Reading between the imaginary lines

Books.

We want our pre-school kids to like them. We want our pre-school kids to enjoy them. We want our pre-school kids to like and enjoy them without taking an hour of bedtime to read three pages.

Oliver sometimes "reads" his chosen bedtime story to me. He combines a mixture of the words he recalls me reading with his own interpretation of the pictures. Despite this sometimes being employed as a tactic to delay the moment he has to go to bed, it is always a revealing little insight into how his mind works. The dialog often reflects some of that I hear when he is playing with action figures (where my definition of "action figure" includes anything he chooses: have you ever seen Peppa Pig take on Ben 10?).

Yesterday Hayley bought Oliver a Power Rangers notebook which came with a Power Rangers rubber eraser and pen. He sat down next to me on the sofa and said he was going to read it to me. As I started to mention that it had no words he ignored me and went straight to the first page, which was, like every other page in the notebook, blank.

No matter. He proceeded to tell me the story and to provide a picture he placed onto the page the rubber with the face of a Power Ranger on it. He continued to do this for several pages before we were interrupted by dinner being ready.

The power of kids' imaginations never ceases to amaze me and I do my best to keep in check the adult tendency to direct his thoughts towards any commonly perceived "right" way of interpreting the world. He's going to have years of doing things someone else's "right" way later in school life, so it's a joy to see him discover and describe the world with such untainted wonder.

Art was once described to me as something to challenge our normal way of seeing the world. Unconstrained by years of mental and social manipulation, our children's descriptions of the world around them are themselves works of art.

So my recommendation when buying books for pre-schoolers is not to worry too much about what they can take out of them, because they'll be putting a whole lot more into them as well.

How not to get kids into sport

Here in Blighty we are in the midst of the good old four nations rugby tournament, where England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland compete for bragging rights in the game named after an English public school and whose origins are attributed to one of its pupils.

Oh OK, I admit it then, it's actually FIVE nations, since we late those Johnny-come-lately French in, despite the fact they tend to be rather good and beat us with typical French panache.

What's that you say? Are you kidding? Now we've let Italy in too?!

So, as I was saying, we are in the midst of the SIX nations rugby union tournament. And as Hayley and I get sucked into this level of the game (despite never once dragging our arses a mile down the road to support our local club), I thought it might be nice to get shirts for me and Oliver if not the whole family.

Obviously I didn't expect this to be a case of handing over a twenty pound note and leaving with a smile and some loose change, but a brief consultation with Google and some retail websites left me loose jawed and bewildered.

The price of the official England first team replica shirt is £88. Yes, eighty eight pounds. (That's currently about 138 US Dollars.) And I also found it sold for more than that!

There is another, presumably less authentic, though still official replica shirt for a mere £50 (about $79). Kids shirts aren't much cheaper and don't seem to go down to sizes that might fit my son.

Now, compare this to the giant money-grabbing machine that is Manchester United Football Club and you'll find that their shirts retail consistently below £40 but can be found much cheaper. They also do kids sizes.

I did go into town today to try to find these sacred cloths of Albion at a price that wouldn't have made Dick Turpin blush, but to no avail. I did find one shop selling stained rejects at £40 but decided that turning up at Twickers looking like I'd spilled curry down my front wouldn't make the right impression.

So why am I reflecting on all this?

Class struggle brother, that's why.

You see in this country football (soccer to the linguistically challenged) has always been the sport of the working classes, while rugby has been for the elite. In fact there is even a second code (rugby league) which working class towns in the north of England took to their hearts and which eventually became big business while rugby union struggled to break the shackles of amateurism.

And a struggle it was, not least because some in the game saw the introduction of money as "dirty" while others just didn't want the wrong sorts involved in their old boys club.

But eventually rugby union did become professional and now it is becoming as familiar a fixture in the Sky Sports schedules as rugby league.

So why is it that I can buy a Manchester United shirt to indoctrinate encourage my son to take an interest in football without breaking the bank, but need to take out a second mortgage to buy an England rugby union shirt for myself and can't even find one for my boy?!

The RFU need a kick up the arse. If they want to get boys like mine into rugby, boys from homes where there aren't two Mercedes on the drive with this year's plates and where rugby will have to be accessible to get a look-in alongside football, then they are going to have to try a bit harder with their marketing and their pricing.

But seeing £88 replica shirts makes me wonder whether they care.

Kids activities - football training

For the last couple of weeks Oliver has been going to football training for 3-5 year olds. (That's soccer by the way.) It's a great bit of exercise for him and I get to take part with him too.

It is predictably chaotic, given that there are now about 20 kids (all boys interestingly) charging around with footballs in a sports hall. But the half hour session is a nice mixture of fun games that get the kids to warm up and then practice their football skills before finishing with a game. There is also some etiquette, shaking hands with the opposition at the end of games and taking turns in "training". (So far the odd competitive Dad has been the low performer in this area!)

The "game" at the end is in fact never more than two-versus-two and many of the boys, including Oliver, either haven't really grasped or just aren't bothered with the concept of goals, goalposts or pretty much anything other than chasing the ball and kicking it. And who can blame them! That is after all the purest pleasure to be had in the game.

This week Oliver particularly enjoyed trapping the ball by putting his foot on top of it. His other favourite activity was placing the ball and taking an enormous run-up to kick it. (Not a prescribed exercise, just his favourite thing to do in the warm-up.) In my boyhood I seem to recall Peter Lorimer, no 7 for the then mighty Leeds United, had the hardest shot in football. Oliver took about the same amount of run-up.

At the end of every week, the leader picks out two boys as Player of the Week and awards them a little trophy (on loan to the winner for the week). This week, for his endeavours and most of all for "always playing with a smile on his face", one of the winners was Oliver. (I am absolutely certain it had nothing to do with persuading me to cough up the twenty-odd quid for the rest of the sessions. Heaven forbid.)

The whole experience is still a little daunting to Oliver who takes part enthusiastically but likes the fact I am close at hand. So I was delighted and proud to see him standing up and walking forward with a smile to accept his trophy and hold it high to receive everyone's cheers. I even got him to recreate it for posterity when we got home.

Ten Things

I've been tagged by Jessi over at Notes From A Scattered Mind to post ten things that make me happy. The temptation is great, especially as this is a blog about family life, to post ten things that entirely relate to my family. So I'll list ten things that entirely exclude my family... then list a separate ten just for them.

1. Indian food.
2. Riding my bike.
3. Writing songs.
4. The YouTube posts of Julia Nunes.
5. A pint of real ale.
6. A new book.
7. Chris Moyles and his crew on Radio 1 in the morning.
8. The Archers (or pretty much anything on BBC Radio 4).
9. Hearing a wonderful song for the first time (or the first time in ages).
10. Snow and riding across it (preferably by board or cross-country skis).

Ten for my family:
1. Hayley's chuckle.
2. Making Oliver laugh so much that we are both silently doubled up with laughter trying to catch our breath.
3. The feeling of Lucy's arms around my neck and her head upon my shoulder.
4. Oliver's thoughtfulness.
5. Lucy's cheekiness. (Well, mostly!)
6. A date with my wife (without the kids in tow).
7. Lucy's enthusiasm for helping.
8. Oliver's enthusiasm for super-heroes.
9. Hayley's enthusiasm at the prospect of a roast dinner.
10. Coming home to all three of them at the end of each day.

Yes, I know it's terribly soppy, but there it is. Plenty to be happy about I'd say.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

We are experiencing a cold snap here in the north of England at present. We have had Siberian winds and snow since before Christmas with only a brief thaw between Christmas and New Year. It snowed again last night. This time a splendid 6 inches or more!

As you might gather I rather like this weather. I detest the drab and awful drizzle and temperatures of a few degrees above zero that we usually get. This is much better.

Of course the country has ground to a halt as we are perennially and woefully under-prepared. We are even running out of grit for the roads! Not that it has stopped me. Oh no, I cycled to work today.



The side roads and tracks were fantastic as I crunched through the fresh snow. Only the main roads were a touch tricky as cars wanted the clear tarmac tracks and I ended up a few times crossing into packed bumpy snow at the edges at an oblique angle which can be hairy.

But all in all I loved it and arrived at work with a smile on my face, much to the amazement of many. (Actually the place was half empty.) The section of my commute that follows the river was particularly beautiful.




Meanwhile, Hayley and the kids built a fantastic snowman outside our house. Isn't she a beauty!



And the weather forecasters say it is going to last another week. Woohoo!!!!

All is quiet on...

New Year's Day was a beautiful, crisp, clear, cold sunny day around these parts. We spent some of it happily playing in the park and some of cosily snuggled up indoors watching the original Superman movie.

What a contrast to the night before.

We went to bed early (yes, on New Year's Eve) and were briefly woken by fireworks at midnight. Then at around 1.30am I heard Lucy coughing and crying out a little. I went in to settle her. To my alarm, I found her with a very rattly chest and wheezing like I have never heard her before. I got her out of her cot and settled her upright on my shoulder but I didn't like the sound of her.

I took her in to Hayley and we started to try to look at her breathing to see whether it was from the stomach, indicating that she was struggling. While doing this she wheezed even more loudly and then cried out. I was now very worried that this was a first asthma attack. I've known asthmatics - including Hayley - and this sounded as bad as anything I had ever witnessed.

We called 999. (That's the UK equivalent of 911.)

I held Lucy on my shoulder and she stopped crying a little after a while. We were put on hold waiting for an operator for what seemed an age but was probably no more than a couple of minutes. Meanwhile we calmed Lucy whose breathing seemed better and found Oliver's ventolin inhaler.

At this point we gave up waiting on 999 and hung up. We tried to see whether she would have the inhaler. I showed her what to do, using Oliver's little mask, and asked her to do it. She said no. Not wanting to distress her we were about to ring the out of hours doctor when 999 rang back. We explained that the situation seemed to be more under control and they said don't hesitate to call back if necessary.

We quickly got through to the out of hours doctors service and they told us to bring her down. I de-iced the frozen car and Hayley took her down there. All the time she was improving and by the time the doctor saw her she was breathing well and the doctor confirmed her chest sounded OK. Her diagnosis was that her heavy cold had caused her to breathe in mucus.

Since then she has improved daily, sleeping better each night, though she did have a couple of nights in our bed with Hayley at first. So everything is back to normal now, but the memory of those few moments when I told Hayley to call 999 will almost certainly stay with me forever. I don't want to be melodramatic, but I don't think I have ever called 999 and I did so on New Year's Eve because I truly feared the possibility of the worst. Thank God my fears were unfounded, but it does remind me how lucky we are and that others have not been so lucky.

Oliver's first pantomime

We took Oliver to his first pantomime ("oh no you didn't"!) just before I had to return to work after the Christmas break. We saw Aladdin at the Opera House in Manchester.

We asked him who he wanted to take and he chose a girl from his nursery. It was packed when we arrived but we managed to get upstairs to our sets and also to buy light sabres for the kids. (Light sabres? For Aladdin?)

After a few minutes it got under way. Despite his friend deciding she wanted to go to the loo after 20 minutes and then that she wanted to go home, we all eventually got into the swing of it and enjoyed it. The obvious old jokes were there ("He's behind you!") and also plenty of adult jokes that went over the kids' heads. In fact if anything there was a bit too much of that.

One character was clearly played by a comedian and he had a spot towards the end interviewing three kids and answering for them in silly voices. Oliver said he liked that the best.

But the best moment for me was a few minutes into the show when a simple facade backdrop was lifted to reveal a much more impressive set behind. "Wooooowwwww!, gasped Oliver, "I wasn't expecting that big...." he found himself lost for words. Priceless.

Of course we had ice cream in the interval and a few other snacks too. All in all, a "must do" experience for kids of all ages.

Christmas 2009

Christmas Eve
I've been trying to engage Oliver in conversation about Christmas as much as possible, as this year he is so much more aware of it. But Oliver is such an excitable boy sometimes, it's hard to really get a conversation where you look into his eyes and see the excitement that Father Christmas is coming. So I made a point over the final week of talking up the big day, counting down the number of sleeps and generally enjoying the thrill of seeing my little boy genuinely excited about Father Christmas's impending arrival. This video was filmed on Christmas Eve before they went to bed. You can see the carrot for Rudolph and Mince Pie for Santa on the table. They both seem suitably excited, though Lucy gives some unexpected views and then wants to be the cameraman.



Christmas Day
We were up until about 1.30am on Christmas morning as we had trouble with one of Lucy's planned presents, a rather lovely toy kitchen. It turned out to have half the screws and bolts missing. After two hours we had to admit defeat, taking comfort in the fact that her "new dolly" was by far her most wanted gift.

At 7am both kids rose. I tried to persuade them to come into our bed for a cuddle, but they were understandably impatient to go downstairs and see whether Father Christmas had visited.

We had set out a drum kit for Oliver and a keyboard for Lucy so these were the first presents tried out. After that there was a stream of wrapping paper flying past our eyes as they eagerly tackled all there was to be unwrapped. After the initial chaos had passed and we had eaten some breakfast, we tried to get ready to leave. This was not helped by Lucy being prematurely over-tired and wanting me to constantly pick her up, resulting in endless screaming when I couldn't oblige. But eventually we did get under way in the car and she instantly fell asleep.

This year we did something different on Christmas Day: we dined out with nine other family members, the idea being to save everyone the pain of cooking for a large number of people. It turns out that the pain of cooking is arguably less than that of getting from our house to the restaurant on time whilst making sure we are fully packed for the following couple of days away at my Mum's place.

Next year everyone is invited to our place again!

The meal was a bit chaotic - they had lost our order and we also had to go chasing Lucy who kept wanting to go and closely inspect the real fire that had no guard - but otherwise was rather enjoyable.





Afterwards we decamped to my Mum's place where presents were opened and Oliver finally got hold of his much requested Go Diego Go back-pack. In fact he got three different Go Diego Go back-packs because my Mum wasn't sure which was the right one! Thankfully, one was the one he desired and he was delighted. (He seemed pretty pleased with the others too, to be fair.)

Lucy had already got her "new dolly" at our house, having asked for it consistently for weeks. She was predictably thrilled with it.

We had Boxing Day at my Mum's house - much of which I spent suffering a head cold - before returning home on the 27th. On our return, after a poor night's sleep for both Hayley and I, all four of us ended up curling up in the sofa-bed in the spare room to watch a movie.



It's been a great Christmas but it's nice to be back in our own space too.

So what now? Well we have a few days off before returning to work in the New Year and the first of those days has been spent in what I have started to appreciate is another Christmas tradition if you have kids: going to shops to exchange gifted clothes for something that fits!

Diagnosis - dodgy tummy

(Those of a delicate disposition, look away now.)

The high temperatures of my wife and children have now been replaced by a dodgy tummies and frequent trips to the loo. Or in Lucy's case frequent nappy changes.

I remain as fit as a fiddle. Knackered, but as fit as a fiddle.

I did learn in the course of conversation on this subject yesterday eveving that my son seems to share my wife's love of bottom humour. Any joke involving a bottom usually makes Hayley laugh. So when I told Oliver last night "I'm the only one of us who doesn't have a squirty bottom" he roared with laughter.

Not my usual line in dry wit, but worth the lowering of standards: I just love making him laugh.

Living by numbers

One final post for today: as I go to bed I can describe my family by their body temperature (in Fahrenheit today).

Oliver: 99.7 - complaining of a sore cheek which has been red much of today
Lucy: 99.6 - restless in her cot
Hayley: 99.7 - complaining of feeling hot (which is not like her at all).
Me: 98.8 - somewhat clapped out but otherwise OK.

So if the blog goes quiet again you'll know I'm nursing my brood back to health. And quite possibly the mother hen too.

Little things mean a lot

Yesterday Hayley bought two CDs, each with songs and a message from Father Christmas that was personalised, so he was speaking to Oliver or Lucy, using their names and singing to them. In the car this morning as we waited for the ice and snow to melt from the windows, I put on Lucy's CD. Well, her face lit up with the most beautiful beaming smile tinged with the tiniest hint of bashfulness at this personalised message. It melted my heart and has made me smile every time I remember it.

She's been quite Daddy's girl this afternoon. As soon as she woke after I arrived homw with Oliver, she came and lay on the sofa with her head on my lap. Later, upstairs, she asked to watch "I Can Cook" on the BBC iPlayer. I sat her on my knee as I sat in the big office chair. She then wriggled herself until she was lying with her side on my chest and her head tucked onto my shoulder while her legs lay across my lap. It was quite the cuddliest 15 minutes I've spent with her in a while and a perfect antidote to the snowy afternoon I could see outside the window.

Oliver may spend much of his time now charging around being a super-hero, but make no mistake he still sometimes just says to me out of the blue "I want a hug Daddy" and throws his arms around me. Other times he will run and jump into my arms. It's hard to convey his personality sometimes but he is basically a sensitive, caring and loving little guy. Today after his swimming lesson his instructor gave him four chocolates. In the changing room he said "I know! I can have one, you can have one, Lucy can have one and Mummy can have one." (He also wanted to give Grandad one but we'll skip over this mathematical mishap. You can't fault his generosity.)

Hayley has commented that Oliver is very affectionate towards her recently, which is nice because she's often felt he's something of a Daddy's boy. The truth is he's pretty nice to everyone and I love that about him.

Happy helpers

If there's one skill most parents would like to master it's that of getting kids to help with the tasks that must be done in a way that they see as fun. I can't claim to be an expert in this field, but I am fortunate that Lucy loves to help with any sort of food related task.

So a few weeks ago we enlisted both kids in helping to make pizzas for dinner.



It wasn't exactly Jamie's kitchen. There were pre-made pizza bases and Hayley and I chopped and grated the toppings before the kids joined in. Nonetheless it was fun for all as layers of butter then tomato puree were applied, soon followed by vegetable and meat toppings and heaps of cheese.All our preferences and dietary requirements were catered for by having half a pizza each to eat whilst helping everyone else with preparation of theirs.



The end result was pretty satisfying if only because we all knew we had made it and everyone ate a decent serving.

On Friday Hayley again enlisted the help of the children, this time to decorate our Christmas tree. (It should have been done last weekend but there was a saga involving a missing tree stand that I won't bore you with.)



It has to be said that crafts and decorations are less Oliver's scene, so after providing some initial help he left the girls to complete the administering of tinsel, lights and baubles. Lucy took to the task with enthusiasm and the end result was a masterpiece. I came home from my works Christmas lunch (and subsequent afternoon drinks) to find an idyllic Christmas scene.

This evening again Lucy was first to my aid as I went downstairs to make dinner. A simple affair of scrambled egg on toast meant that she could happily pour in ingredients, whisk away eggs and butter toast. I hadn't really planned for the moment I went out of the room and came back to find she'd started breaking the eggs into the bowl without me, without bothering to remove the shells from the resulting mixture. Nonetheless it made a simple and satisfying little task all the more fun to have my happy helper.

We interrupt this programme...

A friend of mine who I hadn't seen for a while dropped me an email the other day. "You've not been blogging. That's not like you. Everything OK?"

It's true that when I don't write this blog it's usually because life is a bit out of kilter. Sometimes work is demanding. Sometimes home is demanding. Sometimes both are demanding.... at which point the blog gets a bit sparse. There's no great catastrophe here. Just a combination of hectic work and home schedules, minor illnesses and general fatigue with the odd leaky roof and dodgy gutter thrown in for good measure.

So I will try to catch up a little, because the sad thing is that there are so many little snippets I fail to record. Often, as Hayley and I are falling asleep she will say "Oh, the little lady today..." or "Oh you have to blog what Oliver did today...". But by the following evening it has slipped our minds and is lost to posterity.

So here are a few rather random bits and bobs.

The kids have now been to see Father Christmas about 4 or 5 times. Oliver has consistently asked for a Go Diego Go backpack, which is odd as he hardly watches it, but also sometimes has mentioned other things. Lucy on the other hand has given the same answer to every Father CHristmas who has asked what she desires: "a new dolly". And God bless her she will have it. She adores her dolls. She has three dolls, all of which she calls "Mama" because one of them said "Mama" if you squeezed its hand. She pushes them round in their buggies, puts blankets on them, feeds them.... she is a little doll herself.

I'm taking Oliver to see the new film of "Where The Wild Things Are" next week. It's one of his favourite books. Well, actually it's one of MY favourite books but he likes it too. I hesitated over taking him as it's rated PG. But to be honest he has watched sections of Spiderman 3 recently and enjoyed them. I'm not sure what rating that has, but I'm betting it's probably above PG! In fact even Lucy has sen some. She now asks for "the bit with the lady falling" which is quite a scary scene involving a woman falling from a high building to be caught by Spiderman just in time. Maybe all this makes me a bad parent, but they don't find the same things scary as we do. The other day Lucy started really crying because she was scared of Jack Black when he was dressed as DJ Lance Rocks on Yo Gabba Gabba. I can't put that episode on any more as she is genuinely terrified of him.

Lucy is still the best eater in our house. Not only does she usually eat her own meal but will often take an interest in anything Hayley and I might be eating if we dine after the kids for some reason. On Thursday evening I got home just after they had finisheda pasta dinner. Hayley had made a bowl for me so I sat down to eat. Lucycame over and asked to sit on my knee. She then proceeded to eat as much of my pasta as I would allow her. Every mouthfull I ate was watched by her, like a big puppy longing for a morcel. Often in the morning when she has finished her own toast she will wander into the kitchen after a few minutes and, finding Hayley eating a ppiece of toadt, will say "Have a bit of you toast Mummy?". In fact "...a bit of your [whatever food we're eating]" has become one of her stock phrses recently.

Oliver is very into super-heroes at the moment. He likes to dress as Superman or Batman or Spiderman. He has also developed a liking for Toy Story after I acquired a Woody and a Buzz Lightyear for the grand total of 20 pence at a Christmas Fair and I showed him the movie. Sometimes I wonder how much he is following the plot of things he sees on TV, but somewhat to my surprise he explained to me that Buzz Lightyear is a toy but he wishes he was the real Buzz Lightyear.

That's all I've time to record tonight. I really will try to blog more again as I hate missing the little details that we take for granted now but will become treasured memories in future. Even little things like the way Lucy brings me toys or pretend cups of tea saying "Here you go Daddy". Or how Oliver likes to snuggle his face as close to me as possible if he gets into bed with me in the morning or if I lie with him before he goes to sleep at night.

Looking at the number of posts I think this year will be my lowest count since starting out. I might not even break twi hundred. And that does make me sad as unlike most things in life, for me it is quantity more than quality that count in this blog. I am not a would-be newspapr writer or novelist. I am journalling my family life for posterity and to do that well I believe it is more important to capture as much information as possible than to write in a refined or humorous way, because only history will decide what in fact were the most important facts recorded. I suspect the small details and the background will often be the most interesting aspects when looking back at today.

Oliver's Christmas Concert

Oliver took part in his nursery's Christmas concert today.

If he doesn't look overly excited in the video below I can think of a couple of reasons. Firstly, like last year at his previous nursery, he had a rotten night's sleep last night. Secondly, this was the third performance (at least!) they had all given. He has been cheerfully performing some of the songs for us (and others) at home for the last couple of weeks and we had received reports of his enthusiastic participation at one of the previous performances. So we were looking forward to our animated son singing with voice bellowing up to the rafters. But on this occasion it was not to be. Don't get me wrong, we still loved it. And he clearly enjoyed it too, despite the yawns!

Meanwhile, Lucy and her partner in crime (Hayley's Childminding child) were intent on playing with all the sandpits and water-play areas available in the area behind our seats. A refusal of any kind brought screams, which was not exactly ideal, so they pretty much got to do as they pleased while Hayley and I took turns to go and watch over them, standing at the back of the seats to follow the concert.

When the children first walked in down the aisle between the seats, Oliver saw me next to the aisle, shouted "Daddy!" with a big smile and gave me a kiss as he passed, which was lovely. He then got a but downhearted (or "sad" as he explained later) at not being able to talk to me while the concert was going on, ending up sitting on the knee of one of his teachers. But after a couple of minutes he sat down on the floor again, though looking a little dejected as this grainy image just about conveys.



But when it came his turn to sing in a group, though clearly a bit tired he did at least make a bit of an effort.



Afterwards there were cups of tea and mince pies for the parents while the kids had snack-time, then the big event was over for another year.

A biiiiiig "W"

On Friday afternoons, Hayley and I sometimes try to spend time with the kids one-to-one. I think this is valuable to both children, but perhaps especially to Oliver, as it allows him to have some time where he is not hindered in any way by his younger, often adoring, but also less restrained sibling.

So this afternoon I took Oliver to ride on the Manchester wheel.

But before I tell you about that, let me mention that to get there we took a train, which Oliver was looking forward to almost as much as (or perhaps even more than) the wheel, which admittedly he hadn't seen.



In fact, though he enjoyed the ride on the little Sprinter train, he complained that it wasn't really going fast. No longer is simply a train ride an entertainment it seems. My little boy is growing up into a big boy!

Arriving at Piccadilly Station, Oliver declared he was hungry and asked for a sandwich. A tuna mayo baguette with cucumber and lettuce was his selection, to be precise. We had half each and to my surprise he ate every last crumb of his half, despite already having had lunch not long before. A growing boy indeed.



My plan to then catch a tram was thwarted by the fact that no trams are running through Piccadilly at the moment due to maintenance works. So we walked across town, Oliver being periodically carried on my shoulders through what must have seemed like big crowds compared to what he's used to.

And so we finally arrived at our destination: the wheel! I've seen it many times and often thought of it as just a big ferris wheel. In fact it is two-thirds the height of the London Eye. But unlike the Capitol's wheel (which Hayley and I rode on back in 2003) it has much smaller capsules, meaning you can't hide in the middle trying to keep your distance from the drop. And it also takes you up much more quickly, rotating three or four times before your ride is over.

Did I mention yet that I am not great with heights?

I sat rather stiffly on the seat, trying to look out at the horizon and not down at the pavement below, while not conveying the slightest hint of my tension to Oliver.

Oliver on the other hand was totally un-phased by this sudden adjustment in altitude.



He even stood leaning against the doors which were curved so you could see vertically down to the street below.



It has to be said the views were great. And I did enjoy the ride, though at about 13 minutes I was probably just about coping with the height by the time we had to get out. (Who am I kidding! My sigh of relief probably caused gales in the Atlantic this evening.)

And just for the record I took a little video of part of our ride.

Big Kid Circus

Oliver samples the candy floss

A couple of Sundays ago, Oliver and I went to the circus. The Big Kid Circus to be precise. We went with Oliver's friend Jack and his Dad, Manny.

It was not cheap, but there was an online discount voucher which made it much more palatable. And after all, how often do you get to go to a circus these days?

And when I say a circus, it was a real old-style circus with no safety net, but equally with none of the animals that were pretty much de rigeur in my youth.

It was clearly an operation run on a tight budget. The performers all doubled as servers of popcorn, candy floss, etcetera during the interval.

The performances were good, each interspersed with an appearance from either a group of dancing girls or the clown, but the sound quality wasn't great so the humour was sometimes lost a little. Not that it mattered very much. Oliver still enjoyed the spectacle.

His favourite part was when one of the performers who did an act involving a high slung bungee rope appeared dressed as Spiderman. At the interval Oliver had the opportunity to have a photo taken with a selection of the performers, but there was only ever going to be one choice.



After the interval came what was arguably the highlight, an act involving a man walking on a rotating figure of eight shaped apparatus high above the ring. It culminated in him walking and running blindfold on it and he even tripped at one point. Was it part of the act? Hard to say. But he was definitely the star turn for myself and Manny, both of us being barely able to watch.

Throw in an escapologist and various other acrobatic turns and all in all it was a good afternoon. But I'm sure all Oliver will remember in the long run is Spiderman.

Illuminated

I am lucky to live in a part of the world with many great cultural attractions. Manchester has a wealth of industrial and sporting history. Liverpool has the Beatles and its maritime past. Wigan even has its "pier" (made famous by George Orwell's book).

Then there's Blackpool.

OK, I admit Blackpool has its tower and as a child I loved the place. Even as a teenager I'd make pilgrimages there with friends by train. The fun-fairs, the candy floss, the arcades full of games and of course the Pleasure Beach were all worth the trip. But I'm afraid that as the years passed I lost my desire to visit Blackpool, largely due to its tendency to be full of drunks as the evening set in.

But as with so many aspects of life, having kids has helped me to re-connect with what joy there is to be had. And in this case with what is good about Blackpool. In fact, with what is great about it: its illuminations.

Yes, every year during the early autumn, Blackpool puts on a show of lights that has been going for donkeys years. Yes, even since before I was born. Since 1879 in fact. The lights portray characters and tell stories and have enthralled kids for generations.

So last Saturday Hayley took our two to see them. And they loved it! At one point Lucy, who had been asleep, woke to see one of Blackpool's old fashioned trams fully decorated with lights and just emitted a long awe-filled "Wowwwwwwwww". Oliver loved the stories and characters - everything from Alice in Wonderland to the Teletubbies - but was most delighted when he saw Mickey Mouse standing near the road and Mickey waved to him.

Of course there was lots of other fun, especially the rides on the pier.



But I like to think its the illuminations that will have captured their imaginations and hopefully will be cause for us all to go back next year and for many years to come.

The S word

When Oliver was born our lives changed forever. His arrival alone was cataclysmic enough to make every day feel like a journey in its own right, filled with joy, tears and just occasionally some sleep.

The adventure ahead was so huge that every milestone seemed far off. With a year before he would walk and longer still until he'd talk, other yet more far-flung mile-posts barely crossed our minds.

And yet one in particular has loomed ever larger in the intervening years. One that is almost impossible to avoid and anecdotally at least can be the source of great anguish.... albeit mostly for the parents. It's the S word: "school".

When Hayley was still pregnant an old school-friend of mine told me Hayley should make sure the baby was born ("squeeze the little bugger out" I believe was her exact turn of phrase) in August (noting that our bump was due on August 24th) and not let it drift into September, because that would mean our offspring would be at home another year, the clear implication being that they would cost us more money.

How naive I was to imagine this was a logical and perhaps sensible piece of advice. Today, with my son having just missed the cut (birthday on September 8th) and having just watched so many of his friends since birth go off to school for the first time, I am enormously grateful that he has another year with his Mum and his sister before starting school himself.

Don't get me wrong, he likes his nursery and we like him going there, but knowing he will have grown physically, mentally and emotionally for a whole year more gives me more confidence that he will adapt well to school. He is a sensitive soul, generous and kind-hearted. And innocent. As surely all four year olds be. But some are not so innocent and frankly a little more mean. Sure he'll come across that a little at nursery too, but I can't help feeling that being the oldest in his class will be better for him than had he been the youngest.

The thought of Lucy being the youngest in her class (as she will be) does not frighten me quite as much. It still frightens me, but she seems to me much more worldly wise and tough than Oliver was at the same age and that re-assures me somewhat. Even so, despite being 23 months younger than Oliver, she will start school exactly a year after him.

And so today we visited the school that both our children are most likely to attend and met with the headmaster who gave us a guided tour.

We've heard good things about the head and I made so bold as to tell him so, which he took in his stride. His enthusiasm, friends tell us, is behind much of the success of the school. And it does seem to be successful. We've never come across a parent of a pupil there who is unhappy with the school and its Ofsted reports are impressive.

The first thing that strikes you about the school is its size. It's big! It has 450 pupils and large grounds. And when you enter you are greeted by a corridor that stretches into the distance like something from Kafka's "The Trial". But the layout and location of the different classes seems to limit the impact of this hugeness, including two separate playgrounds based on age.

The facilities seem good (though I don't have much to compare with yet), there are large playing fields and the atmosphere is one in which all the kids seemed busy and happy. (The fact it was Friday and they were on Golden Time, enjoying activities of their own choosing, may have helped with this!) Several of the children spoke to the head unprompted about what they were doing and seemed at ease with him. It was generally just a really good atmosphere of busy learning.

While there Oliver kept his eyes peeled for some of his friends and sure enough we found half a dozen of them in one of the reception classes. One of them piped up that Lucy had called his house at 4am the previous morning. Slightly embarrassed, we explained this story to the head and moved swiftly on.

We were told about lots of things that the school does, something of an information overload to be honest, but also managed a few questions ourselves, including about bullying and the approach to religion. The latter was interesting to me as it fell somewhere between my own Church of England school upbringing and an entirely secular approach. Grace is said at meals and the school teaches Christian values but also teaches about other faiths. I like that.

We touched upon the age of the kids starting school. We had all heard about today's review of education in England which suggests kids should start school at 6 years old. The headmaster said that in effect they were already doing that at his school, as the first year is very much play-oriented learning and only in the following year does the focus shift to teaching the national curriculum in a more structured way. Again this felt right to me.

During our walk round the school, both Lucy and Oliver, who were both a bit tired, each managed to bump their head! Oliver wobbled backwards and hit his head on a sharp metal door-frame, while Lucy, apparently with too much to observe around her, walked straight into the corner of a book case with quite a whack! So it wasn't the ideal environment in which to conduct a considered and in-depth discussion of the direction of 21st century education, but it was enough to leave us impressed and quite happy at the thought of our kids beginning their school life the environment we had witnessed.

Now we have two other local schools to see. This school is our "catchment" school, so it is likely our children would end up there anyway, but we want to look at the two other local schools for comparison.

And though the journey through school starts a whole year from now, applications will have to be made this year. And anyway, that year's gonna fly. I just know it.

That clay business: the post-script

It turns out that Hayley today asked Oliver's teacher about that business with the clay. It transpires that he wasn't in the group making clay pots. He just happened to wander over, find some clay and start making and decorating some shapes for himself.

The teacher kindly included Oliver's shapes when collecting together the bowls from the group. Hence his inclusion next to the array of pots and bowls.

So he was neither a revolutionary nor a rebel without a cause. More just nosey. That'll be from his Mum that will.

The marginally more serious point though is that Oliver seems to be taking to crafts in a way that he never did previosuly. Of course, they still come a long way behind playing at being Superman or a Power Ranger, but it's interesting to see how his interests are evolving.

Thinks that make you go Hmmmm...

I've had a few things make me go "Hmmmmm" since Oliver started nursery.

First up was when he came home from Day 2 of staying for his packed lunch (lovingly prepared by Mummy) and told us that the teacher took his dessert of a little bag of Cadbury's Buttons away from him saying "it's not fair on the other children". Hmmmmmmm. He wasn't naughty or anything. Apparently they just have a "no sweeties" policy. A chocolate biscuit? That's OK. A chocolate cake? THat's fine too. But a tiny bag of Buttons? Not acceptable apparently. Seems odd, rather arbitrary and a little interfering to me. Afrer all, they were a little treat for him as he had been so good for us, so they undermined our attempt to reward his good behaviour.

Hmmmmm....

But I get the feeling that we're gonna have to start to get used to that. A friend came home from her daughters new school this week in tears because the teacher had allegedly told her daughter "you are a naughty girl". Any teacher or child-minder knows this is a no-no. The behaviour should be pointed out as naughty but the child should not be labelled. But as this story is based on the re-telling of a four year old, who's to say it's entirely accurate. But it's a reminder of having "to let them go" at what is still such a tender and vulnerable age.

The other thing that made me go "hmmmm" this week was when I picked Oliver up from his nursery and he took me to see what he had made. He had made three different clay shapes decorated with glitter and sequins, one of which he said he would give to Father Christmas. All well and good. But next to Oliver's little shapes, which were laid on a piece of paper with his name on, was a rack full of little clay bowls decorated in the same way, each with a slip of paper inside with a child's name on. The contrast was stark.

What should I have made of this?

Part of me says that he is ploughing his own furrow. He has a clear idea of what he wants to do and will do it regardless. He is the William Web Ellis of clay moulding! He will lead us forward in some way the rest of us haven't even yet envisaged!

Another part of me pictures James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause. A loner not connecting, but without the romantic ending.

OK, I'm exaggerating. Wildly! (Were I really worried I could just ask his teacher about it.) But still. Something to make me go "Hmmmmm...".