Parachutes and pink knickers

Rainbows tonight. Mog likes Rainbows, and the girls there are getting to know her. Tonight we played a version of Grandmother's footsteps, where one girl called out a letter of the alphabet, and the others took one step forwards if that letter appeared in their name (or two steps if it features twice. And so on). Very sweetly, one of the girls called out the letters in Mog's name, in order, so that Mog would win the game. And the others were happy for her to do so. Mog was very happy about this. I was rather impressed that a five year old could spell Mog's name - I guess there's a lot to be said for Jolly Phonics after all!

Next, parachute games. And the pink knickers? That's the Rainbow version of one of the games we play with the Guides too. Flap the parachute up and down, and call out something which may describe some of the girls. Anyone fitting that description runs under the parachute and swaps places with someone else. As an example - "anyone who is five", "anyone who has a brother". We use it with the Guides as a good way of learning about the girls; the Rainbows use it as a way of burning off excess energy!
Mog was most entertained to be whizzed under the 'chute with the rest of the Rainbows, and they were (mostly) good at not getting run over. Huge gappy toothed grins as she emerged at the far side of the parachute and a fight to turn her wheelchair round so she was angled right for the next run. Lots of laughter all round and some genuine surprise from some of the leaders; I don't think they'd seen her respond like this before and hadn't realised that underneath everything else Mog has going on there's a little five year old girl just like the other Rainbows.

Oh the pink knickers? That's the Rainbows' catch-all; if Rainbow Rabbit (main leader) calls out Pink Knickers then EVERYONE has to dive under the 'chute and swap places.

We were unfortunately a little late to Rainbows this evening. I had to pop into Budgens to buy coffee before we went (see here for what happens when I run out). As we rounded the aisle I was stopped by a chap in a loud Tshirt with an amber necklace and some disconcerting multi-coloured facial hair. He greeted me by name, knew Mog's name, and spent some time talking to me about my parents. I have absolutely no idea who he was.

The joy of living in a smallish town, the same smallish town I grew up in, is that I rarely never walk anywhere without someone saying hello and either asking after my parents or giving me complicated messages for them. The disadvantage of living in a smallish town, the same smallish town I grew up in, is that I rarely never walk anywhere without someone saying hello and either asking after my parents or giving me complicated messages for them. It doesn't help that I am dreadful at remembering names at the best of times, and there is a limit to the number of times you can say to someone "I'm so sorry, what was your name again?". In this case this person so clearly expected me to know exactly who he was that there was no way I could ask him without being very rude. Normally, I can recognise someone but just not place them - this chap, if I do know him, has changed so dramatically from the last time I saw him (which would have been when? Back at school? I have no idea) that if he'd not said hello I wouldn't have had a clue that we had ever met before. And now Mum and Dad are off on holiday and incommunicado for the next wee while; I will have to retain the description and hope they can work it out when I get home again. And in the meantime, hide if I see mystery man coming my way, so I don't have to have another of the "you know everything about me and I have no clue who you are but don't want you to realise this as it would be rude" conversations.

Tia