I’m back! Did you miss me?

Had a great holiday. The kids enjoyed themselves too, even if they did spend most of the time they were at loggerheads (“Mine!” “MINE!” “My Mummy!” “No, MY Mummy!” “I want it!” “No, I NEED IT!”). The amount of rioja I didn’t get to drink was criminal.

Journey back was a bit hellish though. Arrived back at Birmingham airport to find out that a) it’s freezing in the UK at the moment and b) a huge pile-up on the motorway meant we couldn’t even get to our car let alone drive home. After deliberation, we decided that Akra Jr and I would take a train back to Worcester while Akra waited for the courtesy bus in the vague hope it might get there that evening.

Of course, as soon as I got on the train, the traffic jams miraculously cleared, so I only arrived home five minutes earlier than Akra. Sigh.

Still, I’m back, I’m refreshed and ready to write more drivel. I’ve done lots of work on the NaNoWriMo preparation which I shall endeavour to put up in the near future. I have tons of photos to sort through. And at some point, I suppose I’d better tell my new GP that I’m pregnant. “Hi, I’m new to the area, and by the way, you’re going to be seeing lots of me over the next nine months or so…”

As a taster, here’s a picture of Akra Jr and T during a rare moment of cooperation.

I am now officially on holiday.

See you on the 24th.

Don’t go having any good weather while I’m away.

I will bore you with lots of photos of us having a wonderful time on my return.

If I can be bothered to leave the sunny paradise…

Yes, I cheated with the date – we’re leaving early in the morning and I thought I would get away with it. *glares at Moveable Type*

It is less than 24 hours to go to our holiday in Spain, and I still haven’t packed yet. I do have a list of all the things I haven’t packed yet though. Rather than be sensible and use this time productively to go see if I own any clean T-shirts and shorts, I thought I’d blog instead. Hopefully the packing fairy will be busy as I type and save me the bother…

If you’ve ever sat down and watched children’s television for any length of time, you very quickly lose interest in the actual shows and start analysing something else (anything else) about them in order to keep yourself sane. My most recent project while watching with Akra Jr this week has been to categorise the children that appear on these shows. I’ve discovered that they fall neatly into one of two camps:

The RADA Wannabies. Most obvious on shows that actually have a budget like Blues Clues, these professional stars-in-the-making are so sunny and cheerful they should contain a mental health advisory warning. On my more positive mummy moments, I find myself hoping that my children will grow up to have their confidence and bouncy outlook on life. During my less charitable moments, I cringe at the TV brats and fight the urge to hide behind the sofa until they’ve gone away…

The kids on Valium. Either they’ve been sedated to ensure they behave, or they’re so exhausted by the rigours of TV they look more like zombies than children. You can imagine the producer sitting up in a panic one day saying, “shit, we’re going to need 5 three-year-olds to look cute and winning. Anyone got any kids we can borrow?” These poor children are then sat in front of hot studio lights and forced to sing “The Grand Old Duke of York” for hours until the producer gets what’s wanted. The end result, is five very bored looking children, with huge dark rings under their eyes (not helped by the fact the makeup department had no budget either), singing nursery rhymes in monotone with the producer’s faux-happy voice in the background trying to make it seem that everyone’s having a lovely time.

I’m not sure which group is more appealing. Maybe television producers should just stick to cartoons…

I suppose I ought to elaborate a little on yesterday’s posting. Thank you for all your well-wishings!

Yes, it was planned, yes it was a surprise. Akra Jr took a good 5 months before conception and we tried for a sibling last year for about 6 months with no success (and then Akra got made redundant) so neither of us were prepared for such a quick result.

Consequently, I hadn’t given up alcohol, have been popping nurofen plus whenever I had a headache, and have been sporadic with the folic acid supplements. Oops.

I did have a slight suspicion over the last week as I have been permanently ravenously hungry. I was sitting up in bed at 11pm eating cheese and crackers to avoid starvation when I remembered that last time a similar late night snack was consumed was while being pregnant with Akra Jr. Hmm…

Of course, pregnancy for the second time is a bit like watching a film you saw ages ago. You can’t remember what happens next, but as soon as you experience it you think “ah yes, I remember this bit…” No morning sickness yet, but that tends to occur around the second month apparently (just in time for NaNoWriMo!). I’m now addicted to all the pregnancy books I bought the first time round and never managed to read properly. Sad, or what?!

I promise to try very hard not to turn this into a pregnancy blog, but if the hormones get the better of me, please let me know.

How difficult can it be to keep your cool with a 2-year-old?

It should be quite easy. At least with Akra Jr – I know I’m lucky; he’s a very well behaved little boy. Oh, he’s no saint by any stretch of the imagination, he can throw a wobbly like the best of them, but pretty good as far as toddlers go.

I know he’s overtired, I know he’s had a lot to deal with due to just starting at a local nursery/pre-school, I know that peeling bits of paper off walls is what toddlers do. So why when I walk into his room after his nap and find the paper border yanked off the wall taking most of the paint with it, do I immediately want to flip into a toddler tantrum of my own?

I’m fuming and horribly upset at the same time. I’ve been proud of how his room looks despite not having much money to spend on it. I’m grateful that we could give him a nice cosy sanctuary. It feels like vandalism of the worst kind, even though realistically I know that it’s just typical toddler high-jinks.

I didn’t explode. It was a herculean effort, believe me. I managed to stick to a stern talking to, even though I know half of it he probably didn’t understand. He couldn’t have misunderstood the tone though. I also managed to avoid sanctions that would have confused him and made life more difficult for me than him, like banning television for a period of time. What I haven’t managed is to get rid of the icy “I’m really disappointed in you” out of my voice for the last hour.

I admire parents who are really good with their children’s misdemeanours… they can do the telling off, proclaim consequences, accept apologies, then smile sweetly and carry on as if nothing had happened. I know this is the best way to deal with it, especially at this age when minutes after the incident he’s forgotten all about it and can’t understand why I’m still frosty towards him. So why do I find it next to impossible to put it into practise?

One of my most touching memories of September 11th, 2001 was a conversation I had with my next door neighbour at the time. Her daughter had gone into labour that day, and the baby was not doing well. Her eyes were red from crying, a mixture of shock at the state of the World – the world that baby V had come into (and may have soon gone out of again). Very fortunately, baby V was a stubborn child and soon showed everyone just how robust she was. Today is a mixed anniversary for that family, I’m sure.

Happy 2nd birthday, little V.

“Grief Is The Price We Pay For Love”

A group of six of mums and six babies, a couple of them could crawl by then, mine was the youngest so remained where you put him. It did mean I had to be more vigilant over the others crawling over his head, however.

A normal Tuesday in every respect. One of the mums got a call on her mobile while we were there. It was her other half telling her to switch on the telly. It was then we saw the first harrowing pictures of an airplane being flown into one of the World Trade Centre towers.

At that point, it was thought it had been a horrific accident, until the second plane hit and the reports of the hijackings started to come in. We watched the events unfold in horrid fascination. I remember walking home from the bus stop, phoning my mother to tell her the news.

I’ll never forget the media circus that followed. The nights of waking up in a sweat convinced London was next, or that a terrorist would spread smallpox and I’d have to watch my baby die. The feeling that the end was well and truly nigh. The fake Nostradamus predictions that circled the internet. The poignant articles in Salon from a woman who’s husband had died in one of those towers and her harrowing experiences of trying to get his remains (in lots of boxes over time).

I make no apology for making “yet another” September 11th entry on the net. I feel today is not a day for the politics of what has been done in its name. Today is a day for remembering the thousands of individual people who died two years ago, and the people they left behind.

In just under a week’s time, the Pewari family shall be heading to the sunny lands of Spain.

Akra’s parents own a villa out there, so we shall be staying out there for a week with friends of ours who have a daughter the same age as Akra Jr. We did the same last year and it was very successful with T (the little girl) and Akra Jr being more or less self-entertaining giving the adults chance to relax too. I’m very much looking forward to it, especially as I haven’t seen them for ages and want to catch up on all their news. Also, Akra Jr has missed T very much since we’ve moved house, so it will be good for him too.

Last year, everything was planned to military precision weeks in advance – packing lists, detailed discussions on what toys we should take for the kids, etc. Then we got to Spain and found out that Akra had left the keys to the villa on the dining room table back in Croydon. This year, I’ve barely started thinking about it and I really ought to start planning at some point before the flight time. We’ll probably leave the passports behind this time.

Anyway, Akra Jr being a bit older this year, entertaining on the flight is going to be a little more interesting. He’s got his own seat this year (thank goodness) and I’ve got him a little Bob the Builder rucksack to contain his own “hand luggage” stuff. So far, the ideas I’ve had are: some paper and felt tip pens, a CBeebies magazine, a carton of juice and some nibbles, a book. Any other ideas will be gratefully received.

My stuff? No idea. Will see what I throw in the bag Monday night…