Sunday, 3 June 2012

Grace four years six months, Daisy twenty-three months, Bliss eight months

So Daisy is practically two. I remember Grace at this age... she was speaking in sentences. She had names for each of her toes. She sat watching Care Bears for hours on end.

The longest sentence we've had out of Daisy is "Poo poo"... she still sucks her toes, and the only time she goes near the TV is to switch off whatever Grace is watching (and then laugh).

Ah, my little chalks and cheeses. Literally. Grace is obsessed with drawing and Daisy with food... and snails.

She has a collection of them up the garden. They are all called Daisy (may I refer you back to what James called all his pets http://ericka-grace.blogspot.co.uk/2010/01/grace-2-years-old.html ). She picks each one up in turn, shouts DAISY! into thier shells, licks them a few times and then puts them down again. If they are small enough to fit in her mouth she will suck on one, like a gobstopper, while she charges round the garden snapping the heads off James' flowers and "poo poos" under the trampoline.

We have bought her two giant African land snails for her birthday. I am hoping they are too big to fit in her big gob, and deaf enough to be unaffected by her screeching. I am NOT taking them out with us either, like I have to with some of the ones from the garden. My pockets are full of slime and bugs and flowers. I feel like one of the famous five.

We also bought Daisy a mini farmyard. It's a private joke between her and James which goes a bit like this:

James: "Daisy, can you say pig?"
Daisy: "Ig"
James: "Can you say cow?"
Daisy: "Ow"
James: "Horse?"
Daisy: "Orsey"
James: "Dog"
Daisy " Og"
James: "Cat?"
Daisy " At"
James "Chicken"
Daisy "DUCK!" "DUCK DUCK DUCK DUCK DUCK"

Bliss is on the move. She started off commando crawling and has progressed to proper all-fours
crawling. I keep losing her. My friend Abi had a tortoise she kept losing once. Her mum drilled a hole through the shell and tied a giant pink watering can to it so they could spot him....  Food for thought?

She is such a jolly ginger giant. She has one wonky toothy-peg crowning at the front and excess flab round her knees. I adore her. She wakes up grinning. She eats like a horse. She sits by the patio door like a dog waiting for it's walk. When we open it she races out up the garden with her sisters. Sometimes Daisy sits on her back and tries to ride her.

Grace is about to start her last term at pre-school. Then she'll be handing her yellow, paint-stained t-shirts down to Daisy (god help them) and moving on to school.

In a bid to make a good impression.. James and I signed up for the curry and quiz night. We struggled to get a team together though, and ended up asking our neighbours.

They got drunk, bought all the raffle tickets, and then won all the raffle prizes. They stumbled, tripped and cheered as they kept going back for more. The rest of the room sat in stony silence, apart from one woman who hissed "Its etiquette to not to collect more than one prize."
My neighbour did not care. She was too busy thrusting her flowers ("I don't even like them!!") all over the place and spilling drinks on people.

#goodimpressionfail

I've signed up to become chairman of the preschool. No one else wanted the gig, and I'll owe them big time for looking after my beast-from-the-east (Daisy). Again, I am not sure it's going to be successful. The woman who runs it is older and "set in her ways". I keep coming up with CRAZY ideas like summer hats with the pre-school logo on, or growing something other than a pea each year. She looks at me a bit like I did a "poo poo" on the floor and says nothing.

She makes me nervous. I end up committing to things I don't have time to do, and claiming I own items which I know I don't. When a lucky dip was requested for the summer fete, not only did I sign myself up to man it all day, I also claimed to have a giant cardboard box in my loft which would be perfect to put the prizes in. (No prize for who said they will source the prizes.)

I don't have any such thing. The only boxes I have in my loft are full of love letters from James' ex girlfriends.... I'm having to ask my mates to source me one, like some sort of shady drug deal.

I am not sure how I get myself into these stupid situations. I am thirty for god's sake. When we go to gigs, James buys us seated tickets because he gets sciatica and if I stand up for too long I need a wee. I am a grown up. I do gardening.

Ok, so that's another lie.

Our garden is a riot of colour...  but all thanks to James Titsmarsh. I have little to do with it, but take the credit when people come round and compliment me on my Alliums. We also have a young lad who comes and mows the lawn for us. Well, actually - he mostly cuts it with giant scissors. I think he might have learning difficulties. I followed him home the other day to give him his money....
He thought I was chasing him, so pulled over, reached into the back of his car and got out a crowbar.

We would mow it ourselves, but we never seem to get a second. Daisy has decided sleep is for wimps. She can take up to three hours to get down at night. We take it in turns to sit with her while she throws books at our head. She is very determined. Last week she locked Grace in the toilet and stole her bacon sandwich.

When she walks all the woodlouse instantly curl up into balls. I like to think she eats them because she mistakes them for raisins... she knows as well as I do that raisins don't have hundreds of legs and crawl across the floor however.

Children are funny. I went on a nature walk with the preschool last week. The teacher said "Look at the buds on this tree children. What are they going to turn into? Does anyone know?"
"Caterpillars" shouted one enthusiast.

Then he saw the rubbish truck and was so excited he weed a bit.

The preschool staff had the same luminous jackets on as the dustmen (Health and safety gone mad). Once again, my big mouth got the better of me and I suggested that the teachers (including the head) went and helped them out.... It did not go down well.

I'd best make a bloody fortune on the lucky dip stall.

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