pretend I'm knowledgeable about medical stuff. I'm not. I've just been injured a lot.

My next set of questions are from the lovely, ginger Ruth over at http://ruthpovey.com/liebster

1.If you could meet you, but ten years younger, what advice would you give yourself?

That it will all be ok.

2.It’s been a rough day – do you need company, or time alone?

Company, but silent non-talking company.

3.A book that changed you?

The exorcist. Has freaked me out for life.

4.Any recent embarrassing moments?

Many. Most involving the Boy and his big mouth. At the doctors recently for example, a man got called in to see the doctor.
Boy 'Mummy, that man seeing the doctor?'
Me 'Yes Boy'
Boy 'Has he got a sore willy?'
Me 'Erm...I don't think so.'
Boy 'Ah, ok, ok, a sore bottom?'
Me 'Yes, why not....'

5.What does a typical Saturday look like for you?

Vacuuming, Beast walking, Tesco going, food cooking. Although yesterday I got tattooed. Nice break from routine and all that.

6.Favourite place to be, outside of the house?

At the park, letting the Beast and the Boy run wild and free.

7. How do you choose what to write about?

As I said before, I write about things that amuse me. Little things, that otherwise I'd forget.

8. Who inspires you?

The Husband, The Boy, The Bear...not so much the Beast...

9.What sort of music comes out of your speakers?

All kinds of random crap, from Christian worship music, to the Rolling Stones, to the top 20 (Dirty stinking base)

10.How do you feel about roller coasters?

I like them. A lot. And am counting the centimeters til Boy is big enough to join me on them.

11.Socks. Sensible or robots?

Matching is a good start. I also like ones with reindeer on. Unfortunately they're only acceptable at Christmas.

Random facts about myself...
1.I am a vegetarian.
2.I'm currently crocheting a blanket the size of a small planet.
3.I haven't had unpainted toe nails in a number of years.
4.I have a real life degree in Creative Writing. Sadly, this isn't used for anything productive.
5.I occasionally fart and blame the Beast.

Here are my questions...

1. Do you like pancakes?
2. What are your thoughts on horse burgers?
3. If you could own any animal in all the land what would it be?
4. Crafting. Yes or no. If yes, what?
5. Most hated childrens tv program.

And here are my fine nominees...

Beth at http://momma-b-babyboy.blogspot.co.uk/
justanormalmummy at http://justanormalmummy.blogspot.co.uk/
Ruth (again) at ruthpovey.com

That is all. Well done for reading!

I just had an email through from BabyCentre entitled 'Your baby at 11 months'. Well, Bear is rapidly approaching one, surely he can do everything on their list? Maybe even be a little above their suggestions? I opened it feeling quite smug... then less smug. Then slightly upset for my clearly stunted child. 'If you ask your baby where his mouth is he should be able to point at it.' So, I asked him. He slapped the table whilst shouting 'gagagagag'. OK, not quite to plan, 'He'll be able to babble in short sentences...' That he does. '...that almost sound like proper language.' Erm. Maybe to a Polish person? 'Most 11 month olds can respond to simple questions by pointing at an object you've just named'. Considering he hasn't figured out how to point yet he may find this quite difficult.

Have I mentioned before that I hate the 'average age' thingy-ma-jigs? Those concerned Health Visitors who get their knickers in a twist because babies don't do everything to schedule? Bear is fine. He will point and talk and most probably walk at some point. For now, I will enjoy the gagags and the oweee noises. And the fact he can't answer back. Or ask for gingerbread men every 4 seconds. For now, he can be my little Bear, before he gets all big.

Ladies and Gentleman, tonight, an achievement of simply epic proportions has taken place. The Boy. The chip-eating-healthy-food-refusing Boy ate his rice. Not just a spoonful, no, a whole serving. And the truly, amazing thing? He liked it. That is all. I think I need a moment...

We spent the last week away in Liverpool, visiting S and Not-so-tiny T for his second birthday. My thoughts on Liverpool? It is cold. Very cold. The fact that our hometown was also probably surfing the sub temperatures means nothing, we were up north, and up north is cold. Despite the frostbite we had a fantastic time, with soft play, zoo trips and lots of cake. (As we know, cake is a staple diet of any self respecting Mummy). The zoo day in particular really highlighted the Boys knowledge of animals. He recognised the giraffes, the elephants, even the okapi. His favourite animal though? A duck. A duck that he chased screaming quack at. Yes, really.

The boys both behaved, to some degree. Bear was good, doing Beary things, although typically he waited til we were many miles away from the Husband to learn all new tricks. He went up a pincer-less, arm flailing baby and came back a pincing, waving, clapping machine. Although not on demand. Or when anyone is looking. The Boy went up a screaming, stropping, demanding toddler and came back a screaming, stropping, demanding toddler with several new toys and a lovely Thomas tracksuit. Lesson learnt? No. Not at all.

We traveled back on Friday afternoon. Friday morning I was struck with the 'bug'. I felt like a caveman who'd just had a tussle with a T-Rex and spent 4 hours on board a jiggling, jolting training doing my best not to throw up, cry and internally combust all at once. The Boy found this hilarious and relished in shouting 'Wake up Mummy!' every time my eyes shut. Throw a screaming Bear into the mix and I was quite ready to go hide in the toilet, especially when the Boy started snapping my foot with his plastic crocodile. For an hour. Our station has never looked sweeter. Neither has my bed. Even the Beast looked all shiny and happy.

I loved being away and seeing my far away friends. Though next time I'm bringing the Husband. And a baby cage. And a duck.

So both the boys are full of cold
and I feel tired, and sad and old.
My days been spent in a snotty haze
working through a toy filled maze.
Wipe a bum and plug a nose
clean some gooey crap off my toes.
Mop some wee up off the floor
while Bear shrieks shock me to the core.
Stop the Boy from throwing a fit
about being asked to sit.
Stop him from throwing toys
try to stop him making noise.
Go to prod and poke the dinner
dreaming dreams of being thinner.
Look down at pyjama legs
and drain my tea right to the dregs.
Times ticked on, it's half past three
I'm not the Mum I thought I'd be.
I haven't sewed nor cleaned nor baked
we're not yet dressed for goodness sake.
Ah well, it's nearly time for bed
there's books begging to be read.
Half an hour then try to sleep
convincing Bear not to weep.
He hates his bed, he hates his teeth
we hate them too the damn sleep thieves.
He grabs his toy and snuggles up
here's the moments that I love.
Right my boys, it's time to go
Boy, don't, hang on, just no!
Tidy up, toys away
ready to scatter, another day.