Jumping up and down in . . . . a dog wee?

Peppa's tip: make sure it's water before starting to splash....

Puddles have been proving problematic.
Out and about, The G in particular is all-too-often unable to resist.
Jumping up and down in them, splashing me and The B, damp feet for the remainder of our journey, not good.
I blame Peppa Pig and her penchant for this particular activity, the muddier the better seeming to be the lesson The G has learnt.
In her wellies, I don't mind so much.
In her shoes, it's not a pastime to be encouraged.
Fortunately, a breakthrough has been made on this front, the solution something I could never have foreseen.
The other day, walking home, The G spotted a puddle and, as is her wont, headed straight for it at full speed.
Jumping up and down, having a great time . . . .
Until I pointed out that the puddle was, in fact, a dog wee.
Problem solved.
Suddenly, puddles are proving a little less attractive to certain people in the household.

Catching the maps and Metros bug . . . .

Better than an Ikea store guide............

I fear I've caught something from The B.

I hadn't considered this particular condition to be contagious.

I might have made a mistake.

It's not the ailment that sidelined him last week, that has passed, although The G's fight for full fitness continues.

This, more an obsession than an illness.

You might perhaps recall that The B has a long-standing interest in buses, trains and trams.

In recent times, this has manifested itself in a fast-growing collection of timetables, route maps and other assorted transport-related leaflets.

It's not unusual for The B to choose the timetable for the 306 to read at bedtime.

It's not behaviour that has ever been encouraged.
Until now, that is.

You see, strange as it might seem, this is the part that has proved to be so contagious in recent times.

I never thought it possible, but I've started to find such things rather fascinating myself, so much so that I've bought a book.

It's called Metro Maps of the World.

The work of writer and transport aficionado Mark Ovenden, it is a compendium of maps and diagrams from transit systems all over the planet.

Subways, Undergrounds, Metros and U-Bahns, 200 cities, the most obvious ones (London, New York, Paris, Tokyo), and those a little more unexpected (Jerusalem, Dnepropetrovsk, Calcutta, Birmingham).

Needless to say, it's proving rather popular here, The B enjoying it almost as much as I do.

His own collection, incidentally, continues to grow, although its contents are becoming ever more eclectic.

The latest addition, joining all the bus timetables and rail network maps, an Ikea store guide, acquired during an otherwise-unexciting shopping expedition just after Christmas.

It's strange the things that appeal sometimes . . . .

Silent Sunday 29.01.2012

Coffee and TV (and Calpol) . . . .

This lot should do it......

You couldn't make it up sometimes.

Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, The B unwell, The G fighting fit.

Thursday, The B gets better, The G becomes ill.

The timing remarkable, the smoothest handover imaginable.
The most astonishing thing, that at no point were both in good health at the same time.
Rather, the minute The B's condition recovered, The G's deteriorated, as though it had been pre-arranged.
Her illness is nothing like as bad as his, I'm glad to say, nothing serious, no need for Banana Medicine, the fight well within Calpol's capabilities.
In isolation, no sweat.
But following The B's six successive broken nights, not the best, it has to be said.
He slept through last night, for the first time since January 19.
The G did not.
She's making up for it now, flat out on the sofa, sleep the thing she needs the most.
That and Peppa Pig.
Perhaps a little more Calpol.
For me, it's caffeine and paracetamol all the way, and copious quantities have been consumed already.
I'm sticking to the stated dose on the latter.
I can't make the same claim in relation to the coffee.

Fiction Fridays #11: The Very Small . . . .

"One day, when Giant Baby Bear was playing in the woods, 
he found a very small..........something!"

FF#11

The Very Small: Joyce Dunbar and Debi Gliori (2000).

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THIS WEEK at The Children's Writer: Legitimisation, my mystery mentor and a shot in the arm for the publishing project.....

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Top Trumps: the ideal illness indicator . . . .

Top Trumps: no longer a guaranteed laugh.......

Clearest indication so far that The B has been feeling unwell.
Earlier, I suggested playing Top Trumps.
For the first time ever he didn't snigger.
Not even a smirk, unquestionable evidence that poorliness had taken a firm grip on a four-year-old for whom nothing can be funnier than a little flatulence-based humour.
That was this morning.
Since then, I'm relieved to report, significant improvement.
That due, no doubt, in no small part to a little Haribo therapy, an unscheduled morning nap and the astonishing amount of pharmaceutical products swilling around his system.
The average human body, around 60% water.
The B, right now, around 60% medicine.
The results of this morning's cutting edge experiment have medicine beating Peppa Pig, the final scoreline 12 spoons to 10 episodes, quite a contest.
It's obvious that I have chanced upon a formula for success, because ever since a trying post-lunch period, he has been almost back to normal.
There are still ups and downs in the pipeline, of that I have no doubt, but the signs are that we're getting there.
Just one more thing required to nail it: a good night's sleep, and I don't just mean The B.

Peppa v Medicine: The Great Experiment . . . .

It's raining (inside the Channel Tunnel)......

Today, I shall be conducting a unique experiment.

In the name of medical research, that is.

The aim, to examine the complex relationship between pharmaceutical products and Peppa Pig during sustained periods of childhood illness.

The question I hope to answer, this: Over the next 12 hours or so, will I dispense more spoons of medicine than I watch episodes of Peppa? 

Yesterday, between 7am and 7pm, 15 spoons, split between Calpol (the undisputed favourite), Junior Ibuprofen (not so keen) and Amoxicillin (disgusted by, requires bribes).

I didn't think to count the Peppa episodes.

For reasons of sanity, I'm hoping I didn't sit through 15, although I suspect it's a close-run thing.

Pleased to report that progress is being made, the Banana Medicine - despite its appalling flavouring - doing the job in its own inimitable style.

Tiredness the real enemy, so much so that The B and The G (not ill herself, but pleased to support The B in his own attempts to get better) both fell asleep on the sofa during afternoon stories yesterday.

On Monday, I went for a drive, the pair flat out in the back, just like old times, me cursing each pothole and level crossing, the sun's position determining our route as I battled to prevent dazzle that might disturb invaluable slumber.

The efforts are paying off, The B getting there, the improvement marked.

Starting to feel a little better, he has managed a little Lego, enjoyed his trains and cars and even done some drawing.

From the latter activity, the above picture, a brilliant scene from inside the Channel Tunnel.

I chose to overlook the rain and clouds, content to accept that, on this occasion, the undersea network could have its own weather system.

Chuffed to bits, it made him feel better than all the Calpol in the world.

Speaking of which, he must be due another dose, maintaining the correct medicine-TV ratio perhaps the most important job I'll have to do over the coming hours.

Right now, the scoreline is Medicine 3 Peppa 2.

The final result is too close to call.

Australia: around the world in 80 words . . . .

Dangerous place, Australia.......

Thanks to Grandpa Pig, The B&G have heard a little about a time that he likes to refer to as The Olden Days.
The problem here, that applying knowledge that has been acquired from Peppa Pig episodes can sometimes prove a stretch too far in real-life situations.
This, a case in point.
The B was born in 2007, The G in 2009, and, at times, I find myself unable to convince them that life existed prior to their respective arrivals.
In a bid to prove that myself and The W had a life during the pre-B&G era, I've spent recent days showing them photographs from our honeymoon.
Looking at these got me thinking about SAHDandproud's Around the World in 80 Words project and his kind invitation to me to submit a follow-up to the fond recollection of Edinburgh, The B's second birthday, that I posted earlier this week.
The challenge, to describe a favourite place, holiday, outing or travel-related experience.
In 80 words or less.
It's an invitation I'm delighted to accept again so, in a nutshell, here's a land Down Under:

Honeymoon, B&G-free, 2006, Australia, glorious.
The works: Sydney, Harbour Bridge Climb, bushwalking in the Blue Mountains, 48-hour sleeper train, Uluru (right to the top), rainforest, the Great Barrier Reef. Feasting on kangaroo and crocodile, a drunken didgeridoo lesson, the highlights captured on camera.
The B&G like the photographs.
Their favourite? The bridge? The reef? Ayres Rock?
Not a chance.
It's the enraged ostrich attacking me one morning at the zoo.
Like that's funny.

Peppa on prescription and marvellous medicine . . . .

Carlsberg don't make medicine.......

Our regard for certain medicines is on record.
There are some ailments, however, that even Calpol and Haribo can't cure.
On such occasions, time to bring out the big guns.
Our favoured pharmaceutical heavyweight, Amoxicillin, or, as The B&G like to call it, Banana Medicine.
Bright yellow and brilliant, nothing I've ever taken can be considered quite as potent.
Not for the first time, Amoxicillin came riding to our rescue this morning.
You see, The B is unwell and, earlier today, having battled through the weekend, no longer able to sustain his brave efforts, he suggested that it might be time to consult a GP.
I've resorted to begging doctors for Amoxicillin in the past, but thankfully, because it is a humiliating experience, there was no need to plead this time out.
This particular physician, our kind of doctor, very much on our wavelength.
Not only did he give us the much-hoped-for Banana Medicine, he also offered us a giant bottle of Calpol (our previous GP had refused to prescribe infant Paracetamol products, claiming - for some inexplicable reason - that such a practice contravened his ethics).
But that's not all.
You see, just before ushering us from his consulting room, the doctor suggested that several hours spent watching Peppa Pig might help.
Needless to say, having heard this, The G, despite displaying no symptoms herself, claimed this afternoon that she too might be ill.
Nice try, I told her as I dragged her off the sofa.

Edinburgh: around the world in 80 words . . . . .

Not quite Phileas Fogg......

I like a good challenge almost as much as I like a good blog.

That in mind, I'm grateful to SAHDandproud, because this afternoon, he has provided both.

The challenge that he has set, in a nutshell, to describe a favourite place, holiday, outing or travel-related experience.

In 80 words or less.

He calls it Around the World in 80 Words.

You can take part, or read other posts on this topic, here.

Needless to say, like most things that SAHDandproud does, I wish I'd thought of this first. 

It just remains for me to thank him for reminding me about a cherished time........ in Edinburgh:

The B's second birthday, 2009, overnight in Edinburgh.

Scotland in September unpredictable, this one unseasonable, conditions perfect.

The main attraction, Waverley Station (The B train obsessed, buses not yet on his radar).

Lunch at Garfunkels, the 1980s inside, but child-friendly, then the zoo (penguin parade good, elephant absence less so), The B&G sleeping in the buggy, somewhere near the zebras.

Sunbathing in Princes Street Gardens. 

Bare-chested.

The B, not me.

Birthday or not, no-one needs to see that.

Silent Sunday 22.01.12

Limited success for the Ryvita eater . . . .

Is it lunchtime yet?

The Floorboard Preservation Programme has been going according to plan.
So I thought, at least.
In recent days, I have stood up to the greatest challenge a dieting stay-at-home dad can face: a fourth birthday party buffet.
Sausage rolls, chips and pizza slices everywhere, crisps galore, a snack lover's Paradise, fragile willpower tested to breaking point.
Just looking at it gave me the shakes.
I did it, though.
There have been other tests en route.

Yesterday, for instance, making chocolate Cornflake cakes with The B&G, I didn't so much as lick the spoon.

I even had a Ryvita for lunch.
No-one can say that I'm not working hard to stick to my New Year's Resolutions, number four in particular.
I had thought that the results spoke for themselves.
Until this morning, that is.
You see, just after breakfast, The G did her best puffer fish impersonation, inflating her cheeks and thrusting out her stomach, making herself as big as possible.
"I've got a massive tummy," she announced. "Just like you."
Seems I might need to rethink this.
Biscuit tin, here I come.

Fiction Fridays #10: I am not sleepy . . . .

"I have this little sister Lola. She is small and very funny.
Sometimes I have to keep an eye on her......"

FF#10

I am not sleepy and I will not go to bed: Lauren Child (2001).

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Best of the blogs: Last week's Fiction Fridays official favourites:

Child-led Chaos: The Tough Princess.

Musings of a Stressy Mummy: Elephant Wellyphant.

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THIS WEEK at The Children's Writer: It's not about the money, money, money, and Wise men say, only fools rush in.....

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Sweet success and being just a daddy . . . .

Sweets: a cure for all ills.............

Swimming this morning, The B somehow managed to injure himself.
He'd been lying on a float, face down, sliding around the pool.
It looked like fun.
Until he slid right off, that is.
The pool floor quite rough, I presume for optimal grip underfoot, the result a painful-looking stomach scrape.
The B red-tummied and tearful, it seemed best to end our session and head for the changing room for cuddles and a closer examination.
In these situations, I find sweets cure most ills and so I decided to prescribe Starmix, just a small dose, just right for such injuries.
"Is this going to make it better?" The B asked as I produced the packet.
"Trust me," I replied. "I'm a doctor."
The B thought about this for a moment.
"You're not a doctor," he said. "Mummy's a doctor."
I opened the sweets for him, the tears gone already.
"So what am I?" I asked.
Further contemplation.
"You're just a daddy," he said.
That's good enough for me.

The Star Song, The Ba Song and CDVDCDs . . . .

Ba ba ba, ba ba black sheep..........

Lionel Richie is getting less and less airtime these days.
You see, The B is expanding his musical horizons.
He has just about mastered the difference between a CD and a DVD, unlike The G, who, no matter whether she'd like to listen to something or watch it, has begun to ask me to put on a CDVDCD, or some other random combination of those letters.
The B is a little better at technology, so much so that in recent days I've introduced him to the iPod.
I've even created a playlist for him, songs I feel he can process, not too loud, not too much guitar, the lyrics sung not shouted and, above all (it's important, this one), not Eminem.
Listening to it in the car this afternoon en route to the museum.
"I like all the songs on this," he announced.
Some, though, he enjoys a little more than others.
His favourites, There's a Star by Ash (or, as he calls it, The Star Song) and Barbara Ann by The Beach Boys (nowadays known as The Ba Song).
The G, not interested, she'll take it or leave it, no matter the choice.
I suspect, deep down, she's hoping that, one day, I'll put on the Peppa Pig soundtrack album for us all to listen to.
Now there's a frightening thought....

BigJigs and The B . . . .

No puzzle here, BigJigs is the best........

Favourite brand, a close-run thing, but BigJigs just claims it from Orchard Toys, Calpol and the ever-popular McCoys.
You can't move here for The B's fast-growing wooden railway, the house brimming with trains, trucks, tracks and all the assorted accessories.
He's got the lot: stations (in small, medium and large), bridges (in all shapes, sizes and styles), straights (short, long and even longer), curves (two different lengths), all the different junctions, points systems, and everything else imaginable.
There are some other things that one might not imagine also.
There's the coal mine, for instance, the docks too, and even a car park that can boast a rather splendid helipad.
Favourites items in the collection: the train washer (mine); the signal box (his).
This is a collection that has been growing for just over four years, ever since The B received his first pieces during his maiden Christmas Morning, in fact.
Since then, pardon the pun, it has been full steam ahead for the BigJigs-B relationship.
Total pieces: innumerable.
Hours spent engaged in rail-related activities: countless.
It used to be the trains themselves that held the appeal, The B spending hour after hour crouching down in the classic little-boy-playing-with-small-vehicle position, pushing around assorted engines, carriages and trucks, lost in his miniature environment.
These days, however, it's all about the engineering.
The transit systems being built at present are becoming rather sophisticated and, I must admit, this appeals to me almost as much as it does him.
Indeed, from time to time, there are differences in opinion, me and The B never quite able to agree on the details.
I like to make it realistic, he prefers to use his imagination to create never-seen-before rail configurations that are all about eschewing traditional transport planning conventions.
I don't always manage it, but on such occasions, I attempt to take a back seat and let him do it to suit his own personal preference.
It's difficult, but it is, after all, his railway, and I am old enough to know better.

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Silent Sunday 15.01.12

The earliest start ever: an 11.07pm wake-up call . . .

The big hand says: Time to go back to bed.....

For some time now, The G has been getting up earlier than is ideal.
On good days it might be 6.30am, on bad days 5am.
Strategies employed to overcome this issue include dropping daytime naps and stepping up our efforts to teach her to tell the time.
Things have been improving, so much so that, following successive 7am risings, the consensus seemed to be that the problem had been resolved once and for all.
Not so.
You see, last night, The G smashed her own record for getting up before time.
I heard her coming, it's impossible not to, crashing across the landing and flinging open the bedroom door.
"I go downstairs," she announced.
I looked at the clock.
It read 11.07pm.
Time to go back to the drawing board (but first, back to bed).

Fiction Fridays #9: Love Monster . . . .

"This is a monster (Hello, Monster).
I think you'll agree, he's a little bit funny-looking. To say the least......"

FF#9

Love Monster: Rachel Bright (2012).

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THIS WEEK at The Children's Writer: Oliver Jeffers, the illustration issue & reliving rejection......
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Gladiator, ready..........

Coming soon to a childcare provider near you........

For The B&G's nursery, an alternative name.
These days, I call it Gladiator Academy.
This, a reference to the 1990s LWT show, a programme that dedicated itself to bringing a little light violence to the teatime schedule on Saturdays.
In recent days, The B&G's nursery - to me, at least - seems to have been focusing its efforts on training the Gladiators' next generation.
The other day, for example, upon arriving to collect The B, I found several aggressive-looking boys (The B included, it must be said) pummelling each other using padded apparatus of all shapes and sizes.
The staff like to call this soft play, I prefer to call it combat.
There is other evidence that I can present.
Earlier this morning, for instance, reading the pegs in the cloakroom, I noticed one or two unfamiliar names in The G's room.
One Saxon, the other Phoenix.
Naming children is a subjective business, it's true, but to me, such monikers point to little more than a future career in the Gladiator trade.
For now, I'm not concerned.
But should ever a peg appear for a child called Wolf, it might perhaps be time to reassess our choice of childcare provider.

NEW at The Children's Writer: To be (illustrated) or not to be (illustrated), that is the question....

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The Big Bad Wolf and a wild goose chase . . . .

Time to make a run for it.....

Dangerous places, parks.
Take this morning, for instance.
Me, The B and The G, departing our regular music group, a little time on our hands before our next appointment, thought exploring some adjoining parkland might make a nice change.
Big mistake.
Far from our normal turf, unfamiliar territory, our comfort zone nowhere in sight.
No secret paths here.
Just geese.
Big buggers, too.
The B&G found their honking hilarious at first, although as one especially-large goose began following us along the path, it became somewhat less amusing.
The following soon ceased to be just following and instead developed into full-blown chasing.
Time to make a sharp exit.
Ever since, The B&G have been rather less keen on geese.
Indeed, other animals, even their favourites, have begun to be considered through suspicious eyes.
This afternoon, a man out walking his sheepdog was encountered and The B&G both shrank.
"Is that a dog?" The B asked in a small voice.
I answered in the affirmative, although The G couldn't be convinced.
"What do you think it is?" I asked her.
"The Big Bad Wolf," she squealed and made a run for it.

The park, the paths and The B&G's secrets . . . .

Disappearing down the Secret Way.....

This afternoon, to the park.
Note that I said park and not playground.
It's an important distinction. Playgrounds are so last season.
Not so the park, this our favourite destination at present.
Heading home from the playground several days ago, we stumbled across a path that we'd never before noticed, one that bypassed our normal route, heading up a mysterious hill, through foreboding trees, alongside a stream bed.
This never-before-seen path, The B&G decided, needed a name.
It soon had one, the Secret Way, and so began a legend.
Exploring the Secret Way, The B&G discovered a small bridge (the Secret Bridge), a stone bench (the Secret Chair) and some steps cut into the hillside (rather predictably, I'm afraid, the Secret Stairs).

The Secret Stairs......

The Stepping Logs......

Since then, the park has fascinated them both and several contended hours have been spent tramping its trails, engaged in adventures and discovering other hidden gems.
These include the Jumping Rock (it's a rock that's good for jumping off) and the Stepping Logs (like stones, but made from old trees) and, to The G's great delight, there are limitless sticks to be found (these she likes to use to hit things: stones, other sticks, the fence, The B etc).
It can get a little muddy, but that's OK, the main problem for me, that I often find myself struggling to keep up over the difficult terrain.
The other day, having descended via the Secret Way, and negotiated a route back up another path, taking in, en route, the Jumping Rock and the Stepping Logs, The B&G then proceeded to run home at full tilt.
The B, puffing and panting, made it to the front door first, me and The G unable to keep pace.
He looked at me as I caught up, all hot and red faced, and thought for a moment.
"I'm tiring," he announced.
You said it.

NEW at The Children's Writer: Reliving rejection........ Part One.

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