One week after Christmas- beware the batteries!

The worst thing about presents for little ones at Christmas is definitely the "batteries not included" text in small writing at the bottom of the box that has you scrabbling around in the kitchen drawers for random spare batteries you'd forgotten about.

The second worst thing about presents for little ones at Christmas is probably the false sense of security that the bundled batteries provide. The lull you into believing that the toy will run for a while on the generously provided "free" batteries but with the inevitability that a headache following too much Christmas cheer, they pack up within a week at the most.

It's not the batteries fault, they're not designed to last ages but it can be a pain in the backside, especially when a toy that was working and being played with stops working suddenly. Duracell are of course aware that batteries are often the Achilles Heel of toys, and to that effect sent me a pack of their new Ultra Power* batteries. They have the obligatory power gauge on the side but are also the most powerful alkaline battery ever and with up to 40% more power than Duracell Plus batteries too. They went straight in the Boy's toddler remote control car because that chews batteries like there's no tomorrow, especially when he forgets to turn it off (it should have an auto off feature really). I'm far too disorganised to manage rechargeable batteries, I'd perennially end up with 8 flat batteries and two cross kids I'm sure.


A couple of weeks later and the thing still isn't dead. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before I have a Home Alone style comedy accident with the car whizzing between my feet. I'll try to be magnanimous and not blame Duracell if it happens :)

*not to be confused with Duracell Ultra. Easy mistake to make.

Last Christmas/This Christmas

Christmas 2009

It's funny the difference a year makes. 365 days aren't very long but when you're not even one, it's a very long time and makes a huge difference in who you are and what you experience. This time last year the Boy had to help Fifi open her presents and she sat at our dining room table in a high chair, flinging roast potatoes around like it was going out of fashion. She looks so tiny in the picture to the right, not yet one, with short fine hair but even at that age she knew what she wanted.

The Boy too knew what he wanted that Christmas, and it was Buzz Lightyear. I remember driving down to Symths Toys on the A1 in a near blizzard to buy him Buzz and he still plays with him nearly every day a year on. Even though Fifi was three months older than he had been for her first Christmas, I don't think she was aware as he was- she certainly wasn't as interested in presents. I think the opposite was true this year, in terms of opening presents at least. Fifi rampaged, collecting presents, opening them and hardly looking at what was in them before moving on to the next one. She loved opening things. I absolutely adore the way she says "Peppa Pig" in a high pitched excited voice, it's magic and makes me want to hold her tight. We'd never have guessed how much she'd like her toy hairdressers set, role playing is something they both love doing.

Christmas 2010

In fact one of the things that's struck me over the festive period is how well the two of them play together now. There is constant dialogue  between the two of them. When it isn't guttural snarling at any rate.The Boy is often solicitous and keen to show his little sister how things work and she is also keen to play with her big brother and proudly show him what she can do. And at not even two yet, there is plenty she can do.

I don't know what Christmas 2011 will bring but I hope with all my heart it's a happy one.

That's Christmas then

I ably assisted wifey with a tweet earlier about how Christmas went. "Better than anticipated" was her requested reply. I think that's a pretty good summation. At Christmas time, it's all to easy to build up an unrealistic anticipation of the perfect day with your angelic children. They're not angelic for the other 364 days of the year, why should they be so on Christmas Day?

We managed to avoid the plague of illness going around, seemingly more virulent than last years evilness, and aside from a runny bottom on Fifi (hopefully caused by teething), we were all reasonably well. Wifey had a chest infection but that was it really.

Apart from watching some Peppa Pig and The Land before Time, Christmas Day was TV free, which was perhaps the best present we could have had.

Some sound planning (from Wifey) meant that we were actually able to afford to buy each other a present for the first time since the children came along. I miss being able to buy things for my wife and perhaps we put the kids first too often. The Boy for one can't even remember everything he got for Christmas, which is telling. Our Christmas present pile began building up in the January sales last year, which meant by the time the day came along we'd accumulated quite a lot of stuff.

One of my abiding memories of the period will be the Boy on his bike at Whipsnade yesterday, wheels spinning between the stabilisers on the ice, lots of effort but no movement. That and Fifi getting into hair dressing in a big way.

I'm back in work now after a five day break, and once the next 3 days are over, I'll have a long 3 day weekend too.

A merry Dilbert Christmas!!!

Each one is different

Each child and each Christmas that is. We've asked the boy and Fifi what they would like for Christmas and had some rather unexpected replies so far. The boy has said, "Don't know, you chose." whilst Fifi has enthusiastically shouted "Pasta!" at the top of her voice. I hope toys and a traditionally Christmas lunch wont be too bitter a disappointment for her.

Last year Fifi was too little to really understand Christmas properly and didn't even manage what Mr Shev calls a prenzy but this year I think she'll have a lovely time, even if the only present she'll want to play with will be the one the boy has just opened.

The boy himself is interested in material things, Milkshake and it constant stream of adverts has seen to that, but I think it will be the 5 days of attention that will be the highlight for him.

The reality of snow

While everybody is waxing lyrical about the beauty of snow, I'm trampling through a brown mush on my way to work in wellies that are great on snow but really terrible on icy or mushy pavements.

True, we had a great old time making snow men at the weekend and the sledging was something to behold but the reality of having to go to work is a bit different.

Snowball Madness...

...or I'm in trouble!!!

3.37am

In the middle of the night as I was attempting to top up my sleep bank in preparation for our works Christmas party, the Boy decided he felt unwell. I was unaware of this until Wifey bought him into bed with us and he informed me he had a tummy ache. Poor mite, and I felt sorry for him too.

He eventually went to sleep not quite far enough into the middle of the bed to make it comfy for me and I lay there for a couple of hours, trying not to cough and wake everyone up.

Sometimes I think we're cursed on the activity front: whenever we have arranged to go out for dinner or have something booked like a course or a book group evening, someone is always ill. I suppose it's inevitable with small children since they are the cause of most of the germs in the world. if world war 3 is a biological weapon war, the only things left at the end apart from cockroaches will be the parents of small children and primary school teachers. That's not much of a future.

Competition time again!

 

Those chaps at Radisson Blu are at it again, this time with a rather swanky competitionto win a stay at one of their plush hotels in Milan, Madrid, Berlin, Helsinki or Hamburg. Berlin always takes my breath away, but I think that has more to do with Top Gun than the city itself.

 

I prefer the Spanish lifestyle more, and have spent many a pleasant long weekend strolling around Barcelona indulging my love of sea food and getting over excited by the prospect of a cable car ride (still haven't managed one on over half a dozen visits there though). There's something inherently honest about Spain, even the shysters trying to sell you fake Gucci handbags are happy to tell you they're completely fake and will fall to pieces. A quick flight on a budget airline and you're guaranteed some sunshine, cheap drink in a civilised environment and food that you have to be there to appreciate. I never come back from a city break having lost weight, even though we usually eschew public transport to see as much of the city on foot as we can while we're there. This policy was nearly the ruin of me when we were walking from the Louvre to the Arch De Triomphe in Paris once in 30 degree heat! 

 

The competition runs until 3rd January and is easy to enter although you do have to be over 18 years old (and in possession of a passport otherwise you're not going to get very far). Full terms and conditions are on the website, here.

 

All you have to do is answer 3 questions about European geography. They're not quite on the lines of: Which of the following is red: a)a red apple, b) a green apple, c)the planet Pluto but I don't think you'll find them too tricky.

 

Anyone who answers all three questions correctly is entered into a prize draw to win one of 1,000 Radisson Blu giftcards over the campaign period. There's also a spin the wheel bonus competition at the end. If you haven't spotted the links to the quiz yet, you can click on the Radisson Blue Quiz  to take you there!

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*THUNK*

On Saturday I mentioned on Twitter, "Being a parent seems to involve being repeated hit on the head in many many different ways." There was some considerable sympathy on this and I thought I would expand on it a bit.

Wifey has been accused by her mum of having a heavy head when she was a child. This seems to be something both the Boy and Fifi have inherited in that they both seem to have very hard heads. For example, when he was a nipper, the Boy used to show affection by head butting  both of us vigorously. It never seemed to hurt him but on the odd occasion I saw stars and he nearly broke Wifey's nose on more than once.

The nutting has fortunately stopped but I still seem to get hit on the head more than I should really. Often there is a stray punch, a blow from Dolly, something like that. Occasionally though it's something a bit more radical. It came to a head (hahahaha) yesterday when we were playing a bit of gentle rough and tumble. The Boy decided to try and poke his finger in my tummy button and while he was distracting me, Fifi decided to creep up behind me and club me over the back of the head with Jupiter the Fire Engine. Note to self, ensure garden is entirely free from half bricks come the summer. She was in a right strop when Wifey took her off to the naughty step and I can still feel the bump.

The last line of defence: wobbly limbs

You can tell when your child reaches a certain age, they develop the ability to drop their shoulders when you pick them up, making it much much harder to carry them when they don't want to be carried.

This is however merely a prelude to what comes next, namely the wobbly limbs. The boy has now perfected this dark art: when you want him to come and get his shoes on or we'll be late for the child minder, he loses the ability to stand up. This is one better than Fifi, who is still at the lock your arms rigid and fight stage because she eventually tires. No, the Boy has discovered the Hippy protest manoeuvre 40 something years after the long haired unwashed started their passive sit ins. It's doubly hard when he's stripped himself down to his pants and climbed under the dining room table beforehand too.

It takes no energy on his part and short of threats, I can't suss out how to beat him on it- any suggestions?

Win an iPad and holiday vouchers with The Park Inn

Competition time folks. I've currently been trying to teach our 3 year old the complexities of play Connect Four. I've dug out the board from my youth and have got as far as letting him work out the concept of taking it in turns. I've had to let him win a few times to keep his interest but we're getting there. Soon I will be able to exert my uber competitive Dad-ness to the max...

Park Inn Hotels are running a competition for a chance to win some great prizes. The current prize of choice in any competition is of course an iPad and they've got those to win, and also some rather funky £250 vouchers  for Park Inn Hotels, which can be used at over 200 hotels in 16 countries (also valid in Radisson Blu and Hotel Missoni, and includes the UK), and can be used at the restaurant, bar, or simply on your room. Even given hotel prices, you should be able to get moderately merry on that. One of each (an iPad and a voucher) is being given away a week until 18 December. Everyone will also be entered into a final draw for one week's stay at Park Inn Manchester, Park Inn Berlin, or Park Inn Ulysse Resort (in Djerba, Tunisia) plus a £300 giftcard. If you win the overall prize and pick Manchester, I want an explanation ;) The competition itself is called 4 in a row and I'm sure you'll find the rules very familiar. Entrants must be at least 18 years of age, full terms and conditions are on the Park Inn website. I'm a bit of a traditionalist in many ways and consequently if we won, I'd probably take the family to Paris. Wifey and I went there about 4 BC (Before Children) and we had a great time, particularly in the Musee D'orsay. Admittedly, despite being a museum curator, wifey did manage to get told off for using flash photography on a stone sculpture of a polar bear. Her French wasn't good enough to explain that stone isn't photo-reactive...

An iPad- squeak!

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In which the mouse ROARS

Unless I'm standing up for wifey, as ridiculous as it seems I tend to try and avoid public confrontation. I get butterflies and feel light headed. Which is stupid as I'm 6 ft 4 and have a very quick and acerbic tongue.

Still, I was remembering wifey's experiences in Sainsbury at the checkout, or more precisely the queue for the checkout as I was standing in line at Waitrose today. Wifey has found increasingly that half way through a large shop, middle aged man gets a place in the queue holding a couple of items. He is only a place marker because ten minutes later when he is near the front, his battle axe of a wife appears with a huge trolley load of junk, causing much consternation amongst those honest shoppers who actually shop before queuing up. Sainsbury lose an awful amount of goodwill from the silent majority by turning a blind eye to this practice. And by a blind eye, I also mean an ear that's deaf to the complaints.

Well something similar happened to me in the "basket only" queue at Waitrose today. In proper bloke fashion, I didn't even have a basket, I had (too many) things held to my chest. I had a senior citizen in front and a Man with an Expensive Outdoor Coat (MEOC) in front of her with a very full basket. The old dear was only buying some mushrooms. As MEOC made it to the till, a litany of excuse mes ran down the line of 10 odd people as WEOC (Woman in an Expensive Outdoor Coat) barged past everyone and stood behind MEOC. Perhaps they met in Rock & Snow whilst looking at expensive coats, I don't know but it was obvious they were together.

WEOC turned to the old lady and said, "I'm not queue jumping, I'm with him." in a smarmy voice that made me immediately despise her. The old dear said something along the lines of, "It says basket, singular, not two baskets." which got an even smarmy response of, "Well it's the season of goodwill so I'm sure we can overlook it this once in the spirit of the season can't we?" I sort of assumed this meant queuing is for people who don't wear expensive outdoor coats come back and complain when someone turns you into an acronym old woman. This was met with a huff and elicited the final response that WEOC got to make, "Well what do you want me to do, go to the back of the queue?" in a condescending tone that even our NCT breastfeeding expert didn't manage*.

It was at this point the mouse roared. I took one step forward and said, "Yes, that's a good idea." She looked up at me and, not knowing me, assumed I was scary. It may have helped that I was wearing a Salamon ski jacket (it is 6 years old and the zips going but it was once an expensive outdoor coat). She looked incredulous and slunk to the back of the queue. Her husband ignored her. He might have had an expensive coat, but at least he knew when his missus was in the wrong.

It's manners really. If you have a trolleys worth of stuff and decide to split it between two baskets, I'm grumble inwardly if you queue up together and pay for it in one transaction on the basket only till but if you think you can stroll round the shop and ignore everyone else who has legitimately queued for ages, then this is one mouse that will roar. It's time supermarkets started policing the checkout queues in my mind.


*when she told us wifey had to demand feed up to twice an hour 24/7, and wifey asked when she was supposed to sleep, our NCT breastfeeding teacher said, "Well you should have thought of that before you decided to have a baby." 

Wordy Wednesday

Sometimes a picture says a 1,000 words but given the nature of the picture that would illustrate this event, I'm going to use some words instead.

There was a foreshadowing from a very tired child last night as they got undressed for their bath- a wee on the bath matt. This was followed by an early visit from Mr Hanky the Christmas Poo in the actual bath, which freaked said child out so much they nearly jumped out of their skin and started howling.

Still, it was so solid it came out in two huge lumps as I picked it up with the aid of baby wipes.

E.
Norm.
Ous..