Five things...

Five things I've bought in the past few days:
1. Four different-coloured toy cars from the Children's Society shop.
2. A second-hand copy of Delia Smith's Frugal Food.
3. A pair of cord trousers and two sun hats for little man in the Ethel Austin clearance.
4. A rum truffle from the Devonshire Bakery (nothing to do with Devonshire!).
5. Booze. Well I will have bought this soon as I'm off to the pub. There have to be some perks to living with the parents, ie babysitting.

Yet another sleep post

The boy has stopped sleeping through. Since we went on holiday at the end of September I can count the number of times he has stayed in his own bed all night on one hand. When he's with me anyway, because daddy keeps telling me he sleeps fine when he's there. So perhaps that discounts the usual culprits, although he is teething (constantly) and he does have a very snotty nose (constantly).

Being the sensitive soul (read: cries lots) that he is, it's probably something to do with moving house and mummy being stressed. And due to crazy vendor it's going to be at least another three weeks before that can start to change. So I'm just about ready to join little man in a tantrum. Latest ones have been about: mummy refusing to get out from under the duvet to draw in the condensation on the window at 6.30am, mummy offering him an oatcake instead of a breadstick, mummy trying to write this instead of watching him put Postman Pat in his van. And take him out again. And put him in again....

Anyway, it's not all doom and gloom: it was highly amusing when my Bravissimo catalogue arrived and little man pressed the belly buttons of all the models, saying 'beep beep'.

Windy day at the seaside

New Brighton. Wirral. Not to be confused with Brighton, Sussex. Windy day. Turbines turning. Waves splashing over the prom wall. Interesting view of Liverpool's scrapyards. Container ships being guided into dock by tugs. Pigeons to be chased. Stones to be examined. New knitted mittens to be waved. All polished off with a fish and chip lunch, at which little man suddenly found his appetite, which meant we were all waiting for him to finish for a change.

Boo!

ça va?

I can now count a tower of ten blocks in French. I can sing Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes... in French. Apparently my pronunciation of body parts is very good (no sniggering at the back). Particularly for someone who gave up learning French at the age of thirteen. I can sing Frere Jacques, without fudging the bit about sunny lemon tinas. It's sonnez les matines don't you know.

As my dad kindly pointed out, little man can't yet do any of these things in English. But hey, he seemed to be having fun. Some people might think, 'What's the point in trying to teach a 20-month-old French?', others might think it's too pushy, middle-class parent.

Well, I don't sit around in the evening thinking about exactly what I want little man to learn, what would turn him into a child genius who will be passing A levels at the age of three and then find such a class, no matter how far I have to travel or how much I have to pay. And I realise he's not going to suddenly start saying 'Bonjour maman, je voudrais une pomme de terre, s'il vous plait.' (Look, I told you I gave it up aged thirteen!)

But, there's a group being run fifteen minutes' walk from my new house and we do like to go out and about and do fun things and see other people sometimes. And sing songs and do actions and draw and play. And it's free. It doesn't really matter exactly what the group is all about. It's fun and it won't do little man any harm if he does learn to say bonjour. And it's quite nice for mummy to learn something too.

All together now: Tete, epaules, genoux, pieds (genoux, pieds)...

Voilà!

It's done! Contracts exchanged. Completion November 24. One month to get central heating installed, paint walls and ceilings (especially the blue ceiling in the bathroom), change some floorings and arrange my furniture to make it cosy for the festive season. Anyone know where I can get environmentally friendly, non-toxic carpet for the bedrooms at an affordable price?

I took little man for a walk down that way this morning to show him our new house. He fell asleep in the Storch before we got there. I thought the wind blowing up the Manchester Ship Canal was going to wake him up as we crossed the swing bridge to go and have a look at the Mersey, but he was well away. Until we wandered back up to the Bridgewater Canal and an angler said, 'You've got something growing out of your back.'

'It's a monster,' I replied, at which point he woke up, stuck his arm out and shouted 'bo' [boat]. Indeed there were lots of narrow boats moored up.

Much fun was also had at what will be my new children's centre. After being given a tour of the centre and chatting about what's on we booked the soft play area and little man had a great time climbing over everything, balancing on a big ball on his tummy then falling off and generally running about like a loon.

Tomorrow it's off to school. Ha ha. Here's me considering home education and I'm taking him to La Petite Ecole in the morning. I don't even speak French myself. If it's fun we'll give it a go.

An apology

All my inspiration and creativity is being sapped by the pointless anxiety caused by house purchasing. I was expecting to exchange contracts on my new house last Wednesday. It's now Monday evening and it still hasn't happened. And always at the back of my mind is the knowledge that the vendor doesn't really want to move. She is having to move, for some reason unknown to me, but doesn't actually want to leave this house. So I really hope she isn't changing her mind.

I have already visualised little man and I living in this house, throwing open the patio doors to the yard, getting proper storage sorted out for my filing and wool and pile-of-old-clothes-I'm-saving-for-the-fabric stash, strolling round the nature reserve five minutes' walk away on the banks of the Mersey, popping to the little play area just down the road, growing herbs on the windowledge and flowers on top of the back wall. I am eager to get settled, to establish new routines, to find time to see people from back oop north (ie Lancashire) as well as people where I am now.

And for a while now I have been thinking to myself that when I get settled down again I will: drink less, eat better, lose weight, get outdoors more, get a bike seat for little man, find a tai chi class, rewrite my match.com profile and start logging on again...

So although I know I shouldn't worry, because it's out of my hands and it's not a matter of life or death, I still am worried. My chi is not flowing, my aura is not glowing. And I'd like to apologise for that terrible rhyme.