I’ve been knitting A LOT recently, having completed three hats (me, Nairn, Erica) and a cardigan for Greer since January. I’ve got two secret projects on the go right now too. I’m really enjoying it again! I’ve been experimenting with knitting in the continental style but I’m still struggling with consistent tension and with keeping the working yarn where I want it. Not that I’m particularly worried about this right enough, as I keep telling my pupils in my knitting class: I never learned to ride a bike the first time I sat on it!
I think that’s one major plus point with having the shop too – I have so much opportunity to observe and subsequently learn from knitters who are far more skilled than I am. Every Monday we have a social knitting meetup at the shop and it’s great to watch what other people are creating. My friend Jenny R has got me “picking” rather than “throwing” and has corrected my inside out circular knitting. My friend Purple Jen has got me casting on using the continental longtail method (which you can learn here) which has meant that instead of taking a half hour to cast on 60 stitches it takes me two seconds and has become the cast on that I teach, too.
I’ve always been quite comfortable with new techniques in knitting, mostly because the patterns I use are pleasingly explanative so when I decided to make the short row sideways hat (about halfway down the page) I thought I’d jazz it up a little by using a provisional cast on and then grafting the cast on and cast off edges together. I’m pleased to say that it’s the best grafting I’ve ever done despite it being my first attempt grafting garter stitch! Topped with a pompon the size of a cricket ball, Erica has absolutely fallen in love with it and I think it suits her crazy personality perfectly!
Ravelry project page: here
Yarn: Colinette Skye in colourway ‘Jamboree’
Needles: Brittany Birch 5mm
A few weeks ago, the wonderful people at Eurocamp kindly sent us on a much-needed holiday to their Château Lez Eaux campsite in Normandy. Having done a Eurocamp holiday in 2008 – staying here, in a tent – we thought we knew what was coming. We really didn’t.
I had made the executive decision for us to sail from Portsmouth to Caen rather than Dover to Calais. For us, the driving distance on the UK side was the same but it was going to save me roughly 5 hours driving at the other side whilst also giving me 6 hours on the ferry to recuperate. As our children are so young (Findlay is 9, Nairn is 4, Erica is 3 and Greer is only 1) when we drive down South we tend to leave late evening and drive through the night so that the kids aren’t bored the whole trip home. Generally speaking it’s a win-win situation as doing it this way means we miss any heavy traffic normally encountered around Manchester, Birmingham and London and the total driving time is vastly reduced and indeed we did our 440 mile trip in 7.5 hours.
I have to admit that with four young children who had slept almost all night, Bob and I were dreading the ferry trip. We were pleasantly surprised to discover that not only was there a small soft-play area, playroom with colouring-in station & kids DVDs playing but there was also a full entertainment programme for older children including a very energetic quiz and a magician. As I had work to do, I paid for WiFi and got on with that whilst the children played. All in all, a surprisingly relaxing way to travel.
We docked in Caen in the early afternoon and set off towards Saint Pair-Sur-Mer, getting hopelessly lost circumnavigating Granville but still arriving on the site an hour after we got off the ferry which I was extremely relieved about. Now, in the space of 10 days we had been offered the trip, put an emergency passport application in for Greer, arranged for someone to stay at our home to watch over the menagerie and got permission to take Findlay out of school for the week so I must have missed the section of the email that explained that rather than staying in a tent, we’d be hanging out in one of these for the next week:
I have to admit to feeling a little ambivalent about staying in the static caravan rather than the tent but when the heavens opened not half an hour after we arrived, I realised immediately the one difference which became massively important – the kids didn’t end up traipsing mud everywhere. Anyone who has ever been camping will relate to that feeling as if your entire body is filthy no matter how good the ablution facilities are and thankfully, in our 3 bedroom superior we never had that. Having such an expanse of space was excellent too since the boys had a room to themselves where they could escape to play games, the girls had a room to themselves and we still had a comfortably sized living & dining room space too.
We were so exhausted after our trip down that we stayed on the parc for the first few days which is unlike us -we’re the kind of family who goes out and sees things rather than the heading-to-the-beach type – but with beautifully clean swimming pools and excellent facilities on site we wanted for nothing. There was plenty for the kids to do, a shop on-site where we could get the essentials and a bar too where internet access was available.
The kids absolutely loved the swimming pool and I have to admit I was terrified at the prospect of taking four of them to the pool with only two adults but it turned out to be completely manageable. What mainly worried me was that there was no lifeguard supervision (a common occurrence in France) around the pools but the boys took good care of Erica leaving Bob and I to take turns with Greer. Although, we did see a fairly horrific accident involving a teenager, a backflip dive and a certain broken nose. Ouch.
The site had a kids club available but our brood, being quite anti-social wary weren’t too keen on being left there which was fine. Instead they chose to spend a fair amount of time in a well-designed playground. I remember thinking, “Health and safety would never allow a playground like this back home” when watching Nairn clambering up a climbing wall – it was exactly the type of place that kids should always have access to and they absolutely loved it. Look at the smiles!
The Eurocamp staff who had briefed us prior to our departure had mentioned that this parc in particular was beautiful but that didn’t quite do it justice. The site was just stunning, plenty of greenery and a little fishing lake where guests were welcome to sit and indulge themselves. One thing that really impressed me – and which I felt reflected the consideration given to the site’s clientele – was that the entry to the parc was controlled via a security barrier which opened after a PIN number was entered into it. The PIN station was available on both sides of the road meaning that both UK and continental drivers could access it. Clever, eh?
We did do a couple of day trips – to Le Mont-Saint-Michel and to Saint Malo where we visited the Great Aquarium which were both within an hour’s drive of our site – and I shall blog about these later.
All in all, this trip just reinforced how good a holiday a family of our size can have on a budget. A seven-night break in this site, staying in accommodation exactly like ours would cost £987 accommodation only and – as we did – you can book your ferry crossing through Eurocamp who manage to get it significantly cheaper than I ever found quotes for. I’ve been told that Eurocamp can also help organise fly-drives and rail travel too.
For me, the difference between this kind of holiday and a package holiday is simple – you do everything on your own time. Having our car with us meant we could leave when we wanted, go where we wanted and not have to worry about schedules and going off-plan. The Eurocamp couriers spoke English – which was an embarrassing relief as my French has never exceeded schoolgirl level – and were available at the drop of a hat to assist. As an example – on our trip two years ago I came down with a stomach bug and had to go to a Doctor. Our courier found a Doctor and came with me to translate. I get the impression that the sites are picked by people who understand what a family abroad needs, such is the level of detail like ensuring we had a travel cot available for Greer to sleep in and providing loo roll and washing up liquid in the welcome pack.We’ve done two Eurocamp holidays now and I know that we’ll be back. Thanks ever so much for a great time!
I wasn’t really that surprised when almost every invitee to Erica’s party turned up. On the days when she goes to nursery there’s usually a gaggle of excited toddlers waving and shouting to her at the window and before she moved up to the pre-preschool room a few weeks ago (she is now officially a Cheeky Chimp) her toddler room-mates would chatter excitedly to me when I dropped her off. When we go to the park she always makes a friend no matter how dreich the weather and when we first met Amanda and Bron it took a matter of seconds for her to race off with her similarly-aged counterparts. She’s exuberant, effervescent and extremely high maintenance but is the most sociable of all my children. I wouldn’t say she’s more popular than the boys – they have a firm group of friends which tends to be close knit – but her circle of friends is wide and fluid. From my perspective of being distinctly unpopular as a schoolie, I’m enthused by the demand for her friendship but if course, this demand leads to supply issues.
In other words the dreaded birthday party.
Over the last 8 weeks Erica has been invited to no less than six birthday parties, all of which have been held at (an admittedly better-than-usual) soft play centre in a local pub. I should be honest here and say that soft play is an anathema to me – witnessing my children mutate from reasonably polite if excitable dwarves to puce-faced sweaty hulks sustained by chicken nuggets and fruit shoots is not my idea of fun – but they absolutely love it. Therein lies my first ‘concern’. If the kids have been invited to a softplay party, how should they be dressed? Party dresses simply cramp your style when you’re trying to clamber up wipe-clean plastic mountains, but on the few occasions that I’ve dressed Erica in a long tshirt and leggings she’s looked distinctly out of place. How do other parents do it?
Added to that there’s the financial obligation too. Erica was gifted some beautiful presents at her birthday party in May but since Bob & I have been self-employed since the turn of the year we simply don’t have any disposable income right now. As you can imagine, six birthday parties in eight weeks really hits the pocket. I don’t feel comfortable turning down invitations and so I try to stick within a budget of £10 for the gift with a card & wrapping paper on top.
This is where my dilemma lies. I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that I have some idiosyncracies when it comes to gifts being bought with hard-earned money. There’s nothing that angers me more than my kids breaking something they’ve been bought as a gift because I can remember all too well how long I could eat for if I had £10 while I was a single parent. For someone to spend almost two hours-worth of wages on something means a great deal to me and I want my kids to appreciate that, but I also want anyone I’m buying for to appreciate it too. Hence, I really begrudge buying crappy pointless toys as gifts no matter how much my kids beg me to. We all know the kind of toys I’m referring to – Gogo’s crazy bones are top of my ‘Vonnie hates these’ list, along with those revolting aliens in a plastic tub of slime which Nairn particularly adores – and so I usually resort to books or crafting kits to encourage parent & child to spend time together. BUT THEN I have the guilt for pushing my parenting ideals onto others.
I decided recently to let Erica pick the present for her friend, but that backfired spectacularly when she – who has a new-found love of gardening – decided that her friend J REALLY needed a massive strawberry planter from B&Q. I bought it since it was clearly a gift from the heart then bought a kite as an apology to his parents for handing over a bucket of mud to look after.
There’s got to be a happy medium, surely? Do other parents stick to a birthday budget? Do you have a policy about the kind of gift you’ll buy? Most importantly, what are your fashion principles?
I spent yesterday at the CyberMummy conference – an experience I’ll write more about later this week – and as we mostly only “knew” each other online we had little badges to wear around our neck with the title of our blog and our name on. Of course, many of you might not be aware that the title of this blog is “Adventures of a Lady in Training” or what it means to me so after answering that a few times yesterday, I thought I’d share. This is likely to be long, intimately personal and full of emotion. It’s the first time I’ve felt that I have the right to share this element of my life in such a public manner and I hope that I can do it justice without hurting anyone.
I’ve written 700 words of this, deleted it, written 376 words and deleted that. I can’t tell my story because I have an innate fear of hurting other people, even if I’m the one who has been hurt. I had a fairly bogstandard “nobody understands me” kind of teenage experience and left home/was kicked out a month after my 16th birthday – the day after my Higher English exam and the day before my Higher Maths exam. Whether it was the less-than-stellar home life I’d experienced or simply my hormones being crazy insane I had a longing to be a Mum myself. This is something I’ve talked at length about with my friends, I have always – for as long as I can remember – been broody and even now with four children who test my every boundary I don’t feel that longing has been satisfied. As a result, when I met Findlay’s Dad it suddenly became imperative that I had a baby. Looking back we had a seriously dysfunctional relationship – one that took us both a long time to get over – but when you’re 18 you know everything better than everyone else around you, don’t you? I discovered I was pregnant with Findlay and that weekend, discovered that my parents were splitting up because my Mum had been having a relationship with someone else.
I think you can only understand the hurt and pain that comes out of that kind of marriage breakup if you’ve been a part of it. My sisters were only 14 & 13 and my brother Callum was 9 the weekend my Mum left. I’m sitting here with tears streaming down my face as I remember walking into my parents house seconds after the kids had been told what was happening. The ramifications were and have been widespread but as I have joked since it was almost the perfect time to tell our families that I was pregnant because the heat was truly off us. Selfish? Perhaps, but when you’re 18 and think you know everything you don’t quite see it like that.
Findlay was born 3 months after my 19th birthday and right from the off I felt under pressure to be better than any other parent because I was so young. Findlay’s Dad came home from work one day and I suggested that we get married to solidify our family unit and he agreed, so when Findlay was 4 months old we did. And when Findlay was 9 months old – the day before my 20th birthday – he left. We have a very good relationship these days – in fact I’d almost go as far as to say I count him and his lovely partner as friends – but I can’t and won’t ever forgive him for leaving us like that even if I have some empathy for his reasoning. I did not cope with my parents’ separation well and expended a lot of energy being angry at my Mum, supportive of my Dad and just being there for my siblings which was obviously to the detriment of our relationship. For the next three years I was 100% certain we’d reunite, which was a deeply unhealthy mindset to have when you’re getting involved in new relationships. We would fight, threaten one another with legal action and then put on a brave face in front of Findlay because the one thing I was so, so certain of was that I WOULD not and COULD not have Findlay ever feel the way I did when I was growing up. I felt like an oddity, a spare part. Like I didn’t belong – to an extent, I still feel like this – and it’s damaging. I wanted better for my son.
I started keeping a blog at Blurty and then Livejournal not long after Findlay’s Dad and I split up but when I met Bob and realised what a proper healthy partnership should be like, everything changed. Some of you will have done the maths yourself but we delivered Nairn – a pregnancy we both planned and dearly wanted – into our family 13 months after our first kiss. Erica followed 14 months later and I decided that I wanted to catalogue my “training” from being just a silly 18 year old girl who thought she knew it all to a grown up lady who could keep a house and work and parent and sew and bake and do all the things that a perfect lady could do. I wanted to prove to each and every single person who had ever wrote me off as a “daft wee lassie” that in actual fact, I was so much more than that.
Last week I wrote about making a gift for Findlay’s teacher and I also gave her a knitted bookmark like this one. I wrote a card thanking her for her work, added a quote that I liked and sent Findlay into school on the last day – not expecting to receive anything back. But I did.
I cried when I read this. I’m crying again now. I don’t doubt that Findlay’s teacher had a stack of cards to write out that day and that she perhaps didn’t necessarily plan out her thank you, but her words gave me validation and I finally feel that I’m not just a daft wee lassie anymore, I’ve graduated into the class of “doing not too bad actually”. And perhaps it’s time to rename my adventures and take the training wheels off.
This time last week we were getting organised to come home from our amazing holiday at Eurocamp’s Château Les Eaux campsite and I promise I will be that boring friend who shows you every single snap they took on their holiday! It was absolutely fantastic and the kids were absolutely distraught to be leaving.
But – and there’s always a but, isn’t there? – about 15 minutes after we got off the ferry at Portsmouth, Erica barfed all over the car. I’ve never seen anything like it, there was no warning, no, “Mummy my not very well”*, nothing. Just Erica calling for Huey, Dewie and Louie as she performed the technocolour yawn from one end of the car to the other. Did I mention that we were 15 minutes into a 438 mile trip? Poor Erica, we ceremoniously stripped her in a layby as she proudly exclaimed, “My done a good sick!” – and oh, dear reader she had. I’m not going to elaborate because I’m sure that you’ve all been party to a vomit-in-car incident and we were lucky enough that she only got herself, her seatbelt, Bob’s backpack and the PVC weekend bag so it was fairly easily cleaned up.
We’d just got off an 8 hour ferry trip – during which I had accidentally given Erica a carton of fruit juice containing pineapple which she’s allergic to – so we assumed that she was either having an allergic reaction or she was travel sick. We thought nothing else of it and she was absolutely fine after that so as far as we were concerned, that was that.
We got back to our house at 2.30am with me having consumed several quad-shot lattes along the route. The kids were dumped in their beds and next morning were shipped off to school and nursery to give me a chance to catch up on my work and sleep. No dice – an hour later we were phoned by the nursery and asked to pick Greer up as she’d had a couple of incidences of dire rear. Diarrhoea at nursery = not allowed back for 48 hours. Ho hum. I assumed again that it was just a dodgy tummy because of all the travelling but by Thursday Greer had started blowing chunks too and wasn’t managing to keep down any liquids, so off we went to our local hospital for a night of observation.
Yesterday Greer perked up, managed to keep down quarter of a banana and drink some dioralyte. We put her to bed and ROOKIE MISTAKE gave her a bottle of milk. This morning, Bob said her cot was like that scene from Trainspotting. We all know the one I mean.
So today started just beautifully. I decided that I didn’t have the energy to have a shower so ran a bath and after bathing Greer and handing her out to Bob, I propped my laptop up on the table beside me (What?! I’m not the only person who does this, right?!) only to hear Nairn crying and shouting, “My MOUTH! My MOUTH!” which such panic and upset that I assumed he’d bitten his tongue. Bob – who bear in mind was clutching a just-bathed Greer – said, “Nairn come here and let me see” and he did. He walked over to about a foot away from Bob, opened his mouth and chundered in projectile fashion à la Exorcist all over Bob, Greer, the sofa, my CLEAN LAUNDRY and the floor. There was a veritable Lake Spew created in the middle of my living room. Again we hark back to Trainspotting.
And do you know how I reacted when I heard Bob going, “Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!” and Greer screaming? I leapt out of the bath, ran downstairs naked and soaking wet, stood in the doorway of the living room and laughed for a good 30 seconds solid. Howled. It would appear that I’ve developed quite the streak for inappropriate laughter, eh? Incidentally I should mention that this is not the first time that one of my children has vomited on another. When the three eldest shared a room for a little while, Erica stood up in her cot and blew chunks over the bar. It just so happened that Nairn had decided he was sleeping on the floor that night and even now, a good two years on, I’m giggling away at the memory of his wee sleepy puke-covered head looking around in bewilderment trying to work out what the hell just happened.
I haven’t mentioned the third P – pee – but ONE of my allegedly continent children has peed through every pair of pants she owns and leaves me a little puddle on the bathroom floor every morning. Luckily the dog licks that up so I don’t have to worry about slipping in it. I think I might go barf myself.
I think we should start a list of things that nobody warns you about pre-children. What do you think? If you’ve got a post, add it into the Linky below and we’ll see how far we get. Bagsy not doing lochea!
*”Mummy, my not very well” accompanied by the saddest puppy-dog eyes you ever did see is Erica’s standard retort when you ask her to do something she has no interest in, like have a shower or go to bed.
**I hope you’re impressed at how many different ways to describe being sick I managed to wheedle in to this blog entry!
Amanda’s kids are almost exactly the same age as my middle two – Jamie is about 5 months older than Nairn and Maia is only two weeks younger than Erica – and so we have loads in common when it comes to the kids. Amanda commented a while back that underwear in the UK is poorly designed and sized to the extent that she was becoming frustrated with how uncomfortable Jamie & Maia were in pants and I wholeheartedly related to that. I have to say I completely agree and I’d go as far as to say that poor fitting underwear is why Nairn is staying at nursery this year instead of going to school!
Amanda sent over the pattern, I picked up some cute fabric from Mandors in Glasgow and set out to work. The pattern is extremely easy – the body of the pants is one piece with attached waistband & legbands – but my sewing machine didn’t cope terribly well with stretchy knit fabric so I think I’ll rely on my overlocker next time I make these. I ran up a pair in each size:
Erica (they do fit, she’s just a fidget!)
Nairn
I much prefer the style of these over the almost bikini-style girls’ underwear on sale, especially since Erica has a wee pot belly and healthy thighs. These are so much more comfortable for her and are saving her from the dual perils of the builder’s bum and the wedgie. Nairn is currently going through an “I want to be exactly the same as my brother” phase and has steadfastedly refused to wear his new pants since I made them because they’re not like Findlay’s. Ah well. You can’t please them all
OKAY! Wow, do I have a lot to share with you guys today! First off, do you remember on Friday I promised you lovely lot that I’d share a tale that was so Homeward Bound-esque it would knock your socks off? Well today I’m going to tell you about it.
Let’s rewind back to August 2000. I was living with not-yet-born-Findlay’s Dad and majorly obsessed with guinea pigs and one day we went to East Kilbride to visit a guinea pig breeder whose parents also kept Jack Russells. It just so happened that they had puppies there ready to leave and even though in hindsight it was the WORST IDEA EVER, Alan & I fell in love with this litter of puppies. We picked out the weirdest looking Jack Russell you’ve ever seen in your life – she was almost exclusively brown & black brindle with a white chest and socks – and brought her home with us. We named her Penny.
Time marched on and a year after we brought Penny home, we brought Findlay home. Right from the off she was very patient with him and quickly became his greatest guardian after Alan & I. When Alan and I split up Penny stayed with me while Alan moved back to his parents house where he was prohibited from keeping a dog by the Factors in charge of the flats. Penny never wavered and was the shining star she always had been but with one single flaw – she was so protective that taking her for a walk with Findlay in the pram was impossible. Impossible. If anyone came near the pram, she’d go for them – never biting, but a dog of that size can bark extremely loudly and it’s intimidating. One warm spring day she did this to a young girl of maybe 7 or 8, wouldn’t come back to me and a passer-by remarked that if I couldn’t control the dog I shouldn’t have her. And he was right. Penny went to live with my friend and I never saw her again…
Roll on seven years to last week. I happened to mention on Facebook that I needed a filing cabinet and one of my friends suggested Gumtree. I’ve never really got into Gumtree but decided to have a look for myself, lo and behold the first advert I saw was this one. I nearly died. i was absolutely – absolutely – convinced it was Penny. I emailed Alan and asked him what he thought – he said he wasn’t sure but sent me this photo of Penny as a puppy:
I then sent an email to the advertiser explaining the story and to cut a long story short, we picked her up the next day. People keep asking me, “How do you know it’s her?” and I try to explain by pointing out her colour similarities, the fact that her age ties in with what the SSPCA estimated when they checked her over, how you simply don’t get Jack Russells with her colouring but above all – I just know. She’s gone grey around her muzzle and behind her ears, she’s older and a bit slower – but it’s her.
Photos from our trip to Calderglen park last night:
I can’t pretend that the timing was anything other than terrible for us to get a dog but as Bob conceded, knowing that Penny could be out there and not doing anything about it would have broken my heart. I count my blessings every day that I have such a wonderful husband who tolerates my whims, he is a wonderful man and I am very grateful to him for sticking around for this long!
I think I’ve babbled enough for just now anyway, I will be back tomorrow with a giveaway so make sure you pop back in
Hello chums! I have lots and lots to share with you but rather than spill it all in one enormous blog post I’m going to split it up so you have some reading for the weekend. I urge you to check back and leave comments because you all know how much I love a good comment
So! Firstly, Greer celebrated her first birthday on Monday which has just blown my mind. I’m quietly resigned to the fact that I will never have a newborn of my own again and I’m not sure if that’s why Greer turning one has seemed like such a big deal to me. She celebrated her birthday in style by sharing a party with Erica and having lots of cake and plenty of playtime with her best friend Luke and surprised us all by taking four steps across her Gran & Granda’s living room.
At her party (why yes, she DOES have bunches in her hair!)
Getting her cake on her birthday (bonus shot of my funky new hair!)
Enjoying her cake (can you see why she has no clothes on?!)
In other news, Erica was thrilled to receive a copy of Jackson’s Garden (by Bath-based author & artist Gillian Carson) recently and it was just so beautiful I felt I had to share it with you lot. The story goes that a snail visits Jackson’s Garden and starts to eat the fruits (or vegetables!) of his labour so Jackson works out a mutually-beneficial plan. It’s a nice little story that not only encouraged the kids to go and plant some seeds, but I liked the underlying message about being kind to all wee beasties. Despite being a massive fan of the handmade & homemade movement it would never have occured to me to buy a book like this, so I’m glad I had the opportunity to see this and share it with you lot.
Anyway, the book arrived packaged up beautifully and with a packet of lettuce seeds attached (seeds only posted within Europe, outside of Europe purchases will be sent a set of cute stickers instead) which got Erica SO EXCITED that Bob & I took the kids outside to our sadly neglected front garden and spent the evening clearing the weeds, levelling the ground and planting the lettuce. I’m hoping that this will be the start of our family gardening adventure so I’ll update again when the lettuce starts to poke through. A brilliant book for encouraging your little ones into the garden and away from the TV.
Erica with her new book
Look how amazing this is!
As if that wasn’t cool enough, Gillian keeps a blog which is extremely informative for the novice gardener – go check her out!
I do have loads and loads more for you – including the amazing story of how I got my dog back after seven years which is like something out of Homeward Bound, a brooch tutorial and maybe a giveaway or two – so make sure you come back over the weekend.
Was it really only three years ago that you were born, dear Erica? Three years? It doesn’t seem possible after your first year which was so terrifying that I wasn’t sure you’d make it to three.
You were so sick that this was your default expression for the first six months of your life:
This is you a week after your first birthday. You weighed just under 15lbs and had finally managed to double your birthweight. At the time it was daunting but looking back at old photographs of you it’s terrifying to see how tiny you were:
You didn’t walk until you were 15 months. You had no teeth or hair until after that, all as a result of your body prioritising your growth above everything else and yet you were always so happy. So cheerful. So pleased to see your brothers, Daddy and me. Then of course not two weeks after your second birthday we made you a big sister. What really struck me when we cuddled Greer into you for her first sisterly cuddle was your hands – how all of a sudden, you’d grown. That moment took my breath away because it was the moment that cemented for me that you were going to be just fine:
For you, this has been the year of making friends. At nursery you have a merry band who excitedly shout as they see you coming to the door in the morning. You are blessed with a beautiful smile & the ability to make friends almost immediately which makes us ever so happy, just as you always seem to be. It is an honour and a privilege to share our lives with you and we wish you many happy returns today on your 3rd birthday.
The chronicles of my day to day life learning how to juggle children, crafts, work and cookery whilst having some fun and attempting self-sufficiency along the way.
