Sometimes I get a little bit overconfident when I’m looking after Harry – and it invariably leads to trouble.
It’s happened a couple of times this week. On the first occasion, Harry and I were doing the weekly shop and I decided (and I’ve still no idea why) that I would allow him to get out of the trolley and walk around the supermarket holding my hand. This, it has to be said, was not a very good idea.
Within minutes, it was chaos. Harry was trying to escape, leaving a trail of fruit and veg on the floor, while I was frantically trying to pick up the debris with one hand and grab him with the other. When I finally managed to get hold of Harry, he tried to wriggle free by making his body completely floppy – that peculiar technique young children develop for evading adults. He ended up in a heap on the floor with me stood over him trying to sound stern but reasonable which, given the flustered state I was in, wasn’t easy.
Of course, when I returned home it soon became clear that I’d manage to forget half of the items I was supposed to buy. Frankly, though, it was the least of my worries.
The following day we decided to clean the cars and, thankfully, Melissa was on hand to lend some support. We dressed Harry in his all-in-one, wellies and hat, and with his reins wrapped around my arm, we set to work.
To be honest, it wasn’t a complete disaster and our cars did get a bit of a clean. However, after just a couple of minutes, Harry was soaked from head to toe. A couple of minutes later, I was dripping wet too when he decided to my head needed a wash.
Then it was Melissa’s turn. Harry managed to wrest control of the hose from her grasp and promptly directed into her wellies. She was not amused, and it might be some time before the cars get another spruce up.
Friday 25 March 2011
Green fingers
I’m starting to think that Harry is going to be a green-fingered sort when he’s older.
He’s certainly very enthusiastic about getting stuck in when it comes to digging in the garden, and he gets extremely excited at the prospect of digging up produce.
I think his enthusiasm goes back to September when Harry and I spent an afternoon digging up the last of the potatoes. Harry was fascinated and whenever he eats potatoes now, he says: “Daddy, dig, ‘tatoes, Harry.”
Now, with the weather starting to improve, we’ve been able to get in the garden again – and Harry certainly hasn’t forgotten about the potatoes.
Last weekend, we spent an afternoon clearing and tidying. While Melissa concentrated on the flower beds, Harry and I tackled the vegetable plot. Harry was like a little shadow, pushing his wheelbarrow around piled high with his shovel, spade and rake.
Out first job was getting up the remaining parsnips. Harry did end up on his bottom a few times when the vegetables refused to budge but, on the whole, it went reasonably well.
Then we had to dig over the rest of the plot, a job Harry enjoyed, particularly when we found a few potatoes still in the ground. This really fired Harry’s enthusiasm and he spent the next half hour digging frantically and excitedly handing me stones and clumps of mud, saying: “Daddy, ‘tatoes.”
What amazed me, though, was Harry’s concentration. Normally his attention wanes after about 20 minutes but in all he was out with me for an hour and a half – and he didn’t try to escape once. In fact, the only reason we had go inside was to give Harry his tea.
I’ll certainly have no excuse for an untidy garden this summer.
He’s certainly very enthusiastic about getting stuck in when it comes to digging in the garden, and he gets extremely excited at the prospect of digging up produce.
I think his enthusiasm goes back to September when Harry and I spent an afternoon digging up the last of the potatoes. Harry was fascinated and whenever he eats potatoes now, he says: “Daddy, dig, ‘tatoes, Harry.”
Now, with the weather starting to improve, we’ve been able to get in the garden again – and Harry certainly hasn’t forgotten about the potatoes.
Last weekend, we spent an afternoon clearing and tidying. While Melissa concentrated on the flower beds, Harry and I tackled the vegetable plot. Harry was like a little shadow, pushing his wheelbarrow around piled high with his shovel, spade and rake.
Out first job was getting up the remaining parsnips. Harry did end up on his bottom a few times when the vegetables refused to budge but, on the whole, it went reasonably well.
Then we had to dig over the rest of the plot, a job Harry enjoyed, particularly when we found a few potatoes still in the ground. This really fired Harry’s enthusiasm and he spent the next half hour digging frantically and excitedly handing me stones and clumps of mud, saying: “Daddy, ‘tatoes.”
What amazed me, though, was Harry’s concentration. Normally his attention wanes after about 20 minutes but in all he was out with me for an hour and a half – and he didn’t try to escape once. In fact, the only reason we had go inside was to give Harry his tea.
I’ll certainly have no excuse for an untidy garden this summer.
Monday 14 March 2011
CD chaos
FOR many men, their CD collection is among their most prized possessions. In my case, the order (alphabetical by artist, with albums arranged in order of release date) is also critical.
Harry clearly doesn’t share my enthusiasm. My precious CD collection is tucked away in two large cupboards behind the door in our bedroom.
Until recently, even when Harry did notice these mysterious cupboards, he wasn’t quite strong enough to open them. However, that all changed last week when Harry worked out how to open the doors and promptly set about rearranging my CDs.
Of course, this all happened while I was at work, so you can imagine my distress when I walked into our bedroom to find cases, inlay cards and CDs strewn across the floor.
Harry had obviously taken a dislike to one particular cover and had decided to tear it in two, while I still haven’t managed to track down one disc that has mysteriously disappeared.
Melissa, who cannot fathom my obsession with CDs, was less than sympathetic.
I suppose it’s just one of the hazards of having a toddler roaming around the house. That’s not say that Harry is particularly naughty when it comes to grabbing things he shouldn’t; in fact, he’s very good most of the time. When he’s tired, though, nothing is safe.
Earlier this week, I called to pick Harry up from my parents’, only to find my dad trying to get the television to switch on. Apparently, a tired Harry had managed to press something that had stopped it working. Thankfully there was no permanent damage – which is more than can be said for my CD collection.
Harry clearly doesn’t share my enthusiasm. My precious CD collection is tucked away in two large cupboards behind the door in our bedroom.
Until recently, even when Harry did notice these mysterious cupboards, he wasn’t quite strong enough to open them. However, that all changed last week when Harry worked out how to open the doors and promptly set about rearranging my CDs.
Of course, this all happened while I was at work, so you can imagine my distress when I walked into our bedroom to find cases, inlay cards and CDs strewn across the floor.
Harry had obviously taken a dislike to one particular cover and had decided to tear it in two, while I still haven’t managed to track down one disc that has mysteriously disappeared.
Melissa, who cannot fathom my obsession with CDs, was less than sympathetic.
I suppose it’s just one of the hazards of having a toddler roaming around the house. That’s not say that Harry is particularly naughty when it comes to grabbing things he shouldn’t; in fact, he’s very good most of the time. When he’s tired, though, nothing is safe.
Earlier this week, I called to pick Harry up from my parents’, only to find my dad trying to get the television to switch on. Apparently, a tired Harry had managed to press something that had stopped it working. Thankfully there was no permanent damage – which is more than can be said for my CD collection.
Wednesday 9 March 2011
Words...
I imagine it’s fairly common for toddlers to have favourite words. Harry’s favourite changes every couple of weeks – often provoking a fair amount of amusement in the process.
A couple of weeks ago it was beer. I thought this was hilarious, even if it was a little bit uncomfortable when he told strangers he was having beer for tea (it wasn’t true, obviously).
My mum and nan, however, were less than impressed when Harry started shouting beer during a trip to the supermarket, so it was quite a relief when he decided that his new favourite word was ‘naughty’.
At the moment, everyone is naughty. On Saturday morning, Harry woke Melissa up telling her she was naughty for leaving her coat hanging on the back of a chair. ‘Away,’ he said, pointing earnestly to the wardrobe. I keep getting told off for leaving drawers open or for not shutting doors.
Harry certainly knows what he’s doing – and he knows when he says something funny or cheeky; you can tell by the wicked smile afterwards.
He’s also not averse to a bit of emotional blackmail to get his own way. I took him to the supermarket last weekend and, after being pretty well behaved and sitting in his trolley for the best part of an hour, he suddenly decided he wanted to get out. I tried bribing him with chocolate buttons, but by the time we got to the checkout, he was practically standing on the seat trying to climb out.
It turned into a battle of wills – and I was determined to keep him in the trolley. However, my resistance crumbled when he held his arms in the air and said: ‘Daddy, cuddle. Please.’ What could I do? The cheeky grin told the world he’d beaten me. Little rascal.
A couple of weeks ago it was beer. I thought this was hilarious, even if it was a little bit uncomfortable when he told strangers he was having beer for tea (it wasn’t true, obviously).
My mum and nan, however, were less than impressed when Harry started shouting beer during a trip to the supermarket, so it was quite a relief when he decided that his new favourite word was ‘naughty’.
At the moment, everyone is naughty. On Saturday morning, Harry woke Melissa up telling her she was naughty for leaving her coat hanging on the back of a chair. ‘Away,’ he said, pointing earnestly to the wardrobe. I keep getting told off for leaving drawers open or for not shutting doors.
Harry certainly knows what he’s doing – and he knows when he says something funny or cheeky; you can tell by the wicked smile afterwards.
He’s also not averse to a bit of emotional blackmail to get his own way. I took him to the supermarket last weekend and, after being pretty well behaved and sitting in his trolley for the best part of an hour, he suddenly decided he wanted to get out. I tried bribing him with chocolate buttons, but by the time we got to the checkout, he was practically standing on the seat trying to climb out.
It turned into a battle of wills – and I was determined to keep him in the trolley. However, my resistance crumbled when he held his arms in the air and said: ‘Daddy, cuddle. Please.’ What could I do? The cheeky grin told the world he’d beaten me. Little rascal.
Tuesday 1 March 2011
The Three Peaks revisited
I know it's a couple of years since we did it, but I stumbled across this YouTube slideshow of our Three Peaks challenge the other day.
For those who don't know, we did complete it in 24 hours. Good memories.
For those who don't know, we did complete it in 24 hours. Good memories.
Baking
Melissa is braver than me; whereas I tend to shy away from Harry’s more messy activities, Melissa embraces them with relish.
Unfortunately, there was no escape last weekend when Melissa told Harry we would be baking.
Harry had tried his hand at baking a few days earlier – and, of course, thoroughly enjoyed himself. There were, Melissa told me later, a couple of disasters along the way: blue food dye was thrown everywhere and hundreds and thousands ended up in the quiche. On the whole, though, Harry had been very good, she said.
Despite these reassurances, though, I wasn’t convinced and, I admit, I was a nervous wreck when we started baking cakes. Harry was beside himself with excitement and set about cracking the eggs gleefully. As you can probably imagine, his hands were covered in it.
We did end up with a fair amount of shell in the mixture, which put me off straight away. I simply don’t like the thought of crunchy fairy cakes.
But while I was trying to fish out pieces of shell, Harry was busy tipping flour into the mixture. It was chaos, and the kitchen was practically engulfed in a cloud of flour.
By this point, Melissa seemed to be having as much fun as Harry, and she particularly enjoyed my futile attempts to restore order. Eventually, we somehow managed to get some of the mixture into the cake mould, although there were very few chocolate chips left by this point; Harry had eaten most of them before we had the chance to get our hands on them.
Incredibly, the cakes tasted fine at the end of it all, which probably means we’ll be doing it all over again this weekend. I can’t wait.
Unfortunately, there was no escape last weekend when Melissa told Harry we would be baking.
Harry had tried his hand at baking a few days earlier – and, of course, thoroughly enjoyed himself. There were, Melissa told me later, a couple of disasters along the way: blue food dye was thrown everywhere and hundreds and thousands ended up in the quiche. On the whole, though, Harry had been very good, she said.
Despite these reassurances, though, I wasn’t convinced and, I admit, I was a nervous wreck when we started baking cakes. Harry was beside himself with excitement and set about cracking the eggs gleefully. As you can probably imagine, his hands were covered in it.
We did end up with a fair amount of shell in the mixture, which put me off straight away. I simply don’t like the thought of crunchy fairy cakes.
But while I was trying to fish out pieces of shell, Harry was busy tipping flour into the mixture. It was chaos, and the kitchen was practically engulfed in a cloud of flour.
By this point, Melissa seemed to be having as much fun as Harry, and she particularly enjoyed my futile attempts to restore order. Eventually, we somehow managed to get some of the mixture into the cake mould, although there were very few chocolate chips left by this point; Harry had eaten most of them before we had the chance to get our hands on them.
Incredibly, the cakes tasted fine at the end of it all, which probably means we’ll be doing it all over again this weekend. I can’t wait.
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