Just over 12 months ago, we went abroad for a holiday with Harry. It was good but Melissa in particular found the whole thing a bit stressful. In fact, she found it so stressful, she declared afterwards that we wouldn’t be setting foot on an aeroplane for at least four years.
Thankfully, after another bitterly cold winter, her resolve weakened and a couple of weeks ago we jetted off for some sunshine in Tenerife.
Of course, Harry’s changed a great deal in the last year – we didn’t need to worry about his food or drink this time around, which immediately made things a great deal easier. The fact that Harry is now much more content playing with his toys also made things much more straightforward on the four-and-a-half hour flight.
We spent most of the week either on the beach or playing about in the sea or swimming pool, which suited me down to the ground; my sandcastle building skills were quite impressive by the end of the week.
Melissa’s mum and dad also came with us – and there’s no doubt that having grandparents on hand helped Melissa and myself relax. As much as we both love Harry, it’s also nice to have an hour’s rest now and again, if only to get your breath back. It still amazes how much energy a two year old has.
It wasn’t all plain sailing though – literally in Harry’s case as I managed to tip him off an inflatable and into the sea, quite by accident. I was then public enemy number one for a good half hour and boy did I feel guilty when he looked at me afterwards with an expression that said: “I trusted you, how could you let me fall off?”
Still, Harry doesn’t hold grudges and he was soon back to digging sandcastles on the beach. Now I can’t wait until our next holiday – in Yorkshire. I just hope the weather’s as good so I can brush up on those sandcastle building skills.
Friday, 15 April 2011
Thursday, 14 April 2011
Bad news for ducks
I wrote recently about Harry picking up bad habits. Well, he’s got another and it’s not good news – particularly for ducks.
Let me explain. Harry has always enjoyed going to feed the ducks, even if he is a bit reluctant to hand over the bread most of the time (he prefers to eat it himself).
However, when we visited the Mere in Ellesmere a couple of weeks ago, his attitude had changed. Instead of throwing bread towards the swans, Harry charged towards them shouting ‘Shoo!’ at the top of his voice. As if that wasn’t enough, he also started swinging his leg as if he was about to aim a kick at them.
I grabbed him, of course, and gave him a ticking off, although I must admit, it was difficult to keep a straight face. I then told him to say sorry to the ducks, which he did – reluctantly.
Within minutes, however, he was chasing the swans again, shouting ‘shoo!’
By this time, we were drawing disapproving glances from other people, and one family – feeding the ducks without incident – looked particularly unimpressed.
We swiftly moved on to the playground – thankfully a duck free zone – before we were escorted from the mere side.
I’ve since been doing my best Poirot impersonation, trying to find out who he’s copying but so far my investigation has proved fruitless – and Harry’s not for telling me either.
Whoever’s responsible, though, it’s clear that feeding the ducks with Harry will never be a very relaxing experience.
Let me explain. Harry has always enjoyed going to feed the ducks, even if he is a bit reluctant to hand over the bread most of the time (he prefers to eat it himself).
However, when we visited the Mere in Ellesmere a couple of weeks ago, his attitude had changed. Instead of throwing bread towards the swans, Harry charged towards them shouting ‘Shoo!’ at the top of his voice. As if that wasn’t enough, he also started swinging his leg as if he was about to aim a kick at them.
I grabbed him, of course, and gave him a ticking off, although I must admit, it was difficult to keep a straight face. I then told him to say sorry to the ducks, which he did – reluctantly.
Within minutes, however, he was chasing the swans again, shouting ‘shoo!’
By this time, we were drawing disapproving glances from other people, and one family – feeding the ducks without incident – looked particularly unimpressed.
We swiftly moved on to the playground – thankfully a duck free zone – before we were escorted from the mere side.
I’ve since been doing my best Poirot impersonation, trying to find out who he’s copying but so far my investigation has proved fruitless – and Harry’s not for telling me either.
Whoever’s responsible, though, it’s clear that feeding the ducks with Harry will never be a very relaxing experience.
Flattery?
IF imitation really is the sincerest form of flattery, then we must be doing something right with Harry.
He mimics just about everything we do, from facial expressions to phrases, leaving us in fits of laughter most of the time.
Melissa, for instance, has a habit of shrugging her shoulders when she says ‘don’t know’. Harry has now developed the same habit, although in his case, it’s basically a stock answer when he’s challenged about why something is broken.
Harry’s also got a great ‘hurt’ look that he must have copied from somewhere (I blame Melissa), which he employs very effectively if we say no to him. It’s often accompanied by a ‘please…’ which, as he’s well aware, makes you feel like a terrible parent.
My personal favourite, however, is Harry mimicking me having a shave. Harry stands on the toilet, toothbrush in hand, dipping it in the water and scraping it along his face every time I pick up the razor. It’s hilarious, if a bit messy.
Of course, we’re also conscious that Harry will also pick up any of our bad habits, and Melissa and I have to be on our toes constantly to make sure we don’t say anything out of turn in his earshot.
My brother, Barry, who loves nothing more than making mischief, managed to cause trouble when he visited my mum and dad recently. Barry – despite protests from my mum warning that Harry would copy – decided it would be a good idea to sit on the coffee table.
Harry, who hadn’t shown any interest in the table previously, was soon sat on it – proud as punch – with his feet up, grinning wickedly at my poor mum. And I can tell you with absolute certainty Harry knew exactly what he was doing.
He mimics just about everything we do, from facial expressions to phrases, leaving us in fits of laughter most of the time.
Melissa, for instance, has a habit of shrugging her shoulders when she says ‘don’t know’. Harry has now developed the same habit, although in his case, it’s basically a stock answer when he’s challenged about why something is broken.
Harry’s also got a great ‘hurt’ look that he must have copied from somewhere (I blame Melissa), which he employs very effectively if we say no to him. It’s often accompanied by a ‘please…’ which, as he’s well aware, makes you feel like a terrible parent.
My personal favourite, however, is Harry mimicking me having a shave. Harry stands on the toilet, toothbrush in hand, dipping it in the water and scraping it along his face every time I pick up the razor. It’s hilarious, if a bit messy.
Of course, we’re also conscious that Harry will also pick up any of our bad habits, and Melissa and I have to be on our toes constantly to make sure we don’t say anything out of turn in his earshot.
My brother, Barry, who loves nothing more than making mischief, managed to cause trouble when he visited my mum and dad recently. Barry – despite protests from my mum warning that Harry would copy – decided it would be a good idea to sit on the coffee table.
Harry, who hadn’t shown any interest in the table previously, was soon sat on it – proud as punch – with his feet up, grinning wickedly at my poor mum. And I can tell you with absolute certainty Harry knew exactly what he was doing.
Friday, 25 March 2011
Trouble in the supermarket
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.
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.
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.
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