A Straight Answer

What shall we do today?

No.

Shall we go for a walk?

No.

Would you like to colour?

No.

Will we stay inside?

No.

Do you want to go in the car?

No.

Are you hungry?

No.

Would you like a drink of water?

No.

Shall I sing a song?

No.

You put your left hand in, your left hand out-

NO!

Do you want to watch TV?

No TV.

That's a stumper

Do you want a cuddle?

No cuddle.

Do you want to wash your hands?

N- mmmm. No.

Can you please just tell me what you want?

whine

You need to say it in words or I can't help you.

loud whine

Are you tired? Do you need a nap?

NOOOOO.

Would you like a story?

Mmmmm.

What story do you want?

Tillah! Tillah!

Oh, you want Fidgety Fish?

YES.


Happy World Book Day!

Lurgy

Kids' fevers are like ghosts. They jump up on you from nowhere, usually in the middle of the night, scare you half to death, then when morning comes around they are gone without a trace leaving you wondering if you dreamed the whole thing.

Boy has had a mild on again off again fever for a few weeks. He's been on good form so I figured it was one of those viruses that disappear themselves. In Scotland I might have taken him to the doctor the first time he was sent home from crèche. But here in Ireland I have to think twice if it is worth spending 40 euro for a doctor to tell me it's a virus that will go away itself. Last year I took him three times in the space of a month. That's some pricey virus, considering there's nothing else a GP can actually do.

So on Monday night when the fever returned I did my usual frantic google searches on "Celsius to Fahrenheit", "when to call your doctor" and "calpol and neurofen together?". I should be a human calculator for the first, and a human medical dictionary for the others the number of times I've entered these search terms since Boy was born. Not that a couple of fourteen year olds on Yahoo Answers advising cold baths and dialling for an ambulance really counts as consulting a medical dictionary.

We had the Calpol and baby Nurofen out and practically drilled Boy a new earhole by taking his temperature so often. Girl thought it was all a fantastic game and pretended to be asleep any time Boy was up only to start howling the second he was back asleep. Sometimes she mistimed it and we were all up together.

Tuesday morning: everyone is pink cheeked and sparkly eyed, looking like they've had really splendid night's sleep (except mammy and daddy, naturally). I keep Boy off crèche in case the fever returns. At lunchtime I think feck it, he's totally fine and I can't keep my eyes open much longer, so I drop him off at crèche. Twenty minutes later I get a call saying he has a temperature of 38.8, could I come and get him.

I don't stop to google the conversion. I know 39 is high and that's close enough. As I pick him up I can feel the disapproving stares from the crèche staff. I mumble something about him being fine when I dropped him off. I feel like the worst mother in the world, allowing my child to cast a sickly shadow over the super healthy glow of all the other kids. I feel sure they think I knowingly dropped him off with a high fever, probably because I wanted some peace and quiet. Then I stop to measure how much truth there would be in such an assessment considering how wrecked I am. There's enough recognition to feel guilty. The self imposed guilt combined with the recollection of him bounding around like a slinky this morning is enough to make me indignant about the dirty looks I may or may not have imagined. My head is tired and busy.

There is no doctor's appointment available until the following day. Boy's temperature creeps up and up despite maxing out on pain relievers. He is whining but too tired to tell me what he wants.

After another night of fun and games, during which Boy's temperature spiked to nearly 40 degrees before he started demanding Elmo and stories at 4am, post diarrhoea and Calpol. Girl was quite happy as long as everyone else was awake and entertaining her. When the sun came up - you guessed it, the kids were looking expectantly for entertainment, perfect temperatures and nothing but a runny nose and a smelly bin to show for the previous night.

We went down to the GP anyway. I was so sure she would look at me like I was crazy for bringing such a healthy looking child to see her that I didn't confess that his whining was because in my sleep deprived stupor I hadn't given anyone any breakfast. So she took his ravenous protesting and thermometer battered lugs for sickness and by the time the fever returned at 2pm Boy was already started on an antibiotic.

The TV embargo is out the window until I can get some sleep. So it's been an orgy of Sesame Street, Snow White and CeeBeebies much to Boy's snottery delight. If I find Boy and Girl hiding hot water bottles under the covers Dennis the Menace style when they see me coming with the thermometer in years to come I've only myself to blame.

Whirlwind Supermammies

We spent this morning at the home of a friend with two children around the same ages as Girl and Boy. I sat and watched in awe as this lady crammed about a month's worth of entertainment - and a hearty lunch - into two hours.

Boy was utterly enthralled as toy trains followed play dough, stories, hide and seek and a box full of toys - and aren't all toys so much better when they belong to someone else? When the rice-filled balloons came out all four children were bursting with glee. The balloons burst too, of course but not before lots of headers, throwing, kicking, catching and rubbing on the small babies' heads to produce some seriously spiky do's. My favourite part of the morning was watching Boy's wee pal dancing 'The Robot'.

By the time we were ready to leave, both babies were exhausted - as was mammy. They looked mildly disappointed when things returned to their usual pace this afternoon. Eh mammy we've been playing with these pipe cleaners for seven minutes here, what's next?

Piano, Rugby and Healthy Chocolate Spread

One of my favourite ways to entertain the babies is to play the piano to them. I play for myself every day, which they sometimes enjoy, sometimes join in with, and applaud as frequently as they scream in protest. But when I play nursery rhymes and tunes they know it is so rewarding when they show recognition at a tune and sing or dance along. Boy is finally at the stage where he can make requests too. For a long time I used to have to play the first few bars of song after song while he shouted NO! until I reached whichever one he wanted. Which could be anything from The Wheels on the Bus to The Entertainer. Now he can actually name the song he wants, which makes the whole process much more rewarding.

We worked our way through a bunch of In the Night Garden songs, the Waybuloo theme, Baa Baa Black Sheep and Frere Jacques. I finally stopped midway through Row Your Boat when I realised Girl was not squealing in delight, but squealing for help as Boy was "rowing" her rather over enthusiastically around the room. So if you do play any instrument, however badly, remember to put away the Bach now and again and see if you can pick out some nursery tunes for your wee ones. I love to let them have a bash too when they want to, and if I don't applaud con brio I am soon put in my place.

This afternoon B and I sat down to watch Scotland play France in the Six Nations rugby tournament. Though Scotland lost the game, and I lost my ever hopeful bet at the bookies, the game was eventful enough for Boy and Girl to both get the hang of shouting, cheering and clapping. Boy even clutched his hair in mock dismay when a young Scottish player grabbed a fine opportunity only to be denied by a gigantic French Ent. But the big grin and lack of genuine woe on his face betrayed the parrot fashion of his actions. Spending an hour and a half this way is quite eventful for our family, since this is the most exposure the babies are ever likely to get of TV sport. Unless Yojojo pretending to be a carrot and chanting om counts.

Today was also unusually successful food-wise. Boy finally asked for a beetroot biscuit after he realised that Girl had almost made her way through the entire batch. He even ate the whole thing. I also whipped together a genius home-made dairy free no-added-sugar chocolate spread recipe that I stole from Dr Oz:

Six medjool dates, half an avocado and four level tablespoons of cocoa powder, plus a little water to thin. Zapped with the hand blender, it looks like nutella, tastes really, really sweet and presto! Boy is eating dates and avocado! I scooped it into a pot and gave him the jug and a spoon to scrape it with. He was in seventh heaven and has been in a fantastic mood ever since. He even ate all his dinner, no fuss. There was a mild panic when we thought his toe was bleeding in the bath, but it turned out to be chocolate.

So despite losing a fiver I'd say all in all, today was a winner.

Kinvara and Home Cinema

We've been planning a visit to Dunguaire Castle for months and finally got around to taking the kids there today along with one of Boy's wee girlfriends and her mammy. If only we had checked the opening times, we would have known that the castle is closed October-March.

In the end we had a great morning anyway. We took a stroll around the castle, stopping to pick up a geocache halfway round. The lower walk was easy enough for the toddlers to manage but not obvious enough to entice the throngs of tourists jamming their noses and camera lenses through the locked castle gates. It also offered a good view across the water's edge to the pretty village of Kinvara, about half a mile from the castle itself. On reflection, the babies probably had a better time scrambling over the grass and rocks than they would have if we had gone straight in to the castle.

Afterwards we took another walk around Kinvara itself and Boy and his pal had a merry old time chasing each other, blowing bubbles, and picking daisies to stick in their woolly hats (Girl was forcibly adorned too).

After deciding we needed a coffee to warm up we soon discovered that the castle is not the only part of Kinvara that closes for winter. Our favourite spot, Burren Beo was closed, as was my friend's cafe of choice. In the end we stopped into Keogh's pub. Their staff were mighty understanding about the two mischief makers - as were their other customers who happened to be friends, thank goodness for the small small world of County Galway.

On the drive home I reflected how much more fun Boy appears to have when there is another child his age to share it with. I'm hoping when Girl gets on her feet they can provide that company to each other.

This evening we tried watching a proper video all together for the first time. B lit a fire, we all got into PJs and I made popcorn and hot dogs for dinner with bottles of water (that's all the food groups, right?). We decided to shun the more predictable Disney cartoon classics for my favourite childhood film, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Sorry Johnny Depp, you're cute and all that but no one could ever replace Gene Wilder in the role of Mr Wonka. That actor is one of a kind. Moreover, Oompa Loompas should not all look exactly alike - terribly racist, or at least xenophobic towards Loompaland. But enough of social politics for the insane...

We hoped at least to get to Augustus Gloop's downfall and the first Oompa Loompa chorus before one of the babies lost interest, puked, or otherwise halted the proceedings. In the end we somehow, wonderfully, managed to watch the whole thing. Girl fell asleep somewhere around Violet, you're turning violet, Violet! and Boy was utterly enraptured by the whole film. From the rippling chocolate backdrop of the opening credits he was glued to the screen. He smiled, giggled, danced and didn't seem at all bothered by the scary bits (like that freaky boat ride, anyone?) His only protest came when Mammy overquoted certain bits of the film, and sang along with a little too much gusto but to be fair, Daddy was about ready to throw his popcorn at me too. By the end Boy was happily exhausted and went down to bed with no fuss and a look of sleepy content only matched by yours truly.

We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams...

Bubbles and Puddles

After some recent "Long Walks" I came up with the perfect cunning plan to help us move forward and beat the snails to storytime at the library today. Old faithful, a bottle of bubble mix. The plan was to blow bubbles and have Boy chase them, allowing us all to enjoy a walk without constantly trying to find ways to hurry up a bit (ooh, want to walk on that wall up there? ooh look at that dog across the road, come on, let's run and chase that jogger etc etc).

Unfortunately I forgot to have a planning meeting with my old buddy, the freezing February wind, who decided it would be a fine jape to blow the bubbles in the opposite direction to where I was heading, no matter which direction that might be. Twice I had to run and pop the bubbles myself to stop Boy chasing them onto the road. However once he knew I had them there was no going back. More bubbles! Want more more more! Want more bubbles! At one point I discovered if I knelt down the bubbles went straight towards Girl in the buggy, much to her delight. They also hit the ground faster and because it had been raining, many of them hit the ground without bursting, so we were able to see the rainbow colours and our own reflections before stamping on them and screaming POP in a very un-pop-like fashion. That was fun.

Boy spotted some dew on a green plant and spent a good while trying to pop the dewdrops while exclaiming "flower bubbles!" Wrong on both counts, but cute, so I let him off.

Finally I caved and used the even older faithful - puddles - to distract from the contrary bubble fiasco. Boy has a fine pair of colourful wellies that I NEVER remember to put on him. I convince myself several times a week that it's OK for him to ruin his shoes at this point because he'll surely grow out of them soon anyway and need a new pair. I don't listen to the tiny voice of reason who points out that Boy has freakishly small feet that never seem to grow - he's been in the same pair of size fives for nearly six months, and that's only because he lost one of the last pair (also size five). His toenails don't grow either, but I'll save that mystery story for another day.

So the pair of us danced up the street jumping in every puddle we could find on the pavement - yes, that big puddle on the road is for cars - and forgot about wet socks and shoes for a couple of hours. The librarian probably wasn't delighted by the footprints, but both babies were tired out by the time we arrived and for the first time Boy sat (or stood) and listened to a story, while Girl sat on my knee flashing toothy grins to anyone that looked her way.

There's something quite therapeutic about splashing in puddles and I couldn't help feeling a bit sorry that Girl missed out on the fun. Her day will come too though, probably sooner than I would like. I just hope she reminds me to put on her wellies.

Love Your Library

Our local library is less than a ten minute walk from home and somewhat underused by my family. The children adore books and B and I are both readers, but he is a Kindle man and I like to buy my books either new or used. I like to have the freedom of spills, tears and tears (you heard me), especially with Boy and Girl around. To be honest, I haven't finished a book of my choice since Girl was 3 months old, and that was a book of very short stories by Gina Ochsner.

Boy likes the library, but tends to take up all my attention when we are there, especially if it is Storytime, which takes place every Friday. Boy has yet to sit through a whole page of whatever story the patient -if somewhat dry- librarian is reading aloud. Nevertheless he likes the buzz of the other children and enjoys the crayons and fetching me books to read to him (always the Gruffalo, then The Gruffalo's Child, no matter how many times I explain that we already have these at home).

However today I had Girl all to myself and thought I would take her on a rare visit to the library without Boy, so that for once she wouldn't be left in the buggy chewing on a manky old board book while I chase Boy around the bookcases begging him to sit and enjoy any book that doesn't feature the Little Brown/Big Bad Mouse.

She really did enjoy having a story read just to her - I picked Wilde's The Selfish Giant, more out of fond nostalgia than age appropriateness. It did have lovely watercolour illustrations and Girl sat and poking and pulling gently at the pictures while I read her the story. We even made it as far as the Giant's heart melting for the little boy too short to climb a tree before she lost interest. We then looked at a couple of touchy feely books, although they didn't have any from our favourite series, Watt & Wells' "That's not my...".

Eventually Girl's happy noises started to get slightly fractious and I got ready to leave. But we didn't walk out of the door before I renewed my library membership and picked myself up a little treat. Once Girl fell asleep I strolled to the nearest cafe where I sat with cup of tea and lemon and devoured Sanctuary a Galway murder mystery by Ken Bruen - thanks to AnnieJMac for the impassioned recommendation.

Later this evening B gave an astounding rendition of The Gruffalo's Child to the delight of Boy and Girl. I've no idea how he keeps the enthusiasm in his voice even 274 recitations later. I'm frequently tempted to video him and post it on youtube for quick access during those times when I just can't read it again.

I feel I've already got my €2 worth from rejoining the library and may even get another book finished before the end of 2012. One that isn't by Julia Donaldson that is. Happy reading!