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.

 

 

hand-me-downs

We love hand-me-downs! Our grandma always brings us loads of things when she comes, and we enjoy wearing many of them. Of course, we can be particular about what we wear, so some of grandma's finds become a blessing to other friends--or to their friends! Here's what our mum has to say about our clothes:

Hand-me-downs are economical, of course. Lucy has a friend at nursery who passes on the most posh things--the best way to get clothes from Zara and Monsoon! And it saves time, as the business of clothes shopping might otherwise mean long days at the Metrocentre or Dalton Park or Newcastle.

But that's not the real reason I like hand-me-downs so much. The truth is, I am terrible at deciding. If I am going to pay for something, I have to be certain that it's really what I want. I have to like it. And quite often I am just not sure about that. So a bag of clothes to explore and try, and like, or not-like-so-very-much, is a great gift indeed. Anna loves trying on the things her grandmother brings (of which there are usually loads). Sometimes there are things too small, too big, or just not suited to Anna. So we pass them along. Sometimes the things Lucy and Anna receive are not quite new-looking. Then I never worry about them being spoiled.

There are times, of course, when shopping is necessary. School uniform must be bought, most of the time. The school year always seems to start better with fresh white shirts and new cardigans. And we'll shop for smart clothes for a dear friend's wedding this summer.

But by the beach and by the pool, you'll find us in hand-me-downs.

Ishy

Until yesterday, that's how Lucy referred to herself: 'Ishy.' It had been sounding more like Oo-shy lately, I admit. But last night there was no mistake: she said 'Lucy'!

 

 

She wouldn't stand still enough for me to take her picture, though :)

 

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Thomas wanted to be with his classmates for their first Holy Communion. So we went to the Mass, Thomas in his red tie and looking very smart. The head teacher welcomed him and included him in the photo. I think he was well pleased; it was definitely the highlight of the weekend for him.

 

As for me, well, I was there to support Thomas, and mostly spent my time in the back of church trying to occupy Lucy, who was far less interested in the goings-on. Later, at the party, I was fascinated by the sea of white shirts, dresses and veils. Thomas and Anna's class at church was small--just five children--so the group of nearly 30 from school looked enormous. I snapped the photo of these two girls waiting to receive their certificates as Thomas looked on with me. He applauded for them all, genuinely pleased for his friends.

 

And I was proud of him all over again.

 

Spring at last

Maybe even summer. We have had a few really nice days in the last month or so--warm, sunny days. It's pleasant to be outside, and the garden has enjoyed much more attention of late. Several weeks ago, it looked abandoned. Now it looks, well, lived-in. Not beautiful, but at least it looks like somebody has made an effort. The children have helped, even. (Though the would-be helper was behind the camera--or, in this case, my iPad--in the photo below.)

 

Probably we were all encouraged by the handful of plants I brought back from the Chelsea Flower Show at the end of May. A generous invitation provided a great opportunity, and I went down to London for the day. Little did I think I would bring back marigolds, daisies (just visible in the photo above), and a couple of things yet to be identified.

 

It is perhaps especially nice to be outside in the sunshine after a virus knocked me and the boys flat a couple of weeks ago. Fevers, chills, general malaise--maybe a stray flu? Whatever it was, we were glad to see it go, and I was thankful that the girls and Lewis didn't catch it.

 

Iain helped quite a bit with the gardening, I am told, while I was out with Thomas on Saturday morning. The evidence, however, is that his activities in the garden also included photographing various aspects of the work as well as odd corners of the garden. So I have no photos of the marigolds or the unidentified plant. I have a number of blurry photos of buttercups, as they're plentiful at the moment. I have a portrait of the new mower, as well as a picture of the box in which it came. (Some assembly required, apparently.) I also have a series of photos of Lewis, walking across the garden. All in all, it's hardly a representative set, I think.

 

Then again, maybe I should just be grateful that I have some photos.

 

 

What does that say?

When I was a toddler--my mother liked to tell the story--one of the first things I said was, "What does that say?" So she taught me to read. She enjoyed telling the stories about me as a toddler, reading the word cards she made for me, understanding what she was teaching me about contractions. I get the impression that was one of the best stretches of my childhood for her.

 

So when I discovered I was pregnant with my first child (somehow I knew it would be a girl, from the moment of the positive test), I was looking forward to that same stretch. I was thrilled. Imagine my dismay (no, don't) who I found out that Anna might have Down Syndrome. All bets were off.

 

Over the past few years, teachers have been working hard to help Anna to learn to read. She loves books--one of her very first words, when she was using signs, was 'book'--so I thought she would probably learn to read eventually. For years she has memorized her favorite books. She has been able to recite 'How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight?' since about 2008, I think. But give her a new book and she would always narrate the pictures. Recently, she has started to sound out words--or at least pretend to sound out words. I'll never forget her sounding out a-l-l-i-g-a-t-o-r when the word actually said 'crocodile'. Asking her to look at the words, trying to correct her? Not much point. She wasn't too interested.

 

Last week, she came home from school with an award for good work in phonics. 'Phonics?' I wondered. This week she had a day off school with the usual cold-like thing. Lucy was at nursery, so we got out Anna's reading book, and I made up a phonics game for her. (Games are better, because the rules are part of the fun.) We had fun, and it seemed that she was actually sounding out the words this time. Amazing.

 

And then at dinner, she pointed to the front of Lucy's high chair tray, to the 'chicco' label, and asked me--clear as day--'What does that say?'

 

 

 

 

Thomas the patient

Usually Thomas excels at self-pity. Disappointment or failure, insult or injury--it's all so overwhelming. I understand. But today, when he came home from cricket after school and just wanted to lie down, there was none of that.

 

He came in to thank me for preparing supper. He said he was grateful to have food when so many go hungry. While I was giving the girls a bath, he rubbed my shoulders. 'I just want you to be happy,' he said.

 

Who is this feverish child??!?