AS anticipated, Christmas is causing a great deal of excitement in the Wright household.
Every day, without fail, Harry asks me if it's Christmas yet. It's the Advent calendar that's responsible for most of the fun and games, though – and restricting Harry to one chocolate per day is proving to be a difficult task.
But it's not just Harry who's getting swept up in the festive spirit. Melissa, as usual, is torturing us with endless compilations of Christmas music, while the house is filled to bursting with decorations. Honestly, I can't open a kitchen cupboard without disturbing twinkle lights or a bauble at the moment.
Despite this, I am excited about the big day. In particular, I can't wait to set up Harry's new train set (Thomas the Tank of course). There's no doubt that having children really brings out the big kid in you.
Having said that, this train set is already causing problems. When I asked Harry what he wanted for Christmas (probably in early November), he said he wanted a train set. Being organised, we decided to take advantage of a half price offer and bought one.
Typically, when we took Harry to a grotto a few days later, he told Father Christmas he wanted a racing car set. What do you do? I have tried dropping a few hints about how nice a new train set would be but so far Harry's not budging. “I want a racing car set daddy,” is his stock response.
I'm just hoping he isn't too disappointed on Christmas morning when he finds he's actually got a train set instead. And if he is, at least I'll enjoy playing with it.
One thing's for sure, I'll hold off buying presents until the last minute next year.
Monday, 19 December 2011
Monday, 12 December 2011
Sleep tight
SLEEPING is without doubt the most discussed aspect of Harry's life in our house.
From the moment he was born, it's been our main preoccupation: how's he sleeping? Is he sleeping at the right time? Has he slept through? And so on.
I thought that this focus would wane as time went by but, so far at least, it hasn't. This is not to say that Harry is a bad sleeper. It's true that he tends to wake a bit too early for my liking (getting to seven is a cause for celebration) but generally he sleeps through without complaint.
However, the issue of bedtime has been on the agenda in recent months; it's gradually been getting later and later. To start with, we thought this was just coincidence but after a few weeks, we realised something more fundamental was affecting him, namely his nap in the day.
Although Harry is only a couple of months away from his third birthday, he's always enjoyed his midday snooze and, truth be told, Melissa and I have quite enjoyed the peace and quiet. The decision to put a stop to it, therefore, was a painful one.
For a start, Harry can be a bit of a monkey when he's in need of a nap (I now understand completely when I hear exasperated parents say “he's just tired” in an apologetic voice). Then there's the effort involved in keeping him awake – particularly if he's in a car.
The other day, I picked Harry up from my parents' house and spent the duration of the journey asking daft questions, shouting, singing and making silly noises in a desperate attempt to stop him dropping off before we got home. We made it – just – but it left me feeling very guilty, particularly after Harry looked at me with barely open eyes and said: “I just want to go to sleep daddy.”
All of this effort is worth it, though. The bedtime is now half six (it had drifted to eight-ish) and he's sleeping for a full 12 hours. At least that gives us time plenty of time to recharge our batteries too.
From the moment he was born, it's been our main preoccupation: how's he sleeping? Is he sleeping at the right time? Has he slept through? And so on.
I thought that this focus would wane as time went by but, so far at least, it hasn't. This is not to say that Harry is a bad sleeper. It's true that he tends to wake a bit too early for my liking (getting to seven is a cause for celebration) but generally he sleeps through without complaint.
However, the issue of bedtime has been on the agenda in recent months; it's gradually been getting later and later. To start with, we thought this was just coincidence but after a few weeks, we realised something more fundamental was affecting him, namely his nap in the day.
Although Harry is only a couple of months away from his third birthday, he's always enjoyed his midday snooze and, truth be told, Melissa and I have quite enjoyed the peace and quiet. The decision to put a stop to it, therefore, was a painful one.
For a start, Harry can be a bit of a monkey when he's in need of a nap (I now understand completely when I hear exasperated parents say “he's just tired” in an apologetic voice). Then there's the effort involved in keeping him awake – particularly if he's in a car.
The other day, I picked Harry up from my parents' house and spent the duration of the journey asking daft questions, shouting, singing and making silly noises in a desperate attempt to stop him dropping off before we got home. We made it – just – but it left me feeling very guilty, particularly after Harry looked at me with barely open eyes and said: “I just want to go to sleep daddy.”
All of this effort is worth it, though. The bedtime is now half six (it had drifted to eight-ish) and he's sleeping for a full 12 hours. At least that gives us time plenty of time to recharge our batteries too.
Big news...
HARRY is coming to terms with some big news: he will soon have to share his home with a baby brother or sister.
I'm not sure he quite understands what a big change this is going to be (let's face it, I'm not sure I understand it fully) but his reaction so far has been thoroughly entertaining.
For a start, he tells everybody he's having a baby sister. The truth is we don't know what we're having and we don't want to. Harry, however, is so confident when he says he's having a little sister that people think we're hiding something. Even my mum suspects that we've found out, told Harry, and then decided not to tell anyone else.
He's also taken to telling people that he's got Peppa Pig and Barney (his cuddly little dinosaur) in his tummy. “They'll be out soon, like the baby in mummy's tummy,” he tells people earnestly. Occasionally he will study Melissa's bump for a few minutes before asking: “Can we get that baby out yet?”
In preparation for the new arrival, Harry decided that he would get out his old travel cot. After helping him to set it up I popped out of the room. When I returned a minute or so later, Harry was lying down in to the cot. When I asked him what he was doing, he replied: “I'm waiting here until that baby comes.”
As I say, I suspect that Harry might find things a little bit more challenging when the baby does arrive – it's due in March – particularly when he realises he's got competition for his mum's attention.
Nevertheless, when I got home from work the other night, Harry gave me a demonstration on how to hold a baby properly using one of his cuddly toys (Melissa had been giving him lessons). He was very gentle, which was something of a surprise as Harry can be a little heavy handed. Perhaps there's nothing to worry about after all.
I'm not sure he quite understands what a big change this is going to be (let's face it, I'm not sure I understand it fully) but his reaction so far has been thoroughly entertaining.
For a start, he tells everybody he's having a baby sister. The truth is we don't know what we're having and we don't want to. Harry, however, is so confident when he says he's having a little sister that people think we're hiding something. Even my mum suspects that we've found out, told Harry, and then decided not to tell anyone else.
He's also taken to telling people that he's got Peppa Pig and Barney (his cuddly little dinosaur) in his tummy. “They'll be out soon, like the baby in mummy's tummy,” he tells people earnestly. Occasionally he will study Melissa's bump for a few minutes before asking: “Can we get that baby out yet?”
In preparation for the new arrival, Harry decided that he would get out his old travel cot. After helping him to set it up I popped out of the room. When I returned a minute or so later, Harry was lying down in to the cot. When I asked him what he was doing, he replied: “I'm waiting here until that baby comes.”
As I say, I suspect that Harry might find things a little bit more challenging when the baby does arrive – it's due in March – particularly when he realises he's got competition for his mum's attention.
Nevertheless, when I got home from work the other night, Harry gave me a demonstration on how to hold a baby properly using one of his cuddly toys (Melissa had been giving him lessons). He was very gentle, which was something of a surprise as Harry can be a little heavy handed. Perhaps there's nothing to worry about after all.
Friday, 25 November 2011
Honesty is the best policy
I've known for some time that Harry does not understand tact. This was made perfectly clear to me when I asked him why he didn't like lying next to me in bed.
“It's because you're too hairy, daddy,” he told me. “It's not very nice.”
Fortunately, these rather blunt declarations have been limited to Melissa and myself so far – but all that changed last weekend when a friend of mine visited.
Harry hadn't met this friend – who will remain nameless – before and was, to start with at least, fairly cautious. However, he soon found his feet.
Unfortunately, this friend of mine had been out for a few drinks the previous evening and had, I would guess, decided upon a kebab on the way the home.
Harry obviously picked up on this too. While we were standing in the kitchen, Harry asked me what the funny smell was. Trying to be polite, I replied that it was probably the sausages I'd cooked earlier.
“No it's not,” came the reply. “It smells poo-ey.” I swiftly changed the subject.
Some time later, Harry was sat next to this friend in the back of my car while we went to an indoor play area.
“You smell funny,” Harry announced. My friend either didn't hear or pretended not to hear.
By this point, I was struggling somewhere between acute embarrassment and desperately trying not to burst out laughing.
To be honest, it was almost a relief when my friend left. I asked Harry if he'd had fun. “Yes I did,” came the answer, “but your friend is a bit smelly.”
At least I know who to go to if I ever want an honest opinion.
“It's because you're too hairy, daddy,” he told me. “It's not very nice.”
Fortunately, these rather blunt declarations have been limited to Melissa and myself so far – but all that changed last weekend when a friend of mine visited.
Harry hadn't met this friend – who will remain nameless – before and was, to start with at least, fairly cautious. However, he soon found his feet.
Unfortunately, this friend of mine had been out for a few drinks the previous evening and had, I would guess, decided upon a kebab on the way the home.
Harry obviously picked up on this too. While we were standing in the kitchen, Harry asked me what the funny smell was. Trying to be polite, I replied that it was probably the sausages I'd cooked earlier.
“No it's not,” came the reply. “It smells poo-ey.” I swiftly changed the subject.
Some time later, Harry was sat next to this friend in the back of my car while we went to an indoor play area.
“You smell funny,” Harry announced. My friend either didn't hear or pretended not to hear.
By this point, I was struggling somewhere between acute embarrassment and desperately trying not to burst out laughing.
To be honest, it was almost a relief when my friend left. I asked Harry if he'd had fun. “Yes I did,” came the answer, “but your friend is a bit smelly.”
At least I know who to go to if I ever want an honest opinion.
Friday, 18 November 2011
Don't panic!
I have discovered several new emotions since Harry arrived on the scene; from a feeling of pride when Harry does something well, to the sense of hopelessness you feel when he's ill and you can't do anything to help him.
However, one of the most powerful emotions is panic. When you suddenly realise something is wrong, it's as if the pit of your stomach has just dropped out – rather like being trapped on a particularly violent rollercoaster.
It happened to me last weekend when we took Harry to Chirk Castle. He was tearing up and down a ramp, completely oblivious to my warnings about tripping over and hurting himself. As I stood watching him, he tripped and fell landing, chin first, with a thud.
Fortunately he wasn't hurt and was back on his feet within seconds – and the feeling of panic passed just as quickly as it arrived. I had the same feeling when Harry disappeared recently at a playbarn.
For what seemed like minutes but was actually probably no more than 30 seconds, I couldn't see him anywhere. Then I spotted him – he'd somehow managed to find a way into the out-of-bounds area behind the play equipment.
It's reassuring to know that Melissa suffers just as badly from 'Harry panic'. At swimming last week, she convinced herself that Harry had swallowed her pound coin from the locker and proceeded to bang his back in an attempt to get him to cough it back up.
Harry, obligingly, started coughing which made her panic even more. I'm not sure how long this went on for, and I can only imagine what the people in surrounding cubicles thought of the commotion. Eventually, Melissa decided that he must have swallowed it and survived and gave up the rescue operation – before finding the coin clasped very tightly in his hand.
However, one of the most powerful emotions is panic. When you suddenly realise something is wrong, it's as if the pit of your stomach has just dropped out – rather like being trapped on a particularly violent rollercoaster.
It happened to me last weekend when we took Harry to Chirk Castle. He was tearing up and down a ramp, completely oblivious to my warnings about tripping over and hurting himself. As I stood watching him, he tripped and fell landing, chin first, with a thud.
Fortunately he wasn't hurt and was back on his feet within seconds – and the feeling of panic passed just as quickly as it arrived. I had the same feeling when Harry disappeared recently at a playbarn.
For what seemed like minutes but was actually probably no more than 30 seconds, I couldn't see him anywhere. Then I spotted him – he'd somehow managed to find a way into the out-of-bounds area behind the play equipment.
It's reassuring to know that Melissa suffers just as badly from 'Harry panic'. At swimming last week, she convinced herself that Harry had swallowed her pound coin from the locker and proceeded to bang his back in an attempt to get him to cough it back up.
Harry, obligingly, started coughing which made her panic even more. I'm not sure how long this went on for, and I can only imagine what the people in surrounding cubicles thought of the commotion. Eventually, Melissa decided that he must have swallowed it and survived and gave up the rescue operation – before finding the coin clasped very tightly in his hand.
Friday, 11 November 2011
Grandparents
We all know that Harry can wrap any one of us around his little finger whenever he wants. All he has to do is flash one his cheeky smiles, grab us for a cuddle or say the right thing and we give in.
Today, Harry had me dancing around his playroom to the sound of the Wombles (don't ask) at half past seven this morning. It was not a pretty sight.
But if Melissa and I find it hard to say no to Harry, his grandparents are even worse. It wouldn't be fair to say he gets everything he asks for, but it wouldn't bee too wide of the mark either.
Whenever he stays at Melissa's mum and dad's, for instance, he asks for bacon and egg for breakfast – something he doesn't have at home – and, invariably, he gets it.
It's the same with my mum and dad and I'm absolutely sure Harry knows he can get away with far more when he's there.
Not that this worries me. When I was little, going to nan and grandad's was always a treat and I'll be quite happy if Harry grows up thinking the same thing – just as long as he doesn't expect the same treatment at home.
On this subject, though, I would like to apologise to my dad for landing him with a bit of a headache. A couple of weeks ago I told Harry that I had an old Scalextric set in the loft that I would get down for him (Harry has his own mini set). I couldn't find it, however, and soon realised that it must be at mum and dad's.
Harry, of course, wasn't about to let the matter rest and pestered dad into venturing into his loft. Unfortunately when dad found the set it didn't work and, according to mum, he then spent hours hunched over the cars trying to repair them in time for Harry's next visit. In the end, he managed to get one of the cars working which, given that the set is probably about 25 years old, was some achievement.
Harry, though, was not as impressed. When I asked him if he liked the racing car, he told me: “Yes but only the blue car works daddy. Granddad couldn't mend the other one.”
Today, Harry had me dancing around his playroom to the sound of the Wombles (don't ask) at half past seven this morning. It was not a pretty sight.
But if Melissa and I find it hard to say no to Harry, his grandparents are even worse. It wouldn't be fair to say he gets everything he asks for, but it wouldn't bee too wide of the mark either.
Whenever he stays at Melissa's mum and dad's, for instance, he asks for bacon and egg for breakfast – something he doesn't have at home – and, invariably, he gets it.
It's the same with my mum and dad and I'm absolutely sure Harry knows he can get away with far more when he's there.
Not that this worries me. When I was little, going to nan and grandad's was always a treat and I'll be quite happy if Harry grows up thinking the same thing – just as long as he doesn't expect the same treatment at home.
On this subject, though, I would like to apologise to my dad for landing him with a bit of a headache. A couple of weeks ago I told Harry that I had an old Scalextric set in the loft that I would get down for him (Harry has his own mini set). I couldn't find it, however, and soon realised that it must be at mum and dad's.
Harry, of course, wasn't about to let the matter rest and pestered dad into venturing into his loft. Unfortunately when dad found the set it didn't work and, according to mum, he then spent hours hunched over the cars trying to repair them in time for Harry's next visit. In the end, he managed to get one of the cars working which, given that the set is probably about 25 years old, was some achievement.
Harry, though, was not as impressed. When I asked him if he liked the racing car, he told me: “Yes but only the blue car works daddy. Granddad couldn't mend the other one.”
Fright night...
A Halloween party for ten children. How hard can it be? In a word, very.
We'd decided it would be a good idea to host a Halloween party and, in my naivety, I had imagined a couple of spooky-themed party games followed by sandwiches and cake.
The reality – with half a dozen or so children chasing each other around the house – was somewhat different and I was surprised at just how much noise a room full of children can make.
Anyway, Harry was quite excited at the prospect of the party. Unfortunately, when it got under way, Harry took exception to other boys and girls using his toys. Consequently, I spent the first 15 minutes making Harry hand back the toys he had grabbed off his unsuspecting guests.
With order restored, Harry decided he wanted some crisps. “I'll take them to the boys and girls,” he announced. To be fair, he did manage to hand out – literally – one or two crisps while putting as many in his own mouth as he could manage.
Then it was time for pass the parcel. Harry was first to sit down but when he was handed the present, he wanted to open it rather than pass it on. We managed one minute 29 seconds of 'Ghostbusters' before a rushed and slightly fraught game was brought to a conclusion. With a mini riot looming, the planned apple bobbing was swiftly abandoned.
There was a brief respite when the food arrived and the room fell silent. The peace didn't last long though, and it was at about this point that Harry decided to take off his clothes. Apparently, somebody had spilled juice on his toe. Before I could stop intervene, his skeleton costume was in a heap on the floor and Harry was racing off in just his vest and pants.
But while it may not have been the relaxing Sunday afternoon I had envisaged, it was good fun. Will we be having another party next year? I'll get back to you.
We'd decided it would be a good idea to host a Halloween party and, in my naivety, I had imagined a couple of spooky-themed party games followed by sandwiches and cake.
The reality – with half a dozen or so children chasing each other around the house – was somewhat different and I was surprised at just how much noise a room full of children can make.
Anyway, Harry was quite excited at the prospect of the party. Unfortunately, when it got under way, Harry took exception to other boys and girls using his toys. Consequently, I spent the first 15 minutes making Harry hand back the toys he had grabbed off his unsuspecting guests.
With order restored, Harry decided he wanted some crisps. “I'll take them to the boys and girls,” he announced. To be fair, he did manage to hand out – literally – one or two crisps while putting as many in his own mouth as he could manage.
Then it was time for pass the parcel. Harry was first to sit down but when he was handed the present, he wanted to open it rather than pass it on. We managed one minute 29 seconds of 'Ghostbusters' before a rushed and slightly fraught game was brought to a conclusion. With a mini riot looming, the planned apple bobbing was swiftly abandoned.
There was a brief respite when the food arrived and the room fell silent. The peace didn't last long though, and it was at about this point that Harry decided to take off his clothes. Apparently, somebody had spilled juice on his toe. Before I could stop intervene, his skeleton costume was in a heap on the floor and Harry was racing off in just his vest and pants.
But while it may not have been the relaxing Sunday afternoon I had envisaged, it was good fun. Will we be having another party next year? I'll get back to you.
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