Archive | July, 2011

Soccer camp

28 Jul

I was super excited to learn that there was a soccer camp for ages 3 and up this summer. And it started this week, the week after the Turtle turned 3. So he could go! Now, this excitement was not because I dreamed of him becoming the next (insert famous soccer player of choice here). It was because he loves being outside with other kids and kicking balls. Or throwing them. Or sitting on them.So it was right up his alley, I thought.

Day 1: he had a 1 hour nap. Like an eejit I woke him up to go. He cried the entire time.

Day 2: no nap. Powered through on juice and jelly sweets (the ones that pretend they are fruit). He was super excited. “Us is going to play soccer ball!” But we got there 15 minutes early, and by the time the thing had started his attention had waned and he had kicked the ball as much as he was going to. My job for the next hour was to keep him out of the goal (where he was sitting, pretending to be a lion in a cage) so that the other kids could play.

Day 3: he went with Daddy. And apparently did nothing. Nothing to do with soccer anyway.

There are 5 more days left.

We’ll probably still go. It’s a good way to pass the evening while the Hubby works late. It’s in a park, so he can always play on the slide or something. But if he says he doesn’t want to go, we won’t.

A dislike of organised sport may be in his genes. Mine was passed down to me from my Father. It’s not the sports I don’t like, it’s peoples’ insistence on taking them so seriously. Take this camp, which is a bunch of little kids in oversized T-shirts learning how to kick a ball. None of them are older than 3. And you have the parents coaching them form the sidelines “The SIDE of your foot”, “NO hands on the ball” etc. As if their kids are going to go out tomorrow and win the World Cup single handedly.

If my fella kicks the ball once during the whole hour I’m happy enough. Although I think I must be annoying to the other parents too, because I don’t take it seriously enough. And I could care less if he spends the entire time sitting on the ball, trying to hatch it because it’s a dragon’s egg. I know that I don’t have the child who is going to stand quietly in line, waiting for his turn to kick the ball. Right now he won’t even stand in the line, but when he does he’ll be the one twirling in circles or singing or something. And that’s fine with me.

Surely having fun is the most important thing?  Why would he even want to kick the ball when the other kids who are doing it are just getting shouted at for doing it wrong??

Two firsts

24 Jul

This week we had two firsts: the first trip to the cinema, and the first trip to the theater.

On Monday we saw the new Winnie the Pooh  movie. 102 minutes, it was just the right length. Especially when a small boy is occupied with a bucket of popcorn. Mmm, buttery, salty goodness. His eyes barely wandered from the screen throughout. Of course he is going to be one of those people who talks during movies. Because that is just who he is. A talker. What can I say?  I too have wonderfully witty and insightful things to say during movies. It drives the Hubby a bit mad. But now he’s outnumbered. We’re just going to talk to him during movies. The Turtle may have to learn how to whisper though. Soon-ish.

He seemed to enjoy it. I thought it wasn’t bad, although for the life of me I cannot remember what it was about. I think Eyore sang a song about his “Derriere.” Hmm, something to do with a lost tail? An hour and a half of my life, lost forever. Still, it got us out of the house. And now we know he’ll sit for an entire movie. Always good to know. Maybe someday there’ll be a kids movie worth seeing. And we’ll be able to watch it in its entirety.

And at the theatre? We saw Seussical: the Musical. Almost in its entirety. Service was interrupted for a bathroom break. But he loved it. I watched the first hour or so through the light in his eye. He was mesmerised. The lights, the costumes, the music. I expect that there will be more musicals in our future. A fair number of them.

And he got to meet The Cat in the Hat. He was starstruck, but still able to tell him how great he thought he was. The first time he has ever spoken to someone in a costume. He loves The Cat. Adores him. Even more so now that he has met him.

Look at you

23 Jul

You’re three now. I look at you some days and wonder where the time went. One minute you were helpless in my arms. Now you’re ordering me about. A lot. I’m only listening because your flights of fancy are much more interesting than mine: “I need to sing with the whales Mammy.” “Umm, ok.” “Hold my legs. I’m is need to be upside down.” “Oh, right. Do whales sing upside down?” “Yep.” How do you know this stuff?

You’re like a little sponge. Soaking up information and spurting it out when you need it. And your imagination seems to need a lot of information. I love to watch you process things. I may not tell you this until after you leave home, but you are smarter than I am. I am learning with you though. I mean I now know a lot more about dinosaurs than I even thought there was to know. I’m pretty sure that when I was a kid that there were only about 6 dinosaurs. Apatosaurus? No. Giganotosaurus? Definitely not.

Marine biology is another thing I never knew anything about. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know how soft anemones are. Or that they tickle. Or that starfish are fairly solid. And can regenerate their legs. You love the ocean and aquariums. I had visited maybe one aquarium before I had you, now I have visited almost every one we have passed. I know that I didn’t touch anything. No one could convince me that I had to, in the way that you can. “But you hafta Mama. It’s soft, see. It tickles, heeeeeeeeee!”

You’re persuasive. And bossy. You’re funny. Although, you seem to think you’re funnier than you actually are, which does make you funnier, so work away with your cheesy grin and your fake laugh. You’re smart. And oh so lovable. Sometimes you run up to me, especially for a hug. And now and again you declare “I luff you Mama”. I’m saving these moments up for when you become a sullen teenager. At the rate time is flying by, well, that could be any minute.

You have taken to telling me when you’re sad and cross. And what to do to make you feel better. At the moment it’s usually “Sing a song and me feel better Mama.” If you’re hurt though, a kiss is all that will do. And if you’re tired? “Snuggles Mama.”

You’re getting tall now too. But now that you’re potty trained your little bum is too small to hold up your pants. You’re constantly hitching them up. I sometimes worry that you’ll end up with some kind of tick. So I have unearthed your 18m pants, although they sometimes require hitching up too. “I’m is biggered enough.” Yes you are. Too big.

But you’re still my baby. You always will be.

Diaper-free before 3

6 Jul

11 days to go, before that magic birthday and I have a small boy who uses the potty. Consistently. During the day. Ahem. Yes, we’re not entirely diaper free. He still has one at night. Because, well, sleep is THE most important thing. And he still comes into our bed at night. So…

Dear God, but this has been a long journey (don’t judge the smugness). There was no setting the timer and peeing every 10 minutes. I don’t actually know what the key was. I have no idea how we went from wiping up pee three times a day to him going to the potty when he needed to. I just know that one morning I followed him into the bathroom and there he was sitting on the potty, shouting at me to get out. Not exactly a heart melting moment, but up there on the motherhood top ten, regardless.

My mother said (ages ago) that he wouldn’t go until he was ready. I said “Blah, blah he WILL go”. There may or may not have been gritted teeth. But it turns out she was right. I have the kind of child who won’t really do things until he can actually do them. Take the balance bike, for example. Santa brought it.He tried it on Christmas day, wobbled a bit and wouldn’t get back on it for SIX months!! The key there was putting an obnoxious horn on it. I thought I was going to go insane for the three days I left it on. Insane!! Thankfully the bike retained its allure when I took the horn off and yesterday he “cycled” almost a mile to play group and another mile back! (Let’s not mention that I had to carry it for the other two miles, while he was in the buggy). So he’s one of those children. Maybe this means I won’t be drawing pictures on demand forever either. One of these days he’ll decide he can draw and I’ll be able to surf the internet do the dishes in peace while he occupies himself drawing masterpieces of varying degrees.

Soon (well,  not too soon) we’ll try underwear. And maybe even night time. I may also have to address the urge he seems to have to pee outside. Not that I really have a problem with him peeing outside. But when he is outside he can’t decide where to pee. He was mithering around the park last week FOR AN HOUR, trying to decide where to pee. And never peed. He decided instead that we had to go home so he could pee. It may have been the only time during this process where I wanted to scream, as I pulled my hair out “JUST PEE!!!”

And there have been moments when I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

We brought him out without a nappy for the first time about two weeks ago.
Picture the scene: beautiful park, in a local “Dutch” town. Lots of little houses and windmills and things for kids to play in. The structure itself is wooden, so when you’re short (like me) you can’t really see where your child is.
The Hubby (who is rather tall) spots that he has stopped moving and is bracing himself in “poo position” and clambers up after him as fast as he can. Scoops him up and an enormous poop escapes the leg of his shorts (no knickers on). Honestly, a big ball of poop. Bigger than a baseball. The Hubby panics. Turns a bright shade of purple. (I may or may not have laughed). A quick but (hopefully) discrete clean up operation and a mad dash to the loo and we were sorted.
We don’t now go anywhere unless he has pooped first. Luckily, he’s a once a day, in the morning man.
Big ball of warm poop in your hand. One of motherhood’s finer moments.
But that’s all behind me now. Isn’t it? ISN’T IT??!?
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