Archive for April, 2010

Going the extra mile for one’s child.

April 30, 2010

Well, one sure fire way to ensure the addition of extra miles to one’s run is to, against better judgement, allow one’s darling daughter to carry her newest prize possession in her arms while in the jogging stroller. We set off for our afternoon playdate/run with friends in a mini convoy of double joggers with Sam stubbornly nestling his friend’s toy fire engine in his lap and Bea spitting out a “miiiine!” and giving me a fierce look and a head shake when I tried to extract her dolly from the fingers and put it safely in the car ’til our return. Somewhere en route past the “cute fire engines” I had to calm a distressed Bea and scold her big brother for messing with her seatbelt.

Sometime just before mile two it dawned on me that Snuggle Pea was no longer buckled in securely close to Bea and maybe that was why Bea had been so distraught. Yet to be proven, but I suspect a wayward Sam for ejecting dolly into the traffic.

We followed our double jogger friends (with me getting super jealous as I viewed the pretty flowery running skirt hauling ass up ahead of me in the heat) back to their home and finished our three and a half mile circuit. Sam and Bea then got to play and have fun with their friends while I got an ice water refill and had to head back out on a search and rescue mission.

Past mile one and with no sign of the fallen, I was already trying to come up with how I was going to replace Snuggle Pea so that the gift givers would never know what fate had so quickly befallen their present to their darling granddaughter. I’d covered half of the route with eyes roving all around me when success hailed me victor.

There, at mile 1.67 lay a lonely little blue Snuggle Pea by the side of the road. I scooped her up victoriously and ran onward, triumphantly ignoring any strange looks that passing drivers were giving the crazy woman running with a stuffed toy.

Back at our friend’s home Bea ooohed and squealed when reunited with her love. Happily being doting mum to her dolly she hugged and pushed Snuggle Pea around in a little stroller for all of a minute before pushing her to the floor and wandering off to climb on a train table.

Tickle Me Bea.

April 23, 2010

Bea’s still not saying a whole lot, but every once in a while she surprises me.

As Bea lay down on her mattress and I wriggled her out of her sleepy suit, readying her to face the day in one of Sam’s cast off Spring garments freshly dug out of storage she grinned back up at me. “Tickle! Tickle!” she giggled as her face light up in happiness and her little chubby fingers clutched and patted her belly and thighs.

Of Bea.

April 21, 2010

Considering the terrorising and tears that frequent our afternoons it amazes me how excited Bea gets in the morning when I tell her it’s time to go get her big brother from preschool. Sometimes she’ll find her shoes and hand them to me happily. More often she squeals with delight and immediately takes off racing to the front door. She hammers on it with her hands and can’t wait for it to open so she can toddle down the front steps and towards the car. Yesterday she was so carried away in her excitement that she forgot to stop and went running straight into the door. She bounced right off it and thumped down onto her bottom. Thud. Splat.

Of mice.

April 21, 2010

Was it really over a decade ago that I lived on Rippingham Road and could be found riding the Finglands or Magic Bus carefully holding a little humane mouse trap in hand? I’d get off at Platt Fields and release the little rodent into the park before continuing on to my uni lectures. Trap, bus ride, release, was quite a regular occurrence and plenty of furry pests acquired a new stomping ground until the mice that remained in the house went too far.

The day I discovered my collection of platform trainers, pointy patent stilettos and stompy dredd boots gnawed on, chewed up and used as mouse bedding was the day the war against mice started. I have no more tolerance for the little creatures.

Fast forward to the present.

Every Easter is an exciting time for me over here in the States. Usually the Cadbury’s chocolate on the shelves is manufactured under license by Hershey’s, and is horrid. It doesn’t taste the same at all and is waxy. Easter is the only time of year that I can find proper English Cadbury’s that tastes right and melts in the mouth. If I’m lucky and time it right I can hit the after Easter sales and create myself a little hoard of sweet goodness to savour for weeks. Picking careful moments when the kids aren’t around I enjoy quiet moments alone with my stash and think of England. I don’t share my chocolate treasures. Mine.

Well, rarely I share. Very rarely. The night before preschool photos I did bribe Sam with half a creme egg to get him to wash his hair properly and avoid the usual screaming, splashing, and kicking tantrum. I was very careful not to divulge where I kept this tasty treat, or that I had more hidden away. No, no more where that came from, sorry Sam.

I definitely, unequivocally, do not share with mice.

After spending a morning and an afternoon daydreaming about the peaceful communion with a creme egg and a cup of coffee (I also really like a creme egg and vodka combo) that I was going to enjoy once quiet reigned in the house after the kids had gone to bed, you can imagine how shocked I was when I reached up high to the hiding place and my fingers searched around in the box, but did not grasp a nice firm, perfectly foil wrapped treasure. They met loose shiny shards and a chocolate carcass instead. I was certain that I’d been sneaky enough to keep my stash secret from the boy, but my first thought was “SAM!” Then, peering morbidly at the sad remains like an engrossed rubber necker at the scene of a traffic accident I saw the tell tale rodent gnawing, and droppings.


Last night the peanut butter baited traps were laid.

This morning I found the first casualty of battle.