Lucy and the grapefruit

She said she wanted the 'orange'. I explained that it wasn't an orange, but a grapefruit. 'Is it a lemon?' she asked--that's the known item, I suppose, that looks like an orange, but is the wrong color. Again, I explained that it was a grapefruit.

I really didn't think she'd like it. She watched with interest as I cut the sections so they could be scooped out with  a spoon. She listened as I explained that daddy liked sugar on his grapefruit, but I ate mine without. I was surprised that she wanted hers without sugar, and even more surprised that she really liked it. Sometimes she says she likes something, but doesn't want it just now. This seems to me a polite way of saying she doesn't actually like it. But she ate all the sections of the half grapefruit I prepared for her, and even wanted to try the juice.

It's hard to believe that she'll be four in less than two weeks. Seems like only a couple of weeks ago that I was writing 'Lucy doesn't crawl'; now she runs and jumps and plays on the playground. She uses phrases like 'pretty obvious' (thanks to the second Harry Potter movie) and loves to climb. And, apparently, she likes grapefruit. Who would have imagined?

The years ahead are sure to be full of surprises and fun as my baby grows into a big girl!

Irreversible

Today I was spluttering and fuming about the boys being late out of school. Thomas thought he had practice (soccer or football, or futbol, depending on your country of origin), but he didn't. So he appeared after all the rest of the kids in his class, fully kitted out. He didn't get the message--either about the cancellation of practice or about being out promptly so we'd be back for Anna when she arrived home. The mini-bus won't drop her if we aren't there, of course, but I hate to make them wait, and hate even more the extra half hour she spends dropping off the rest of the kids if we aren't back in time.

 

Needless to say, I was feeling pretty stressed. Iain couldn't help but notice. 'I have something that will cheer you up, mummy,' he said in his most cheerful and pleased tone of voice. 'Look what's on my jumper.' On his school sweatshirt he had a round sticker that sparkled just a little, and read 'Headteacher's Award.' Inside, I am thinking, That's lovely, but we are still going to be late; aloud, I said (as you do), 'that's great, Iain!' in the most cheerful tone I could muster. 'How did you earn that?' I asked. 'For knowing what the word irreversible meant.'

 

Irreversible? This is a kid who draws and paints and makes really cool stuff out of Lego, who also still writes b and d and k backwards quite often, and who is just deciding that reading might actually be of some use (i.e. it might be fun). 'So,' I responded, 'what does it mean?' He said, 'it's like when you cook an egg; you can't ever get it back to the way it was before.'

 

For a moment, I forgot entirely about the fact that we were late. In the end, we turned onto our street with Anna's minibus just two cars behind us. And I will try to keep in mind that moments like those are part of the irreversible process of my children growing up--absolutely priceless.

 

 

 

She's almost a teenager...

Anna is twelve. So she's into makeup, likes Monster High, and goes to secondary school (which would be middle school in the US--6th grade). After school, she usually goes up to her room for a while. When she re-emerges, she's wearing a totally different set of clothes. But she still plays with Barbies and lines up all her dolls and cuddly toys to play 'school.' And she still enjoys the 'How do dinosaurs...' book series, as well as If You Give a Mouse a Cookie and all of its sequels.

One of the fantastic things about Anna being twelve and having a little sister who's two is the way they (sometimes) play together. This evening, I was reciting (not singing--I didn't grow up with it, and don't know the tune) 'Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear.' Suddenly Lucy turned to Anna and held out her hand, for Anna to repeat the nursery rhyme and the motions (that end with a tickle, if you aren't familiar with it). And so she did--over and over. She enjoyed Lucy's giggles as much as I do. Saying the nursery rhyme wasn't a chore, it was a delight for her as well as for her little sister.

Ah, maternal bliss. Don't worry. I'm sure it won't last long...

Iain enjoys sports day

Iain isn't a competitive boy like Thomas (who, incidentally, came first in the egg-and-spoon race and second in four others, including a sprint). He's perfect for sports day, actually, because it's all about taking part. The big finale is the relay. As Iain took his place, he made certain I was going to take his picture while he was running. So I did:

 

Lucy was tugging at my skirt, as I had put her down to take Iain's photo. I picked her up and looked at the field in time to see Thomas coming...but not in time to take a photo. Oh well: here he is preparing for an earlier event:

 

He's determined, there on the starting line. The race was a sort of modified steeplechase, I think. Thomas came...second.

 

It was a great day for the event. Beautiful and sunny, with a nice breeze, and occasional cloud cover to give everyone a bit of a break. I missed the morning events, as I am getting us ready for a trip to the US. But I was there long enough to see the boys compete and to chat with a few other parents.

 

Apparently this year there was a new mums' race--some sort of dressing up thing. I missed it, which was probably just as well. My last mums' event at sports day is probably the reason there isn't a sprint anymore. Also the reason I don't sprint anymore. But that's all right: Iain (and Thomas) really enjoyed sports day.