Words

Little Fish is loving words. Our bedtime stories now take a very long time to read, as LF struggles valiantly sounding out the ands and ins and ats of every story. I find myself holding my breath, as she successfully puts together a,n,d, and one sentence and then insists it is a,r,p, pop the next. But she's keen to keep trying and furious when I read a whole sentence without giving her a stab at at least one word in it.

"Pictures" of strangely scribbled triangles and blobs are making way for long lines of odopopoooodoooomoooopppddddddoooooooAmAooood with accompanying oral narration. And illustrated, finally, with those wonderful arms-growing-out-of-heads pictures all children seem to start off with. It's lovely.

And it's exhausting. LF has been coming home from school, and in answer to"what did you do today?" I have been getting "I am so tired and I can't wait for bed." So I've been putting her to bed earlier and earlier. In the morning she's been waking up and telling me again that she is "So tired and want to go to bed." I've been cutting back on things I expect her to do for herself, letting her use her powerchair inside rather than go to the effort of pushing herself, considering talking to school about cutting back her hours. And LF has been happy with the earlier bedtime, but not necessarily dropping off to sleep instantly.

And still, all I have been getting in feedback about school (other than strangely worded songs) is "I am so tired and I can't wait for bed." Poor girl, so unfair to be so wiped out by efforts most of her classmates take in their stride.

An appointment yesterday morning gave Little Fish the chance for a bit of a lie-in. We got into school at the end of morning playtime, and I had a quick word with her TA. I asked if she needed anything for the upcoming Nativity play, as LF hasn't told me anything about it. And was told that no, they had everything they needed, but that LF has a line to speak and seems to be getting really good at practicing it. The line? "I am so tired and I can't wait to go to bed."

Hmm - so let's rewind the past couple of weeks. Not exhaustion but very convincing practice. Poor child; every time she has tried to tell me about the play, I've put her to bed!

Tia

I promise...to help other people

But do I help them by holding their hair out of the way, or by encouraging them to dunk that apple really deep?
Tia

The Wedding

Was lovely. Not a flea in sight.

One beautiful bride, a handful of glowing bridesmaids and one very smart and handsome groom.

Proud family, pleased friends, and mutual astonishment amongst those of us who are used to meeting annually in a muddy field that the rest of us do occasionally scrub up into clean clothes which are neither pyjamas nor jeans.

Huge amounts of work clearly gone into making such a special day, and now Mr and Mrs O off on honeymoon.

No photos here - my hastily grabbed shots totally failing to do justice to any of the polished elegance.

Thank you for inviting us; it was lovely to be a part of your special day.
Tia

Living the High Life

So, we're going to a friend's wedding tomorrow. This has involved a certain amount of primping and preening, mild hilarity over friend's inability to type (or eat, or rub her eye, or hold a pen) with her new posh fingernails, and of course the quest for decent outfits. Over the last few days I've watched mutual friends discuss the whole hat issue, get their hair sorted, find the perfect glamourous top, and I've felt gradually scruffier and less-well prepared.

Tonight though, in a new low as far as wedding prep is concerned, I accidentally de-flead myself. Turns out, if you take a cat the size of a medium dog in one arm, and a small Spot On Flea drop treatment in the other, you are quite likely to liberally spray yourself with the delousing agent as you attempt to get it open.

Ack Ptptptptpbtbtbtbpah is I believe the correct phrase to utter under these circumstances. The cats generally follow this by shooting out through the cat flap to roll on the grass, but I felt this would probably not add much to the overall effect.

So, fellow wedding guests, when you see me tomorrow I may indeed be substantially less glamourous and more covered in children and babywipes and dribble (not my own. Well, probably not my own) than the rest of you. But please rest in comfort knowing that I shall be blood-sucking parasite free.

Meanwhile, in other news, Little Fish asked me to sing me her favouritest song ever before bed tonight. Which song? "Ali One." Don't know it? Nor did I, until she added more lyrics for me. "Ali One, Ali Two, Ali Three, Ali Four" - Ah, the CBeebies Birthday song.

Sometimes I think my life may be not entirely similar to that of those around me.

Tia

Hello, Ulysses!

From the child who brought you "Who built the Ark? No one, no one. Who built the Ark? Bother! No one built the Ark" I bring you the latest Christmas song. "Hello, Ulysses! Hello, Ulysses! Boing-de-boing boing!" Which, after careful decryption, I can now reveal actually means "Hallelujah, sing Hallelujah, a baby Boy is born." Whilst proud of her classical knowledge, I think perhaps we may be looking at a lesson in Christmas related vocabulary.

I was reading Little Fish a story tonight and she stopped me to sound out some of the words herself. I would like to tell the world that Little Fish can sound out Stomp, Romp, Stop, Bop, Leg, Duck, and Mmmmoooooooooooooooo. And was so pleased with herself that she had to fall off the potty in excitement. Hello, Ulysses!

Tia

Encounter

I'm still mulling last night's conversation.

Walking home from Guides, I am approached by a woman clutching an armful of plastic bags, dressed like my Grandmother but with the unusual addition of a large purple nose ring and an assortment of other facial piercings. She asks me if she could use the telephone in the church or else the internet at the Vicarage. I offer my phone for her to make a phone call, and go to unlock it. "It's OK; my parents were journalists and I'm a classicist and a medievalist, I know how these things work."

I'm still pondering the relevance of classics and medieval studies to the mechanics of an iPhone.

And then we stand, as, instead of making the quick phone call I'd expected, she proceeds to send a series of emails. She hands me titbits of information "I'm meeting a friend for dinner and I need to make contact with her." I ask for the address, with the aim of posting her in the right direction. "Oh, no, it's fine, she lives in Abingdon. I was relying on her unusual name in order to find her." Perhaps Abingdon is a little larger than she was expecting? No, apparently she has lived in London so finding someone in a little place like this should be easy.

It's cold. I shiver, I wonder what my babysitter is thinking of my late return. I reason that I appear to have this woman's life laid out in the plastic bags at my feet, and that she is therefore unlikely to run off with my phone. She would in any case be hampered by the large men's boots she is wearing.

"I have written 30,000 word essays and had to do an individual word count for them, I can find my friend's house" is the next conversational snippet thrown my way. I suggest a street name might help, but no, apparently finding her without the address will be much easier than writing a lengthy essay on Sigurd Someoneorother.

She asks me if I enjoy being a Vicar. I check myself swiftly; no dog collar, no hassock, and I really don't think I look like a Tim. I explain that I am in fact a Guider, and have just finished Guides. She informs me she used to enjoy Guides, and that's why she came prepared for this expedition with many bags and lots of layers and sensible shoes. I wonder if perhaps a phone number or address might have been a more sensible preparation, but thankfully she then informs me she has "made contact" and a car will be coming shortly.

I take my phone back, take my chattery teeth home and apologise to the babysitter.

This morning, still enjoying my meeting with one of life's eccentrics, I heave Little Fish into the shower. I hose her down, and then go to dry her. At which point she informs me she is no longer Little Fish, but instead "I am a talking towel that eats your children."

It's life, Jim, but not as I knew it.
Tia

November