Moon, Haggis, Shoes! (that's about as random as it comes)

George has become fascinated by the moon, and as soon as it starts to gets dark he runs around the house pointing at the windows and shouting "Moon" – and he doesn't stop until we've picked him up and taken him to the window to see the Moon.

Of course, the Moon isn't visible from every window and where there isn't a view of the Moon George will say "no Moon" and point to the next window. This goes on until we have seen the Moon.

Needless to say, cloudy nights are not a good thing – sometimes we 'do' every window two or three times before he gives up on his Moon-viewing quest.

And it isn't just when it gets dark – almost every morning without fail George will point at the window... only when it's daylight he shouts "no Moon" rather than "Moon". He did get a little excited when we were putting the shopping in the car boot the other day and the sun was hazily trying to shine through some thinning cloud, but he wasn't too impressed when I told him "no Moon... Sun..."

George doesn't know it yet, but yesterday was Burns Night and tonight he's going to try haggis. Grandad is Scottish and even better than that (if you're Scottish) his birthday is on Burns Night, so haggis is a bit of a birthday tradition. Tonight we're having a day-late haggis supper and even though George might be joining in with the 'haggis, neeps and tatties', he definitely won't be joining in with toasting the haggis.

This week mummy bought George some great fun shoes. They have squeakers in the heels – a bit like he's walking on two dog toys (we'll just have to make sure nanna's Labradoodle doesn't get hold of them). This is what they look like...

And this is what they sound like...

They're certainly not shoes for visiting libraries, but there are situations in which they might be beneficial (as-long-as-you-can-hear-the-squeaks-you-know-where-your-child-is kind of thing). I just wonder what it would be like if, when George went to nursery on Monday, every child had a pair!

(By the way, you can turn the squeak off)

Getting the needle about the flu vaccine

I don't normally fall for the scaremongering hype, but we thought it might be wise for George to be vaccinated against flu – and the painfully tragic case of the perfectly healthy three-year-old girl who died spurred us into enquiring.

Much easier said than done. We phoned our GP who informed us that George didn't qualify as he wasn't over 65 or suffering from any health problems that might compound the effects of flu.

So, while we were at the supermarket, we decided to check out the pharmacy to see if we could purchase a vaccine, and even though there was a big section about giving the flu vaccine to children in the supermarket's information leaflets, the vaccine is not available to buy for anyone under the age of 18.

We thought this might be just a Tesco thing, so we tried Asda – their over-18 policy was the same and they also had a leaflet with information about children getting the vaccine.

It seems strange that the most vulnerable and those we desperately wish to protect the most are at the bottom of the heap when it comes to obtaining a simple vaccine that could put every parent's and grandparent's mind at rest.

Anyway, a quick check on George's happiest and saddest moments of the week. His happiest moment and biggest smile was when nanna and grandad return from their Nile cruise (lucky nanna and grandad!). His saddest moment was when we saw a woodlouse – we followed it closely as it walked along the side of the skirting board and round the corner into the utility room, and then we waved it goodbye as it wandered off under the cupboard.

It was probably the luckiest woodlouse alive – saved by George's curiosity. Had George known what usually happens to woodlice that cross my path, I'm sure he wouldn't have been so sad to watch it go.

The bigger they come, the harder they fall

It's lots of fun playing with George, so much so that I sometimes end up parallel playing like I'm one of his toddler friends.

As soon as he's tipped his bucket of building blocks upside down and scattered them in every direction, I can't resist the urge to build a tower... or a rocket... or a train. I must admit I've even impressed myself with some of the structures I've created. One day I built two towers that weaved between each other without actually being connected. I've attempted, with varying degrees of success, counterweighted bridges that span immense distances (usually about six to eight inches).

Most of the time I don't finish my building blocks projects. Either George puts an end to them before they're two or three blocks high, or mummy lets me know that I should be doing something more constructive (what's more constructive than building?)

Occasionally, when George has gone for a bath (and I'm meant to be starting the dinner) I'll complete a tower using all 75 of the different shaped and coloured blocks... this, however, is what happens when George has finished his bath...

(I didn't film the bit when mummy asked me what were having for dinner!)

Another of George's favourite games is pretending to make tea with his plastic teapot and cups – then when mummy isn't looking he'll slip one of his toy cars in her cup and laugh uncontrollably when she pretends to choke on it. It's a game I haven't played yet, although every time I turn on the kettle I'm tempted to find out if it's as much fun as it looks.

Party's over

George has never been a tearful baby – even as a very tiny thing he hardly cried at all and when he did it never lasted very long. But he had a real wail when we took the Christmas tree down (almost as bad as the day when he badly gashed his chin).

We visited nanna's and grandad's house and he was distraught and a little shocked to find that the tree, along with all the Christmas decorations and lights, had vanished. Whereas everyone else was pretty glad to see the back of the singing hound dog and the singing reindeer, George's little chin trembled with sadness for the loss of what had become his best friends over the past two or three weeks. That evening, through the monitor, we even heard him call out "Christmas tree" in his sleep (that's "did-da-chee" in George speak).

After seeing his reaction at his grandparents house and hearing his outburst of somniloquy, we decided it might be a good idea to let him see us take the tree down rather than it come as a bit of a shock. Everything seemed to be going quite well as we removed the decorations from the tree and waved goodbye to them as we put them back in their boxes – until we turned the pretty, colourful lights off. That's when George realised the same thing was happening to his tree as happened to nanna's.

He cried on and off for the next half hour. Mummy attempted to distract him with books and toys, but every time he turned round to see another section of the tree had gone, the corners of his mouth dropped and he pointed and shouted "did-da-chee" as the tears started again. It was almost enough to make us put it back up again.

Anyway, a couple of hours later and all's fine – it's as if the Christmas tree had never even been there in the first place.

One of the things that made us laugh over New Year was George's encounter with a party blower. After watching everyone else and seeing the blowers unfurl noisily, he put one to his lips. We weren't expecting much noise at all, but George delighted everyone by not blowing and hollering a pitch-perfect "ooooo!"