Dads the way to do it

Something to smile about?

2012-01-11T13:25:00.008Z

My family has never had the best of relationships with dentists. My mum was very good in making sure that we got our teeth checked out regularly and even paid for us to have our molars plastic coated every so often – although we certainly didn't appreciate her efforts at the time.

For us the dentist was a scary place – the hygienist loomed like a jaundiced, anorexic corpse, terrifying drilling sounds tried to hide behind every door and an odious medical smell permeated the air – the only possible outcome was pain, tears and prolonged discomfort (I remember on one occasion pretending to feel sick so that I didn't have to go through with a filling). What my mum wasn't to know was that the dentist was a bit of a crook and some of the treatment we had was unnecessary – he eventually did a disappearing act and the surgery closed down (or something like that).

Needless to say, I soon avoided the dentist when I was old enough to make up my own mind. However, after chipping a tooth about 10 years ago I started going back for regular check-ups and now have a dentist I trust. Fortunately, apart from having my chipped tooth seen to, the only treatment I've had since is a replacement filling, done with very little drilling and a strange light directed into my tooth that made my whole mouth glow as if I was being transformed into some sort of dental superhero.

And now it's my turn (along with mummy) to make sure George gets proper dental care too – he goes for his first check-up next week.

The dentist has recommended that we look out for an episode of Peppa Pig that features a visit to the dentist. We must also encourage a daily brushing routine – which we've been doing for quite a while already (as when he was a baby I caught a Panorama documentary on TV about children having to have all their teeth out by the age of 2 or 3 because they'd eaten nothing but ketchup. Mummy may call me neurotic but ever since I've never been keen on George having the red stuff and was overjoyed when he tried it for the first time and turned his nose up). The only problem we have with brushing teeth is the spitting afterwards – George prefers to suck the brush clean and ask for more toothpaste.

So, with the very best of intentions, like my mum with me, we're going to be orally vigilant on George's behalf – after all, we think he has a smile in a million!

Bye bye Christmas tree, hello 2012

2012-01-04T14:47:00.008Z

And so this Christmas is over. Last year George watched us take the Christmas tree down and cried nearly all day – he has never cried as much either before or since, including the day his bottom two teeth went through his bottom lip. This year we've taken the tree down while he's out of the way and when he returns from his extra day at nursery the whole house will be decoration and pretty lights free.

Gradually everyone's outdoor decorations are coming down too, which means our car journeys are a tad more bearable with George's running commentary on the colours slowly winding down. Listening to "blue ones... blue ones... red ones... white ones... blue ones... white ones... greeeeeen ones..." was fun but has about run its course now.

While we were at it (taking the decorations down) we decided to have a change around too, so George will also be a little surprised to discover the chairs and settee have swopped places and the hi-fi and speakers are in different corners.

All said and done, it has been a very pleasant festive season – and very busy too. There hasn't been a day when we haven't either been entertaining or visiting friends and family but it has been fun and George has really enjoyed it too, despite his bedtime routine taking a bit of a battering.

Like most two-year-olds, George had lots of toys for Christmas – my particular favourites are his Lightning McQueen laptop (which frees up my laptop from episodes of Mike the Knight and Octonauts) and his medical kit which has a stethoscope, syringe, otoscope and a reflex hammer – the latter of which instills fear in Grandad who has just had a knee replacement.

Finally, of course, as it's my first post of 2012, here's to a happy new year!

It's Christmas!

2011-12-23T13:15:00.006Z

Christmas Day is nearly here and we're pretty much ready for it – and if we're not, there's not a lot we can do about it now!

I remember, as young boy, waking up on Christmas morning to find a stack of presents at the end of my bed – usually stuffed into a pillowcase until its seams were bursting. It was such a huge heap of assorted, colourful gifts and my eyes were probably as wide as saucers with the anticipation of opening them. The worst bit was the wait – waking up at 4am and being told to go back to sleep for at least another three hours or so made the suspense drag unbearably.

These past three Christmases have been the most exciting since my childhood ones and they just seem to be getting more and more fun. At the moment George isn't quite old enough to wake eager and extra early on Christmas morning, so it will be me who'll be revisiting my childhood and asking "is it time yet?" – although probably not at 4am!

We have been to visit Santa, who had a bit of a Brummie accent, and even though George didn't have a list or didn't know what to ask for for Christmas, there is a whole heap of presents that Santa will be delivering – enough to fill two, if not three pillowcases.

Next year and probably the next few after that, George will more than likely be waking us up at some ridiculously early hour to tell us Father Christmas has been... and I'll be telling him to go back to sleep for a while.

Happy Christmas all!

Christmas is coming and we've been busy

2011-12-12T12:47:00.008Z

We've been quite busy recently – what with Christmas coming and all that – but we've still managed to find time to have some fun. We've been...

... painting ...

... playing in the woods ...

... baking cakes (and eating the mixture) ...

... and visiting Santa on a special Christmas steam train on the Battlefield Line near Bosworth Field ...

And as such the blogging has suffered a little bit. I'll try to get back on track, especially after Christmas. After all, when you're George's age there's something new to learn, say or see almost every day...

His latest favourite phrase is "course it is!" or variations such as "course I do/it does/we do". Yesterday he called Nanna's dog Daisy "big stinky" – don't know where he picked that one up! More recently, even though he has had an ear infection, he has been overjoyed to see Christmas trees and lights going up everywhere. We, along with both sets of grandparents put up our trees on the same day – I reckon it was some kind of race – so George had a day of Christmas tree overload and spent most of the time jumping up and down in front of the trees and then running round in circles until he fell over.

It is certainly tempting to spend a lot of money on presents – there are so many fab toys around – but while he's a little too young to be making Christmas demands we've managed to keep a lid on it. The trick is not getting in the car and going to Toys R Us in the first place!

Growing up too fast

2011-11-22T16:17:00.005Z

Now, I like to set my little boy a good example but I'm not sure if this was the case last Friday. In fact I probably inadvertently sowed a seed of corruption.

Friday is my day with George and at lunch time we began a negotiation on the terms of eating some food. We managed to agree on what food to have – sausage, mash, peas and gravy – and all was going according to plan until a stalemate over location. I wanted George to eat his lunch at the kitchen table, he wanted it on the coffee table in the lounge in front of Balamory.

So, guess what... George agreed to eat all his lunch very carefully and I agreed to let him eat it in the lounge. Jokingly I told him "but don't tell Mummy or Daddy will be in trouble".

When Mummy arrived home from work she gave George the usual big cuddle and lots of kisses and then asked him about his day (I had already told her about our lunchtime bartering). She asked him what he'd had for lunch and George answered "sausages". She asked him where he'd eaten his lunch and George answered "in here" before remembering what Daddy had said and quickly changing his answer to "in there" and pointing to the kitchen – then he gave me a knowing look that said "almost got you in trouble there but I think we got away with it".

It was a look that I'm not sure I liked – mainly because it seemed such a grown-up expression for such a young and innocent face.

Moments later I was left wondering what kind of Pandora's Box I'd opened... A few parpy noises emanated from the seat of George's pyjama bottoms to which we surprisedly responded "what was that noise?" Quick as a flash George replied "Mickey" and passed the blame on to Mickey Mouse.

I mentioned that George has been settling into his new bedroom – and we're pleasantly surprised that he has done so rather seemlessly. Even though he's no longer in his cot, he doesn't get out of bed after we've put him down (although he did the first night or two) and he waits in his bed for us to come to him in the morning.

The other thing that has surprised us is that every night he turns his nightlight off before he falls asleep. At first we thought he could be being very grown up and realising he was tired was making a conscious decision for 'lights out', but now we think it's perhaps the stars on his ceiling that he likes to look at before he eventually nods off.

George's new room

2011-11-19T12:33:00.007Z

If you've been wondering where I've been, I've been putting together IKEA furniture for George's room – actually, shopping for it probably took longer, what with IKEA's absolutely ridiculous store layout (if I had the means I'd be taking legal action for false imprisonment).

Still, the Stuva storage stuff looks really good and George is now settling into his new room and sleeping in his 'big boy' bed. It is taking him a little longer to settle (it will be his fourth night tonight) and occasionally we hear a few footsteps and other noises that tell us he's up and about rather than tucked up asleep.

However, George is rather proud of his new bedroom and shows it off to family and friends with glee. This is how it looks...

On the wrong side of the door

2011-10-27T12:43:00.006+01:00

George's friend Noah came to visit the other day with his baby brother – and his mummy, of course – and when it was time to go home we all walked out to the car to see them off.

George must have been feeling extra friendly because he was quite happy to give Noah a kiss goodbye – there will come a time when this will be discouraged – and Noah was quite happy about it too.

Moments later the car has been loaded with bags and children and all the associated paraphernalia. Noah's mum walks round to get in the driver's side and we turn to walk back up the garden path to see George race ahead of us, run in the house and slam the front door shut.

Aaaagh! He is now alone inside the house with me and mummy locked out – all keys and phones firmly indoors. Worse still, we know that George cannot open the door from the inside – he can reach the handle and pull it down so that it is unlatched but hasn't got the strength to pull the door open (it's quite heavy and makes a suction noise when you open it).

Noah's mum watches the panic ensue from her open car door and the only thing we can think of is to borrow her mobile and call a grandparent (both sets of which have a spare key to our house).

Fortunately, I could see George through the door window and after a couple of seconds of encouragement manage to get him to pull the handle down – and it's first time lucky – as soon as I think he's pulled the handle down and unlatched the door, I give a little push and we're back in.

Panic over.

It was a bit of a lucky escape – I dread to think what might have happened if we had had to wait for Nannie, Nanna, Grandad or Grandad... and it would have been even more unthinkable if we hadn't been able to contact them. We would probably have had to call the fire brigade, and in George's eyes that kind of excitement is pure encouragement.

At least it wasn't raining.

How to give a balloon an inflated ego

2011-10-20T09:35:00.009+01:00

I'm on a level playing field with a balloon. Apart from the fact we may be similar in that balloons are round and have no hair (unless you draw it on), it seems that when it comes to a goodnight kiss George is in a dilemma as to who should be first and I am often last in line.

Mummy, balloon, me. And it's not one balloon in particular – after all they don't last that long – any old balloon deserves a goodnight kiss, perhaps a little rub and a cuddle, even when they're looking shrivelled and deflated and no longer bobbing up against the ceiling they still get their kiss. I sometimes have to pull a 'very sad face' – something I can do that a balloon can't (ha) – before I get my goodnight kiss.

The other night I was even further down the pecking order – Mummy, balloon, train, lorry, a picture of Thomas the Tank Engine, me – but I'm hoping things might change when George sees his new bedroom. He has watched me painting the walls and the woodwork and he knows daddy has been working on 'George's new room' but we've been keeping him out since we added the Finding Nemo mural, Lightning McQueen bed and a Stargazer Ceiling that glows in the dark with a true representation of the night sky. When it's all done we'll do a big 'reveal'!

The ceiling is particularly magical. The best way to see it is to lie on the floor from where you can view constellations including Ursa Major and Minor, Gemini, Cassiopeia and Cygnus and even the Milky Way in the distance. It almost looks as if the ceiling has disappeared, and to a little boy fascinated with stars and the moon it will be truly captivating.

Now, if that doesn't elevate my status there'll be some serious popping going on!

Say cheese

2011-10-13T16:02:00.003+01:00

Probably the cheesiest blog I've ever posted...

This what happens when we leave the cheese unattended for a few moments...

And it's so hard to keep a straight face and tell him off when he grins at you with a big cheesy smile!

In the bright garden

2011-10-04T15:18:00.004+01:00

We've spent a little more time outside enjoying the garden – could be down to the sunshine and the lovely warm days we've been having...

George finds a new use for the slide...

and is fast learning the art of posing for the camera...

and finally, I couldn't resist taking a pic of the afternoon sky.

Advertising shmadvertising

2011-09-28T16:05:00.006+01:00

Our trip to the cinema turned out to be very enjoyable and a great success. George sat through the whole 60-minute 'Day of the Diesels' film without shifting an inch – even when other older children were getting fidgety, with about 15-20 minutes to go, George remained mesmerised.

It was the 15 minutes before the film that he wasn't interested in and that made us a little apprehensive – advertisements and gumf and all that non-descript rubbish that precedes a movie had George fidgeting and whingeing before Thomas the Tank had even appeared.

It's advertising that makes us avoid Milkshake on Channel 5 as much as possible. We make exceptions for Thomas and Roary the Racing Car, of course, but other than that we switch back to CBeebies as quickly as possible.

It won't be long before the power of advertising eventually "brainwashes" our little fella – just as it does relentlessly to the rest of us – and I fid it a little sad that the influence advertising has is almost omnipotent, telling us what we want or need and convincing us we need things that we don't even want.

Having said that, and reiterating the fact that advertising is pretty much unavoidable, I do quite like the new Sainsbury's adverts with a lad and his dad – it's a squishy hug of an advert for all dads, especially 'stay-at-home' dads (or whatever we're meant to be called).

The Tesco ad, on the other hand, when mum phones dad to ask about the shopping and he tells her he's at the supermarket but is actually doing the shopping online because he's too lazy to get off the sofa, has one fatal flaw. When mum gets home, how is he going to explain where the shopping is?

And then there's the one for the daily moisturiser that lasts for seven days... eh? Anyway, I'm heading off at a tangent here and must curb my advertising rant.

Highly recommended is my book 'The Smallest Happy Number' – just click on the Lulu link on the right and... oh no – even I'm at it now!

The Boy Wonder

2011-09-22T14:56:00.003+01:00

Not sure if he has designs on being a superhero or he thinks his nappies aren't doing their job properly – but this is George taking a picture of me taking a picture of George, and even though George's camera doesn't take real photos, I made sure I was wearing my underpants underneath my trousers.

Staycation time

2011-09-14T14:21:00.003+01:00

September is the month when both my and mummy's MoT is due and when mummy's tax disc needs renewing – so we're not going on holiday.

Instead we're having a 'staycation' and doing some holidayish things while stopping at home.

On Monday, George went to nursery as usual, which gave me the chance to start decorating his new room in de rigueur blue for a boy (not a typical holiday activity, I know).

Yesterday, we went to the zoo. We have been to the zoo before but this time we let George run about rein-free – so he loved it just that little bit more – and we ran about a little bit more than usual too.

Today, we have been swimming – or rather George has been splashing and jumping and sliding and we've been wading and chasing after him. More than that, we travelled to the baths on the bus and sat on the top deck, right at the front, both there and back.

After parking in the local supermarket car park we crossed the road and waited at the bus stop. We'd only been there a couple of minutes when nanny drove past in the opposite direction. She spotted us and we waved as she mouthed something and made some kind of turning-around hand sign, probably thinking our cars had failed their MoTs or something.

We didn't find out if she did do a loop at the next island as our bus pulled up and we hopped on. After we settled in our seats we sent a quick text to explain our bus queue situation and then burst into song with an extended version of 'The Wheels on the Bus' (minus daddy's verses about 'the cows on the bus', 'the donkey on the bus' and 'the kangaroo on the bus' which apparently goes boing, boing, boing all day long). It was a shame that the other passengers didn't join in, but I have to admit, as more people got on, it eventually ended up with George singing solo and increasing his volume to pick up mummy and daddy's slack.

For the rest of our 'staycation' we are having another day out on Friday (not sure where yet) and a trip to the cinema on Saturday morning (I think I mentioned that the other week)... and George has joined in with the theme by asking to wear his sunglasses while watching In the Night Garden.

Now... if the cars pass the MoTs then perhaps we'll celebrate with an ice-cream.

Mini 'CHiPS'

2011-09-06T16:52:00.003+01:00

We have our very own highways patrol, keeping law and order on the driveways and paths outside our home. Actually, George would rather be using his newly-found riding skills to herd chickens in the field but fortunately his highway patrol bike wouldn't fit through the kissing gate.

If this is anything to go by the chances of reviving TV cop show 'CHiPS' has just taken a huge leap forward...

Big boy, big bed, big screen

2011-09-02T14:19:00.005+01:00

I've just put George down for his afternoon nap and I must admit I really enjoy cudding him to sleep until his arms go flop and Mickey Mouse falls out of his grasp, and it's when he's snuggled up on my lap that it dawns on me how big he is getting.

I don't think he's particularly tall for his age (at 2 and a quarter he's about waist height on me) but we've realised it's time to get him out of his cot – and those sleep-bag things – and into a 'big-boy' bed. In preparation for this we have cleared out the second bedroom, putting things in a) the loft b) the skip and c) daddy's office. We have painted swatches of various shades of blue on the walls – somehow we managed to buy two that were exactly the same – and cooed over beds in the shape of Lightning McQueen and Thomas the Tank Engine.

We have also decided that he's getting to the age when he might enjoy a trip to the cinema – he sat on my lap and watched Kung Fu Panda from beginning to end without shifting an inch the other day – so we've booked tickets to see the latest Thomas the Tank Engine film, Day of the Diesels. I'm actually quite excited about it, mainly because the last time I went to the cinema was to see True Lies starring Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jamie Lee Curtis, way back in 1994.

It's not that I don't like films – I like films a lot – it's more that I don't like rustling sweet papers, talking, munching and slurping drink noises (I don't think there were many mobile phones around in 1994 so things can only have got worse). Also, you can buy a DVD to keep and watch over and over again for less than the price of a cinema ticket.

George has yet to develop any 'Victor Meldrew' tendencies of his own and I'm sure he'll be mesmerised by the big screen, and however much background noise there is, it will all be part of a new experience for him, just like it was for me when I went to see Snow White when I was little.

Sssshh!

Easy up... easy down

2011-08-17T11:18:00.005+01:00

Sort of a warning, or rather a heads up, on the transition from normal nappies to those pull-up type pants.

Well, George is now in the pull-ups during the day and one thing we've noticed is that, size for size, they're slightly larger/looser than the normal nappies (although this could be because you don't have control over the tightness of any sticky fastening strips because there are none).

A couple of number ones and all of a sudden George looks like a teenager who thinks their waistline is below their bum and their crotch is between their knees. Then, he'll bend over to pick up Thomas the Tank and we get the view of a proper builder's bum in the making. Hmmm... the builder look or the teenager look? Perhaps we ought to get him some Calvin Klein pants and run with the lobotomised teenager look.

But the story doesn't end there... I was happily preparing dinner in the kitchen and George was happily playing in the living room. After a few moments he entered the kitchen holding something between his fingers, saying "little one, Daddy... little one". It suddenly dawned on me that he is no longer wearing his nappy and is holding... well, let's just say it looked like a Revel and I wasn't in any hurry to find out if it was coffee, toffee or orange.

The Easy-up nappy seems to have been just as easy to get down and was sitting on the mat in the middle of his train track. One good thing is that it didn't unfold like a normal nappy and retained all of its contents. So, it was just George who needed seeing to (luckily he hadn't sat down anywhere) and I decided it was probably best to start with his hands which were beginning to wander towards his hair, his ears, cupboard doors, walls and my trousers.

We've since bought the next size down and these fit a little more snugly and don't ease their way down quite so effortlessly. George loves his Easy-up pants and, as long as they stay up more than down now that we've got the right size, we quite like them too.

Cheeky

2011-08-10T10:46:00.004+01:00

Aaah... the age of innocence. There will come a time when he won't be able to do this (or won't want to), but at the moment he walks straight past the fig tree and isn't even tempted to cover his modesty with one of its underpants-shaped leaves. "Hey, George... don't touch that apple!"

George's rules of outdoor play

2011-08-03T11:37:00.004+01:00

It's a sunny day and we're enjoying a morning outside in the garden – we have set up the paddling pool and the water toys, the umbrella, the sunloungers, put a blanket on the grass, opened the patio doors to the kitchen and conservatory and put Bebel Gilberto on the iPod. Everything set for an enjoyable, fun and relaxing time in the sun for us all.

But George has his own rules:

1. Soil the last swim nappy without having been near the paddling pool.

2. Instantly jump in the paddling pool the moment he has a clean, ordinary nappy on.

3. Transfer as much sand from the sandpit to the paddling pool and as much water from the paddling pool to the sandpit as possible.

4. Play in the dirt or somewhere slightly hazardous, in fact anywhere apart from on the grass where the toys are.

5. Try to eat the sunscreen lotion.

6. Press as many buttons as possible on daddy's laptop when he's trying to check his email.

7. Ignore water toys and wash and dunk toys not designed for water play – ie. those with batteries or engines. Rosie the engine, one of Thomas's pals, has been almost fully submerged and has passed this test admirably.

8. Wee on a sunlounger (mummy's thankfully).

Needless to say George is the one having the most fun. Hopefully, mummy's sunlounger will be nice and dry by the time she actually gets to sit in it – probably this evening, after George has gone to bed and the sun has gone down. Well, perhaps a glass of wine will make up for it.

A touch of Mozart

2011-07-27T14:22:00.004+01:00

With the BBC Proms in full swing, George decided to put on his own concert – a little bit of very early Mozart no less. Although he manages the tune perfectly well vocally, his fingering does need a little work on the accuracy side!

A game of Cat and Mouse – or rather, Cat and George

2011-07-20T14:15:00.003+01:00

Recently we visited Mummy's cousin and her family who've just moved back to the UK from South Africa, and while we enjoyed good company and great food, George enjoyed chasing their cats around the garden...

Needless to say, even though he tried his best with admirable persistence...

they were always going to be too quick for him!

But then again, sometimes...

he was too quick for us!

I suppose you'd call it A for effort

2011-07-14T12:52:00.009+01:00

This week we had an informal chat with George's keyworker at nursery about how he is getting on now that he has moved from the baby room to the toddler room. And it just happened to fall on the day that George did his first wee in a potty.

Anyway, it seems we have nothing to worry about – he's doing fine and is perfectly on track for a two-year-old, but it's quite surprising on how many levels they are assessed, even at the age of two. There are five categories:

1) Personal, Social and Emotional Development

2) Communication, Language and Literacy

3) Problem Solving, Reasoning and Numeracy

4) Knowledge and Understanding of the World

5) Creative Development

Most categories have sub categories, such as Disposition and Attitudes which falls under 1) or Exploration and Investigation which is under 4). We were quite surprised at how comprehensive and detailed the development assessments are.

A profile form is filled out every so often with comments on each category – a bit like a mini school report – and the last one said things such as:

'George is a very caring and confident child who enjoys interacting with other children and adults.'

'George enjoys using repetitive language and imitating words you say.'

'George enjoys physical challenges, especially in the garden where he likes to climb, run and push toys.'

'George likes to make loud noises from different objects.'

Which adds up to pretty much your typical two-year-old.

I suppose he's started off on the right track – let's just hope he doesn't get comments like his Dad – 'Paul prefers to waste his time in lessons instead of concentrating on his work' ... well, it was maths!

Making cakes

2011-07-06T12:38:00.008+01:00

This is what happens when we make cakes with George. The cakes turned out fine, which could be on the lucky side taking into account mummy's counting skills.

And – to keep on the right side of health & safety (whoever they may be) – said cakes are not unleashed on the public, only mummy, daddy and the grandparents.

Hats the way to do it

2011-06-30T10:21:00.006+01:00

When the sunny weather comes along we always have the sun hat problem. The one when we put the sun hat on to George's head and he immediately grabs it and throws it off – which often leads to a mini tug-of-war in a grapple for control of the hat.

Of course, George doesn't realise we're trying to cover his head for his own good, he seems to think we're just trying to annoy him – in a similar way we annoy him during the sun cream wrestling.

However, it looks like we have found the solution and the sun hat problem is now hopefully consigned to the past...

On Monday we visited Drayton Manor Theme Park with Nanny and Grandad, Aunty Nikki and cousin Tom. George was delighted when he realised he was in the middle of Thomas the Tank Engine land and loved every ensuing minute. With the sun beating down we tried, using distraction and stealth, to plonk a hat on his head but George was having none of it and we soon gave up. Instead we sought the shade which sometimes came in the form of Harold the Helicopter, Percy's train or one of the other many rides.

It was a in the Thomas gift shop – another source of cool shade – that we spotted a Thomas Land baseball cap and decided to give it a try as it had a picture of Thomas on. George examined the hat, said "Mhomas hat" a few times (most of his Ts are pronounced M at the moment), decided he liked it and let us put it on his head.

Our son has got his hat on – hip, hip, hip, hooray!

And so the plan worked. In fact it has worked so well, he wears it nearly all the time. Thing is we now have another hat dispute – and I honestly don't know where or how George has learned this – when we put the Thomas cap on George likes to take it off and put it back on with the peak at the back... I don't know – the first signs of delinquency and he's only just two!

Riding and running

2011-06-22T13:42:00.011+01:00

You'd be forgiven for thinking that we spent the entirity of our break in Great Yarmouth taking George on sit-on rides. After all, when we flicked back through the holiday snaps it looked like George had been on every one in East Anglia...

An Eddie Stobart lorry,

an ice-cream van,

a fire engine,

a steam train,

a double-decker bus,

an American truck,

sorry – no idea what this is,

a Jess the Cat plane,

a mini ferris wheel,

and Iggle Piggle's boat.

But that's not all we did. After a trip to the Sea Life Centre, George's favourite word became 'Nemo'. He also enjoyed a ride on the Donkeys and running along the beach. In fact, he ran at every opportunity, in any direction, as fast as his little legs would carry him. He chased rabbits, magpies, blackbirds, squirrels and ducks...

And at the end of every day, after all that excitement, running about and sea air, it wasn't only George who felt like this...

Picnic interruptions

2011-06-08T12:35:00.005+01:00

Last weekend we went for a picnic in St Nicholas Park, Warwick, and there seemed to be a charity event/run taking place.

The first thing George saw as we put him in his pushchair at the side of the Avon was someone in a bear costume sitting and waving from a huge swan-shaped pedalo in the middle of the river. It made me wonder what went through his mind and whether he thought he was simply witnessing an aspect of British wildlife.

We walked between regular park goers and fancy-dressed fundraisers to the mini fairground where George took a trip on the mini train, and not long after that we found a spot in the middle of a huge expanse of grass to have our picnic. First of all we got the 'Winnie-the-Pooh' football out and chased it around for a while, which George thought was hilarious. He's actually pretty good at dribbling – but only in one direction. So by the time mummy had spread the blanket out and opened the picnic basket, George and daddy were about half a kilometre away.

The next problem was trying to keep George in one place while he ate his Dairylea sandwiches, olives, cheesy Wotsits, etc. After a few trips retrieving him from heading towards the swings and roundabouts, the final straw was when he put his foot in mummy's cheese and cucumber sandwich and ground it into the plate like a cigarette butt. That was when we decided he was best back in his pushchair where he happily munched away on the rest of his food.

I really thought I could at long last recline in the sunshine (Nanna phoned from her holiday while we were there to say it was raining in Majorca) and enjoy my sandwich without interruption. Alas, it was not to be... George let go of his cheesy Wotsits bag and the empty packet tumbled away in the breeze. Quite a strong breeze, because by the time I had got to my feet it was heading apace to the river. After a 100-yard dash and much stamping of feet, I finally trapped it under my foot and, like any good litter-conscious citizen, picked it up to throw it away properly. I turned round to walk back to my half-eaten sandwich and was a little annoyed to see mummy giggling hysterically. Apparently though, it was George who thought that daddy chasing litter across an empty field was the funniest thing since Iggle Piggle sneezed and fell over... mummy was actually laughing at George laughing at daddy.

The one shoe

2011-06-01T13:23:00.005+01:00

I'm often puzzled by the single shoe. The ones you occasionally see discarded along the sides of busy A-roads or in a public bin in a city centre. I think it's the fact that there always seems to be just the one shoe and not a pair... it sort of makes me shudder that something sinister may have occurred.

One shoe? What happened to the other one – can someone fail to put on two shoes and forget where they left the other one? How long does it take someone to realise that one shoe is not adequate (unless you have one foot)? Does it suddenly dawn on them that they must head straight for the nearest shoe shop to remedy the situation?

Anyway, George has inherited my suspicion of the single shoe. We were reading The Smartest Giant in Town – a scruffy giant who gives his smart clothes away only to become scruffy again. At one point the giant gives his shoe to a family of mice whose house has burned down. But it wasn't the picture of the poor mice looking sadly at their burned-out shell of a home that made George say "oh-oh!". No, it was the picture on the next page where they had happily moved in to their new home – a single big shoe!

And it seems George may have a thing for big shoes – at his friend Noah's second birthday, he couldn't resist trying on Noah's dad's big trainers. Well, at least there were two of them and George and I remained happily unperturbed!

Birthday blues and twos

2011-05-24T13:51:00.012+01:00

George had plenty of birthday surprises – balloons, a Mickey Mouse 'Happy Birthday' banner – along with matching cups, plates and cupcakes – and a raft of presents including a trike, a wooden tool set, colouring books, jigsaws, clothes, trains, planes, cars and a Caterpillar truck that goes forward, backward, dumps its load and shakes like a real lorry.

Mummy's squad of Mickey Mouse cupcakes...

...and Daddy's attempt at Thomas the Tank Engine icing...

...but George is more impressed with the candles

Strangest surprise of all was the impatient knocking at the door that turned out to be four police officers along with two police cars and an ambulance (I'm sure some of the neighbours must have wondered what all the blue flashing lights were too).

Before we opened the door, we had to go upstairs to fetch the key to unlock it and by the way they were knocking, if we had been a few moments longer, it wouldn't have been long before they came crashing through with a battering ram. By the time my mind had done a panicky search, we were informed that the ambulance team had asked the police to come to our address in case they needed to gain entry.

It seems they had the wrong address, but were also a bit flummoxed as to what the correct address could have been. George found it all very exciting and, during a perplexed pause when the officers all looked at each other quizzically, I informed them that it was George's birthday. Happily they all wished him 'happy birthday' which made the whole scenario even more surreal.

Anyway, we watched from the window as they tried to make sense of things on their radios, and after a few minutes they left and George waved bye-bye to the neenahs.

A little later, uncle Russ came to visit – his first weekend home after a three-month army stint in Cyprus – and brought George a battery-powered police bike complete with siren, headlight and blue flashing light. George was quite excited and was soon protective and not keen on anyone (other children) getting near it – I'm just surprised he didn't say "move along please, nothing to see here".

"Golf Echo Oscar Romeo Golf Echo"

Avoiding the question

2011-05-19T14:39:00.003+01:00

I have a feeling George might make a good politician one day...

The other morning I asked George if he wanted to "fetch a book to read with Daddy" and he went to his little bookcase and came back with an animal-themed sticker and activity book. We spent the next 20 minutes or so sticking lions, leopards, snakes and frogs all through the book.

We also had a little colouring competition – not the kind when you see who's best at staying inside the lines, but the kind when George has to see if he can knock Daddy's crayon out of the way so that he can colour-in the exact same spot, and the one whose colour dominates the page is the winner.

After our sticker and activity fun I told George it was time to clean his teeth before we went out. He quite likes brushing his teeth and usually clambers up the stairs shouting "teesh, teesh, teesh". This time he insisted bringing one of his stickers with him – a beaver. In the frenzy for his toothbrush I managed to prise the sticker from George's fingers and stick it to the bathroom tiles just above the sink, out of the way. George brushed his teeth happily and when finished forgot all about his beaver sticker as he ran to the stairgate at the top of the stairs.

In the evening, Mummy took George to clean his teeth before bedtime. When she opened the bathroom door she had the lovely surprise of a cartoon beaver sitting just behind the tap. She pointed to the sticker and said "Look George, what's that?" Expecting him to reply "sticker" or "maminal" (George's way of saying 'animal'), George absolved himself of all blame by saying "Daddy!"

The soundtrack of our lives

2011-05-14T10:46:00.005+01:00

A bit late this week – probably because both mummy and I have been feeling a little tired.

It has been quite busy too – George's birthday is just around the corner and I've been putting up a swing/slide combo in the garden in readiness. An instruction tome rather than an instruction sheet and a profusion of components that all look very similar, coupled with the task of digging out a safe area for the correct amount of playbark and you're talking about a week's work.

Anyway, I've got the play equipment all assembled and I've nearly finished the ground work.

All this is not the only reason why we're tired. It's mainly down to George's changing sleeping habits. For some reason he wakes up each day between 5 and 6am and starts singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to himself, after which comes an endless repetition of "Mammi, Mammi, Mammi, Mammi", until 7am when we let him into our bed for his morning milk.

We decided to wire up a TV/DVD in our bedroom so that we could put Thomas the Tank Engine on, hopefully keeping George occupied – and sitting still – while mummy and daddy could enjoy a little longer with our eyes shut. There are eight episodes and it won't be long before we know them off by heart.

So, at the moment, it seems there is a soundtrack of nursery rhymes and TV themes running through our everyday lives. From the 5am gurglings mentioned above to the closing credits of In the Night Garden just before George's bedtime. I even woke up the other day with a tune in my head and when I eventually placed it realised I had been humming the theme of The Tweenies.

When George was only a few months old I began an attempt to educate him with lessons in 'classic albums' each breakfast time – but it appears 1) I may have started lessons too early in life, or 2) daddy's taste in music is not as good as Noddy's.

Simple pleasures

2011-05-04T10:09:00.003+01:00

It doesn't matter what life throws at you, there is always something, often the simplest of pleasures, that bring a smile to your face... even more so when George is around.

The great outdoors

2011-04-27T10:24:00.010+01:00

With all the sunshine over the Easter weekend, it certainly seemed like spring had sprung – in fact it was positively summery. And after weeks, nay months, of neglecting the garden – for a number of reasons including the weather and George's insistence to help or hinder – it was good to get outside again.

Tidying the borders and mowing the lawn not only makes the garden look nice, it lifts the spirits a bit too... and George is loving playing outdoors, so much so that when he's indoors he stands with his hands and face pressed against the patio doors shouting "outside, outside", occasionally interspersed with "blackbird" when one alights on the grass.

The sunshine has meant he has spent a lot more time on the fresh-air side of the patio doors – we've been eating alfresco and enjoying the delights of grandparents and friends' gardens too. George also enjoyed a romp through the bluebells in Brandon Wood...

As he gets older I'd like to encourage his enjoyment of the outdoors and perhaps an interest in growing and gardening and with that in mind, and taking into consideration George's fondness for Thomas the Tank Engine, I embarked on a little topiary.

I was quite proud of my euonymus creation and unveiled it to mummy and George. However, I didn't get the response I was hoping for – I thought George might delightedly shout "Thomas", but when I asked him what it was, he looked at me as if to say "you mean you don't know?" and simply pointed and said "bush".

Mummy just shook her head, but I actually think it's not a bad effort – you can judge for yourself...

A sunny day excuse

2011-04-21T09:47:00.004+01:00

It's beautifully sunny – far too sunny to sit at a computer for very long, and if I'm not having fun playing in the garden with George then I'll be mowing the lawn or weeding the borders. So, I'm not exactly being lazy if this week's blog is a simply picture to look at... of George of course.

A day with Thomas the Tank Engine

2011-04-12T16:30:00.004+01:00

A glorious sunny Saturday was just perfect for a day out with Thomas the Tank Engine, and George, a little gobsmacked at the huge difference in size between the Thomas he pushes round on his play table and the massive steam engine chuffing along the Battlefield Line, loved every minute.

Of course, if George loves every minute then so do mummy, daddy, nanna and grandad. We arrived for the first trip of the day and made our way on to the platform to see the Fat Controller and Thomas declare the day open. We then boarded the train and settled in a compartment for the journey to Shenton, where there is chance to find out about the Battle of Bosworth.

Returning to Shackerstone, a quaint old English village station, we watched Thomas race against a diesel engine, the Fat Controller waving a chequered flag for the winner.

It was a top-notch day, made all the better by the weather, and it was certainly value for money at £9 a ticket and under 3s free. A coffee from the buffet car was £1 and the Thomas merchandise was priced just as competitively as the supermarket – which meant George bagged a new engine and a few other goodies too. Balloons were free and there was plenty of entertainment, including Punch and Judy shows, face painting, brass rubbing (well, Thomas rubbing) and more.

It's all happening again on June 18, 19, 25 and 26... visit http://homepage.ntlworld.com/candj_simmons/

Anyway, here's a little taster of our day...

Going potty

2011-04-06T09:52:00.003+01:00

The time is fast approaching when George will have to start using a potty. We got it out for the first time this morning.

George is usually pretty regular and almost always "goes" just after mummy has left for work and before I have to drop him off at nursery/nanna's/nanny's. Then he usually "goes" again just after I pick him up and before mummy arrives home.

George hasn't "been" for a couple of days and so this morning, as he stood in front of the TV watching Postman Pat, his face reddening as he clenched his bum cheeks and adopted a stance that can only be described as "I'm free" (a reference to Are You Being Served for those whose memories don't go back as far as mine), we thought it would be the ideal time to whip down his pyjama bottoms and plonk him on the duck-shaped potty.

Well, needless to say, it didn't go as planned. Rather than realising the true purpose of the potty, George got a little frustrated that it didn't have wheels... after all, as well as its squeaky beak it has handlebars just like his ride-on train.

It's too early to say yet, but hopefully when this potty training gets started proper it won't drag on too long – well, we will get there because most, sorry, all the adults I know stopped using potties years ago. Let's just hope he doesn't get his duck mixed up with his train.

Library is the start of a quiet week

2011-03-30T16:16:00.004+01:00

This week George joined the library. He brought five new books home and nearly all of them had a transport theme. Fire engines, tractors, trains – if it has wheels then it's a winner. All his favourite toys have a transport theme too.

Nannie and grandad recently bought him a Land Rover with a horse box, which has actually saved me a little embarrassment. On the one day a week when I drop him at nursery, he would point at all the 4x4s and shout "van" – now he shouts Land Rover, or rather "wan-wowa", which is far more acceptable and I can smile politely without the apologetic look that used to accompany it.

The clocks went forward this week, and like 'The Dotterel' says, it's lovely to get that spring feeling again – that stir of anticipation that comes with lighter nights and warmer days. We managed to start with a lie-in (even though, technically speaking, we didn't actually have a longer sleep than usual) as George followed his body clock routine and not BST.

George loves his routine and will even walk to the foot of the stairs when we tell him it's time to clean his teeth or go for a sleep. In fact, he's so reliable that mummy no longer sets her alarm clock for work! Which is a lot more than can be said for Postman Pat, whom I have noticed is rather unreliable. If he isn't getting his parcels mixed up, or leaving his van open so that they fall out, he's mislaying them so that some dog runs off with them. Occasionally he even breaks the items he's meant to be delivering. Even if he's not the best of role models, I'm hoping George will take note of the rest of Greendale and learn from their tolerance.

As you may have noticed, there's not an awful lot to report this week. I did want to post a video, but by the time I'd retrieved my camera the moment had passed, so if I describe it you'll just have to use your imagination... George spots his red mittens in a basket and won't shut up until we help him put them on, then he walks into the lounge and up to his Thomas the Tank fuzzy felt thing, then looks first at mummy then at me in utter bewilderment at the fact he can't pick anything up.

From PC to non-PC... and cars

2011-03-22T16:36:00.011Z

The generation gap and way things are constantly changing manifested itself quite spectacularly over the weekend.

On the one hand there was our niece who has started working and studying childcare. She spends most of her week on placement at a nursery and has to abide by certain regulations. They include things like not telling a child they are being naughty, but telling them that their behaviour is making her sad; not saying pooed your nappy, but using the word soiled instead; and not telling them the right or wrong way to make pretend tea in case it is contradictory to their traditions and offends their cultural background.

On the other hand there was George's great nan who is about 93 or 94, and at Sunday dinner, when George didn't really want to eat any more because his teeth and gums were a little sore, asked him if he wanted a punch on the nose!

George seems to be amassing quite a collection of toy cars (actually, I quite like collecting the Hot Wheels ones myself), and they seem to end up getting everywhere. Whenever it's time to leave the house he will pick up as many as he can, gathering them in his arms and attempting to bring them with him.

What tends to happen is that he drops one and when he bends down to pick it up he drops another one, so he bends down to pick that one up and drops another one, and so on and so on.

Over the past few weeks we find them in all sorts of places...

On the stairs...

In the kitchen...

On the coffee table...

The bookcase...

The bathroom...

And at tea time, of course!

Birthday party fun

2011-03-15T16:07:00.007Z

George went to a fancy dress 5th birthday party this week and even though it was his first party and he was just about the shortest person in a room of five-year olds (and mummies and daddies, of course) it didn't seem to phase him and he had a whale of a time.

It turned out to be a super party and it certainly looked like all the children enjoyed it – there was even a fire-eater who blew flames up into the air (outside and away from the helium balloons).

Ava, the birthday girl, looked fab with her fairy wings but George was most interested in anyone who had something on their face and kept following a little girl dressed as a black cat just to get a closer look at her black nose and whiskers. He also sneaked up on Spiderman and Batman, perhaps in the hope of revealing their true identity.

George was dressed in a Disney Cars Lightning McQueen outfit and his hat remained on his head for what could be measured in tenths of a second - this being the split second before it was flung on the floor.

George spotted his mechanic outfit coming out of the washing machine the following day and wanted to put it on, later he saw it drying on the radiator and wanted to put it on, then he saw it folded and ready to go away and wanted to put it on. On Monday he wore it over his pyjamas for half and hour before he got ready for his day at nursery... I think it's time we put it somewhere where he can't find it for a while.

Flat as a pancake

2011-03-10T18:50:00.005Z

It was Pancake Day this week – well I assume it was as I had a phone call from mummy on Tuesday to say I could give George pancakes for tea.

Daddy being daddy interpreted this as 'pancakes for tea' and not 'pancakes for pudding' – so I was a little bemused when mummy got home and asked what George had for tea, and she was a little surprised to find out he'd just had pancakes (with a little syrup, of course).

"What's this? ... Call this dinner?"

I expected George to love the pancakes, after all, most kids think it's their lucky day when they get pancakes for tea, but George wasn't overly impressed – after eating half his pancake he decided he'd had enough.

"Hey, hold on... what's going on? This dinner is sweet!"

I'm sure he's got his daddy's savoury tooth and would have preferred some fish pie, chicken casserole or gammon and peas, but after giving him his 'pudding' I could hardly give him a dinner afterwards. He ended up with a banana which he seemed more than happy with – especially as he could walk around the house with it.

Next Pancake Day I'm going to make him Yorkshire Puddings with gravy instead.

Tantrums and tiaras

2011-03-01T13:52:00.016Z

Most of the time it looks like butter wouldn't melt, but when George wants to get his own way there are a few tricks he resorts to.

The other day he pointed to the place where the treats are kept, so, because he had been a good boy I gave him three chocolate buttons. A few moments later – daddy out the way – he managed to persuade mummy to do exactly the same thing. I suppose you've got to give him credit where credit's due.

He might have outwitted us that time, other times he uses his cheeky grin or infectious giggle to win the day. Like most parents, we don't let him climb on the furniture, but one minute he's happily doing a jigsaw on the coffee table and the next he's sitting on it...

It all starts with smiles and laughter...

... then in one swift move, he's up...

... mummy attempts to intervene...

... but George is victorious (well, for a few moments at least)

We also don't let him play with the camera, and this is what it looks like when we stick to this particular rule...

George does his 'celebrity-coming-out-of-a-nightclub' impression

Other days it's a battle of wills to get him to put a bib on at meal time – then there are times when he wants to put them all on... and on these occasions we tend to let him get on with it...

One day this week we had some visitors – some very friendly hens who seemed to quite enjoy being chased around the garden, and George too thought it was quite a hoot tormenting them with his car and terrorising them on foot.

It was when they (not so surprisingly) decided they'd had enough and clucked off back to their coop that the tears and stamping of feet began. That's when we resort to distraction tactics, which occasionally call for something desperate...

Not so much a tiara... more a box of Cheerios!

Mr Dizzy, Mr Silly and Mr Skeleton

2011-02-22T09:56:00.007Z

George really does enjoy his books and he has a few favourites, one of them being the Tickle Book which has flaps and tabs and is slowly starting to fall apart through repetitive pulling, tugging and grabbing. Among his other favourites are some Mr Men books, and these, quite literally, have been around for years. They were mummy's when she was little.

In most of George's books the only things emitting puffs of smoke are the trains, but in the Mr Men books the birds and pigs puff away too. I assume the books have been reprinted and reprinted over the years, but in the c-1976 versions I was amused to find these pics - in fact the words on the bird page said: 'Even the birds are clever in Cleverland!'.

Strange, how 30-odd years ago it was sort of acceptable to expose children to smoking, even in this subliminal way – nowadays it's a different story and George probably doesn't even know what a cigarette or a cigar is. The most exposure he's had to the habit was probably when we left the hospital with him just after he'd been born and we sadly had to walk through a gaggle of smokers standing outside the entrance – sort of a large outdoor ashtray with no-smoking signs everywhere – on our way to the car.

In case you were wondering, the bird is from the Mr Dizzy book and the pig, more appropriately, is from the Mr Silly book.

On Sunday, we had to go to B&Q. The 'had to' might sound a bit extreme, but our living room has been getting darker and darker. The thing is, every time we hit the lamp with the football the bulb goes (the football in question is a soft toy from Ikea and when I say we, I actually mean me). George has also bust a few bulbs by not looking where he's going and knocking the lamp off its perch. So a trip to B&Q was necessary in order to find our way to the kitchen in the hours of darkness.

Now, George doesn't often get wary or nervous, but at B&Q was a stand advertising some kind of pain relief/chiropractic service and next to it was a life-size plastic (I hope) skeleton. He's never seen a skeleton before and certainly wasn't keen on getting too close to it, but straight away he pointed and repeatedly shouted "man". It just made us wonder about how much he was registering and whether he realised that's what's under our skin... and how could he tell it was a man? After all it could have been a woman!

Anyway, our room is now filled with light, not too much that we're draining the National Grid, but just the right amount that we can see the Mr Men books properly.

Our special Valentine

2011-02-15T12:45:00.006Z

As with Christmas cards to each other, we tend to recycle our St Valentine's Day cards too. However, after annual outings covering a good few years now, said cards are looking a little tired, and having gotten out of the habit of buying into the Valentine hype there were no cards on our shelf at all this year.

Of course, we both approved the 'no cards' deal before St Valentine's Day, so neither of us were disappointed – and besides, what we saved on fancy folded paper we used more practically (as these parsimonious times tend to dictate). And anyway, the thought that you need to follow the commercial line to prove your love is somewhat shallow and we're probably happier together than we've ever been.

Then, when St Valentine's Day arrived, we both received a card - and it wasn't from each other. George had spent part of his day at nursery sticking red tissue on to a bear holding a big heart – and even though he hasn't yet got a clue what St Valentine's Day is all about, we know he loves us when he runs to us, gives us a cheeky grin or flings his arms round our necks. I think both mummy and I agree – neither of us have had a better Valentine's card than this one...

Front:

Back: (I think George may have had a helping hand with his handwriting)

When George met Buddy

2011-02-10T15:28:00.006Z

Buddy is a kitten who belongs to George's uncle, who decided to bring him round to meet George.

Trying to take a picture of the moment proved to be somewhat difficult – neither Buddy nor George would keep still for a split second as they weighed each other up and took turns chasing each other. Apart from a minor incident involving some ear pulling, they seemed to get along fine.

The hidden cost of childcare

2011-02-02T10:27:00.003Z

This week nanna's washing machine decided to pack in – all the clothes she put in were coming out wet and unclean. She'd only just bought a new tumble drier as the old one had lived a long, warm and as full a life as is possible – and now the prospect of having to purchase a new washing machine was looming too.

First, though, she decided to call out the repair man who came the next morning and spotted the problem straight away. "Do you realise you've only got it on a 400 spin?"

And it was all down to George who, on nanna's day to do the childcare, had turned the dial from the position of 12 o'clock (1200 spin) to 6 o'clock (400 spin).

It's something we'll have to keep an eye on too – he loves pressing the on-off button on our washer as a row of red lights come to life every time the machine is called into action.

Thankfully, the repair man saw the amusing side and let nanna (and George) off with a warning!

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

2011-01-25T20:10:00.010Z

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

2011-01-17T21:05:00.005Z

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

2011-01-11T16:56:00.005Z

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

2011-01-04T13:44:00.004Z

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!"

Christmas with George

2010-12-29T10:18:00.007Z

Christmas was lovely. George didn't really notice the huge pile of presents that had magically appeared under the Christmas tree – he was more concerned about the chocolate behind the last door of the advent calendar and attempted to plough through the mountain of wrapped gifts to get to it.

However, after both sets of grandparents arrived and the first couple of presents were unwrapped he soon realised there was a lot of fun to be had – both in the unwrapping to find out what lay beneath the brightly coloured paper and then in playing with the toys he discovered. Eventually it all got a bit too much and the final few presents were put back under the tree to be unwrapped another day.

Christmas dinner was a big hit but Christmas pudding failed to make an impression and was the only thing to wipe a smile off George's face the whole day.

After a day indoors it was nice to get outside for a breath of (very chilly) fresh air on Boxing Day when George enjoyed some fun playing in the "no" (that's snow – which sometimes caused a little confusion that should be cleared up now that the "no" has melted away).

Back in the warm, snug in his new pyjamas, and he returns to having a whale of a time with his new toys and books – and just like any other little boy, sometimes the boxes can be just as much fun too!

An exciting Christmas

2010-12-22T19:56:00.003Z

George got quite exited when he had his first encounter with Santa at a 'Tots and Toddlers' Christmas party, pointing and shouting "man" at the top of his voice as if no one in the room had noticed the big, bright, bearded fellow. Most of the other little ones watched Santa warily. Just imagine how excited George will get when he understands the tradition of Father Christmas bringing presents.

George won't remember his first Christmas when he was seven months old and didn't know what was going on, but hopefully this time he'll pick up on the vibe and will soon be as excited I am (and mummy is) – he already loves his "chee" and come January he'll really miss the advent calendar with chocolates behind the little doors which has been a big hit (perhaps someone should make one with 365 little doors).

Anyway, here's to a happy Christmas for all... and also wishing everyone gets a little excitement too.

Oh Christmas cheeee!

2010-12-15T09:34:00.003Z

Yes... it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas at our house and George was a little wary when a tree (or "chee" as he prefers to say) appeared in the corner of the living room. Now that it's been up a little while, however, he has to keep checking it's still there, that the decorations are all as they should be and that the lights are all aglow (heaven forbid anyone turn them off – that would be more than a problem, it would be a disaster).

Anyway, here's how he reacted when he first saw his "chee"...

I don't know whether it's the excitement of Christmas or whether it's the fact that there has been quite a bit of paper around recently, what with Christmas cards and wrapping up presents, but George probably thought he was helping by making his own contribution...

And, of course, Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without the Radio Times magazine. George is quite taken with it and enjoys nothing more than sitting on mummy's or daddy's lap, flicking through the pages, pointing out the Christmas "chees". Mummy was particularly happy when he pointed at a picture of Angelina Jolie and shouted "mama" – although she soon returned to earth with a bump when a few pages later George shouted exactly the same thing at a picture of Anne Widdecombe.

Goodbye nan

2010-12-09T13:04:00.005Z

A picture from earlier this year of George with his Great Nan who died this week. If he lives as long as she, it will be another 91 years before they meet again.

Blood, money and music

2010-12-01T13:06:00.014Z

Last Thursday George fell off a step and bashed his chin. In the process his teeth embedded themselves into the inside of his bottom lip. At the time it was pretty scary and George was more than a little bit shocked too. It seemed like the bleeding would never stop, so much so that we couldn’t see exactly what he’d done for what seemed like ages.

Mummy was right next to him and she managed to catch him before he gave his head a great whack too, but however close or lightning quick you are, it’s never quick enough.

George was soon back to his normal self. After sitting quietly for most of the morning – perhaps feeling a bit sorry for himself – he was munching on biscuits by mid-afternoon.

And we also weren’t quick enough to catch him before he got to the fridge the other day. We’d been to the supermarket and made sure we had all the ingredients to bake this year’s Christmas pudding when George put a spanner in the works by grabbing two eggs and hurling them across the kitchen. The look on his face was pure dismay as they disintegrated on the tiles rather than bounce happily away. We told him off but even then we were trying not to laugh.

We couldn’t help but laugh though, when George started pointing and shouting “Nanna” at a £20 note that was on the kitchen table. Now neither nanna looks much like the Queen, but perhaps one of them dons a tiara to change George’s nappy.

I was quite pleased the other day. I’ve been giving George a few lessons in ‘Classic Albums’ (my interpretation of a classic album is probably off the scale for most people). Most lessons go unheeded and he prefers to rock back and forth to his own favourite ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’. However, I introduced him to the timeless classic ‘Gentlemen Take Polaroids’ by Japan and it wasn’t long before he was rocking his head to ‘Methods of Dance’, ‘Swing’ and the title track. You gotta say – the boy got taste... he obviously appreciates the syncopated rhythm of Mick Karn's bassline and Steve Jansen's drumming, or perhaps it the technically brilliant arrangement and sweeping dynamics of each track.

For those unfamiliar with Japan, here's a taste. The music may be timeless but the fashion... well the less said about that the better.

Life in the fast lane... and the bus lane

2010-11-24T09:42:00.012Z

Last weekend we went to watch George's uncle drive a Ferrari 360 round a race track (a 40th birthday present). When we arrived there were a row of supercars – Lambourghinis, Ferraris, Aston Martins, an Audi R8 and the like. George watched curiously, intrigued more by the throaty roars of the engines than the sleek beauty of the cars' lines.

After George's uncle had been on an orientation lap in a Subaru to familiarise himself with the track layout, we watched him accelerate away on his two Ferrari laps. Well, most of us did – George got excited when he spotted a Chrysler Voyager and happily shouted "van, van, van" (I suppose it's a lot easier than shouting "Lambourghini").

He got even more excited a little later on when, after the "racing" was over, we all boarded a minibus back to the car park. It was like two special days in one – George's uncle got to drive a Ferrari and George got to go in a big white minibus.

Now there's a gap in the market... minibus experience days!

Uncle Matt gets revved up during his briefing
"...and this is the button for the deceleration parachute"

He is going fast... he's just a long way away

"Yes, Ferraris are nice, Grandad, but I think I can see a minibus coming"

Catalogue time

2010-11-16T16:34:00.006Z

I don't think I've looked forward to Christmas with this much excitement for about 30 years. I know it's only November and Christmas is five and a half weeks away, but I remember as a child, that one of the best things in the run-up to Christmas was looking through the toys in the catalogues.

My mum used to have the Grattan catalogue which seemed massively bulky and you'd have to turn over hundreds of pages in great wads to get to the toy section at the back, which I'd pore over for hours on end. Then I'd make a list to send to Santa, I'd probably check it twice and revisit the catalogue a few more times to make sure I hadn't missed anything.

I don't know if Grattan catalogues are still around, but we've got the Toys-R-Us catalogue and a good one that came through the post from the Great Little Trading Company, and they have become the reading material of choice in our house.

George will be 19 months old this Christmas, but I've found myself salivating at toys and then getting disappointed when it says 'for age four or five and above'. Still, there's plenty to get excited about for children George's age and plenty to look forward to for future Christmases.

One of the things I would like to do – but mummy says I've got to finish the fence first – is build an outdoor play area with a slide and swing and steps and stuff... you know the sort of thing. The last time I did something like that was before George came along and I built a dovecote. They were £200-£300 in the garden centre and I think I spent about £65 on materials – although it took me about four full weekends to complete.

So, by the time I finish the fence and get on to building a swing and a slide, George will probably be wanting a car and some driving lessons for Christmas.

Simple pleasures

2010-11-09T17:16:00.005Z

As the saying goes, the best things in life are free, and we enjoyed a lovely, sunny autumn morning at the park at the weekend – kicking up leaves, watching the ducks and spotting squirrels. Car parking (not one of the best things in life) was £3.30.

Anyway, we took a few pictures of George, so this week's blog has more of a photo album feel...

Beds and a wetting

2010-11-03T13:00:00.005Z

Mummy changed the bed not so long back. Not that there's anything special about that, after all, whatever you may have heard, it is quite a regular occurrence. Only this time the pillowcases looked decidedly different... yet comfortingly familiar.

On my side was a pillow with a picture of Paddington Bear, sat with his suitcase and marmalade sandwich at Paddington Station. On mummy's side, the pillowcase was decorated with a small woodland scene including hedgehogs, rabbits and owls.

A little bit faded, they were the bedding of choice when I was a toddler and were among the items my mum had saved and returned to me as an adult – and now they have a new purpose in their existence, as every morning George likes to point at Paddington and shout "bear!" into daddy's ear.

I thought this might stop when the sheets got changed back to the ones with the miminalist dot pattern on, but he just points at the dots (which look a bit like chocolate buttons) and shouts "bear!"

One of the other items from my childhood was a porcelain cereal bowl with a Peter Rabbit picture on and a quote around the rim, but after surviving 40 years of life with me, it only made it through another 17 months with my son.

The other day we got caught in the rain and being only a few hundred yards from home decided to make a dash for it. We pulled the canopy of the pushchair over George's head and began to run. It was a matter of seconds before the rain soaked our clothes, drenched our scowling faces and began to trickle down our necks. However, George seemed to quite like the whole experience – I'd have loved to have been able to see his face as he soaked up the excitement of our mad rush – it must have been like being a Formula 1 driver on a wet circuit. Either that or he was just laughing at us because we got wet and he didn't!

How sentimental can you get?

2010-10-27T09:31:00.002+01:00

There's no avoiding being a little sentimental when you first start a family. Over the past 17 months we have collected all sorts of things.

We have saved the outfit George wore the moment after he was born; we have his first pair of booties and his first pair of shoes; we have his first hand painting (which, being in red paint, looks like a mini murder scene); we have his first toy and even his first lock of hair from his first hair cut.

There are other little mementos we have kept too, such as all his first Christmas and birthday cards and tickets from his first miniature train ride or trip to the zoo. Some of it's a bit daft really and we'll probably have a sort out and wonder why we kept much of it. In the meantime we tend to keep lots of things – just for sentimental value – but it's knowing where to draw the line that can be a little difficult.

The other day we were rummaging through the kitchen cupboard, certain that we had some couscous (we regularly buy and use couscous and couldn't believe we might have run out). At the very back of the cupboard – a little too high for mummy to reach – I found the box of couscous. On closer examination it appeared to be one that had found its way to the back of the cupboard and had been overlooked as newer boxes took its place at the front of the cupboard. However, we could hardly bring ourselves to throw it away we noticed the 'best before' date. "Aaaah, look, couscous with George's date of birth on it."

Well, if you're wondering whether we kept it or not, I can tell you that we now know where the line is drawn... couscous box went in the bin.

In a bit of a spin

2010-10-21T17:42:00.010+01:00

We're all in a bit of a spin this week and that's why 'blog day' is a day late. It's all because mummy swapped her day off which meant George and I spent all day Wednesday together instead of our usual Friday.

Anyway, everything is settling back down again and we're looking forward to a straightforward weekend when George will be visiting his friend Noah – where he'll probably get to show off his new dance moves... and speaking of spinning, that's exactly what George's new moves involve – spinning and grinning until he lands in a heap on the floor.

George and Noah... and some kind of hat dance

The good thing about George's dancing is that it doesn't require good music (or any music for that matter) – George even likes to dance to the sound of the cows mooing in his animal noises book. It all hinges on a happy moment and if George is having a sudden burst of happiness he'll partake in a spot of spontaneous dance.

Occasionally, I like to join in, and so does mummy, although I do have difficulty in finding the rhythm in cows mooing. However, I have discovered that modelling my dance moves on Iggle Piggle's groovy gyrations is most successful and a darn site easier than attempting to emulate the moves on a certain Saturday night celebrity dance show – which, of course, George wouldn't appreciate that kind of effort anyway. Besides, Iggle Piggle always gets his girl, so he's certainly doing something right.

Strange thing is, George will watch Boogie Beebies – the excruciatingly grating children's dance show with moves based on everything from fruit to pirates – with utter indifference (that's if I haven't turned it off first). Which makes me think he does actually have some taste in his dancing accompaniment.

One of the programmes he will stop doing almost anything for is 'Numberjacks' – a show about number characters who live in a sofa and put a stop to all manner of numerical mayhem. So... with this in mind, when we were at the supermarket I spotted some 'Numberetti' spaghetti shapes and after checking the tin to make sure it passed our 'is-it-good-enough-for-George-to-eat' test, we popped them in the basket for George's tea, thinking he'd be well impressed by food that's made of numbers.

They went in his mouth with the toast (brown bread, of course) and somehow he managed to eat the toast and the spaghetti sauce and deposit the numbers on to his chin. Needless to say, daddy had the pleasure of eating the remaining half a tin of Numberetti spaghetti – well at least I had my five a day that day... and my six... and my seven... and my three... and my eight... oooh, and my nine.

Making friends is easy

2010-10-12T15:14:00.010+01:00

George doesn't have to try too hard to make friends, mainly because he goes out of his way to wave at everyone and everything with the sincere expectation that they will wave back, smile, say hello or pat his little head. He looks genuinely concerned, if not a little dismayed, if someone doesn't acknowledge his wavy greeting.

Our week in Corfu was a bit of a waving success with a high rate of returns. There were waiters to wave at in the tavernas – they always waved and smiled, and even better, they brought humous, tzatziki, moussaka and fresh bread to the table. There were boats and waterskiers to wave at in the sea – and sometimes it was just as much fun waving to the sea itself... the sea always waved back. There were cats – many, many cats – to wave at around almost every corner, and they were such fun to chase too. Then there were other little babies to wave at, or perhaps shout 'baba' at.

Baby Mabel was particularly taken with George and tried to follow him as he went on a mission to investigate a parked car, and little Lauren happily played with George until her parents called her away when she followed him to his highchair in a beachside taverna as we sat down for lunch (I think I see the makings of a little heartbreaker!).

But one day George will have to learn that not everyone or everything wants to be a friend, or even friendly – I don't know who had the luckier escape when George picked up a wasp to befriend... George didn't get stung and the wasp flew away unharmed.

For the moment though, this age of innocence is a time to treasure and I'm quite happy to keep an eye on George as he makes friends with everything from penguins to vacuum cleaners.

Holiday album

2010-10-06T20:54:00.008+01:00

George was on his hols last week. His first flights went pretty well and he seemed to enjoy himself all week. In fact, he'd like to show you a few of his holiday snaps...

So this is the place that inspired Lawrence Durrell to write Prospero's Cell... I might get my crayons out!

Who needs a sea view when there are cars, vans and people to wave at?

A taverna with a playhouse... what more could you want?

Captain George!

Dad's shades actually look a lot better on me!

It may be a nice beach, but it's rubbish for sandcastles!

I know it's called a spade, but I like to call a spade a spoon.

Right, that's it. Enough of the photos now Daddy!

OK then... just one last arty farty one

The difference between friends and shops

2010-09-22T10:38:00.005+01:00

When you have a 16-month-old boisterous little boy, having friends who are understanding is an important essential.

We went for a meal at our friends' house at the weekend and took George. George played happily, obliviously stomping through completed jigsaws and scattering carefully arranged toys that our friends' daughter – who is reception-class age – was playing with. A little embarrassed, we apologised and dragged him away on numerous occasions, explaining that he is still learning to play.

When it came to bed time, George flatly refused and the only way we could get him to stop crying was to sit him up in his pushchair at the end of the table so he could preside over us eating. Eventually he realised that watching people eat wasn't particularly exciting and he dropped off.

It can be so easy to sit at home and not go anywhere or do anything, simply because it's less hassle, but having sympathetic friends takes such a lot of stress out of the hassle and makes going out enjoyable.

Next week is going to be an even more severe test of adapting to change in the daily and bedtime routine as we're off on a family holiday to Corfu. Once we're there, I'm sure things will fall into place, and besides, nanna and grandad will be there to help too.

I think it's the flight bit that's mostly filling us with dread – nothing to do with flying, just the fact that George will have to be restricted and confined to a small space for more than 10 minutes. Hopefully he won't find his way into the button-and-lights paradise of the cockpit, where he could do a lot more damage than demolish a jigsaw. On the up side, there definitely won't be any vehicles to look at out of the windows so we won't have to listen to him shout 'van' for three hours.

Then again, if it's half as stressful as shopping for him, then I think we'll be OK. I just can't understand the pea-brained logic of putting baby and toddler departments on upper floors so that mums and dads with pushchairs have to queue for lifts (which are nearly always at the back of the shop and the size of a toilet cubicle) or precariously negiotiate escalators. It's annoying, inconsiderate and potentially dangerous and certainly persuades me to patronise other more sensible shops in future.

I don't know, why can't shops be as understanding as friends?

A zooper day out

2010-09-15T10:21:00.008+01:00

This week we went to the zoo with nannie and grandad. It's the second time George has been to the zoo, but the first time that he's had an understanding of what he's actually looking at.

This time he got really excited when he saw the monkeys, then he got all excited again when he came face to face with an elephant, and again when we compared the meerkats, and when a giraffe appeared from its giraffe house while we were eating our picnic. Sometimes he got so excited he tried to wriggle out of our grasp into the meerkats' manor or on to the penguin's island.

He was just as excited to see the digger in the car park, the toy tractors in the gift shop (grandad bought him a bright red one), the miniature train and the 'Bob-the-Builder' ride – although he wasn't so keen on sharing it with Bob himself.

But George got most excited when I returned from the car park after taking the picnic basket back to the car. He spotted me from quite a distance and started to wave. I waved back and then mummy let him go and he ran to me with his arms in the air like he hadn't seen me for weeks (I'd only been gone 10 minutes). It was one of those moments that will stay with me and one I'll treasure all my days.

I think grandad summed it up nicely when he gave me a picture montage of our visit to the zoo with the words 'To the world you are just one person, but to one person you are the world'.

There's a cute nose and acute knows

2010-09-08T10:47:00.006+01:00

I always thought the only nose I would ever pick would be my own – how wrong I was. George has a bit of a cold and his nose runs and then it dries in a crusty greeny-yellow coating around his nostrils.

He hasn't learned to pick his own nose yet – he doesn't even wipe it on his sleeve. He just lets it dribble, channelling its way down his philtrum before it builds up on his top lip, eventually ending up in his mouth... but we try our best not to let it get to that stage, even if it means using a finger or a thumb in the absence of a tissue.

I know the thought of this is a little revolting and may provoke reactions of "eugh!" but I don't think there are many mums and dads who haven't had their child's bogey on the end of their finger at some point (perhaps royalty and Hollywood A-listers might be exceptions).

The justification for the practice is that you are helping your child breathe more easily and relieving their discomfort, which means there is no guilt or secrecy and you can do it in public.

George really dislikes it when we try to wipe his face or go near his nose and ironically we'll soon be telling him off for putting his own finger up his nose. He's certainly reaching the next stage of understanding – the other day mummy reprimanded him for pushing over his stacking drawers that contain all his Lego, and his little face looked so endearingly sheepish that the chastening was closely followed by a big "aaah" and a cuddle. Even though we've told him "no" when he repeatedly turns the TV on and off, throws his food on the floor or attempts to rearrange the contents of the fridge, it was the first time he looked like he realised he'd been a bit naughty.

I wasn't quite quick enough to get a picture of

George looking sheepish, but this one's pretty close.

I think it goes hand in hand with his growing grasp of language, and George's vocabulary is growing by the week. Here's a quick list of some of the things he says or tries to say... and what they actually sound like:

Ball – "buh"

Bus – "buh"

Balloon – "buuuh"

Tombliboos (characters from a children's programme) – "boo"

Van – "BAH" (always shouted excitedly)

Bath – "A-BAH" (again shouted excitedly in repetition as he runs out of the living room to the foot of the stairs)

Train – "guh-guh" (for choo-choo)

Digger – "da-da" (this can be confusing when daddy is holding a toy digger)

Apart from "mama and dadda" that's about it, and at the moment everything else is referred to as "uh"– yet with little tweaks in intonation even "uh" can be quite descriptive. There's "uh?" with a question mark, "uh" with a fling of the arm towards a desired item, "uh!" with raised eyebrows and "uh" muttered frustratedly when a car won't go up a ramp or a jigsaw piece won't fit. Finally, there's the 'how-could-you?' "uuuh" when mummy or daddy have got a bogey on the end of their finger.

The old-uns are the best

2010-09-01T10:20:00.005+01:00

The other day mummy had a brainstorm. In a moment of inspiration she decided it would be a brilliant idea if she went and 'rootled' (that's one of grandad's words which doesn't appear in any dictionary but is exactly the word I'm looking for on this occasion) in the loft at her childhood home in the hope she might rediscover some of the fantastic toys she had when she was little.

Grandad's eyes rolled in his head as he was ordered to fetch the stepladders and off they both went to 'rootle' in the loft.

A good 20-30 mins later and there's a pile of boxes and bags on the kitchen floor and everyone is joining in with sorting, washing, dusting and drying as loads of old toys get a bit of a clean-up so George can experience some of the fun mummy had as a child.

Mummy was positively excited as all her playtime memories came flooding back – not all the toys, though, lived up to the hype. Many were faded, jaded or worn, and a few were broken or no longer working. Mummy was very disappointed after setting up the oval track of her Tomy Merry-Go-Train – that was meant to chug round and automatically pick up and drop off little people – that it didn't move an inch.

There was a plastic giraffe with almost four legs, no ears, no horns, no nose and no pattern (for some reason it went in the 'keep' section), some pull-along toys and a huge raggedy rabbit with threadbare patches that had all seen better days.

There were, however, a few gems in the pile. There was a tray of wooden blocks that kept George amused for ages, a car dashboard toy that cleaned up quite nicely, a Tomy Space Shuttle set that will be great in a few months and a couple of pristine wooden jigsaws... with no pieces missing!

But the toy that George loved the most was the little faded Fisher Price bus that jiggles the people about as you pushed it along. Over the years though, most of the people had "got off the bus" and they were nowhere to be found. This didn't bother George who insisted on taking his empty bus to the park, the shops and everywhere else he went.

I think a lot of us have a rose-tinted fondness for the toys and items of our youth, and sometimes revisiting them doesn't always live up to expectations. But then it's not the intrinsic quality of those things that is important. A 'rootle' in the loft proved more about discovering happy memories than fantastic old toys, and in this respect it really did live up to the hype.

There's another other side to the coin too – that our little George's eyes can spot a new glimpse of magic in something that looks like nothing, and he's certainly quite taken with his "new" bus, his "new" building blocks and more.

One thing's for sure though... he's NOT having mummy's old dolly!

Sunshine for a special day

2010-08-24T16:01:00.008+01:00

Last weekend was a special one for George – and for us. We went, along with family and friends, to the local church where George was dedicated (a bit like Christening but without the water). Then everyone came back to our house where we enjoyed food, drink, good company and sunshine.

The local church, St Margaret's, is a unique building which dates from the 12th century, with additions and alterations being made in the 13th, 14th, 15th and 17th centuries. It's quite a traditional church yet quite contemporary too, neither being too stuffy and ceremonious or too happy clappy. In some ways it reminds me of the church in the Vicar of Dibley, and lots of people commented on how nice a service it had been. In fact, great gran on mummy's side, who is heading for her mid-90s, was so taken with it all she wanted to enquire about a funeral while she was there.

We were really lucky with the weather too. After a week of grey skies and showers, the sun came out – almost as if it was especially for George (seeing how the weather reverted to its usual rainy form the very next morning).

The sun certainly made all the difference. It meant we could walk to church – under the railway viaduct, past the horse-riding school, over the bridge that crosses the River Avon and along the path that cuts through the field of cows and sheep, up to the church gates. It also made for a lovely afternoon when our friends and family could sit and enjoy the garden while the children could play in the sun and have their faces painted.

I don't know how much George realised it was all for him, but he relished all the attention and refused to go down for his afternoon nap.

Once all the excitement had subsided and most of the guests had made their way home, we sat down to unwind with our remaining friends and a glass of wine or two. Then, after George had gone to bed the face paints came out again and daddy ended up looking like a tiger – a very good tiger, I must say... much better than the bear's face I painted on our face-painter friend.

Of course, George, being overtired and overexcited, didn't stay asleep too long and mummy had to go up to see to him. He really wouldn't settle and she ended up bringing him downstairs for a cuddle. He had a bit of a shock when he saw daddy and must have wondered whether the tiredness was making him hallucinate. It was a bit weird for me too – George simply stared in bewilderment – he didn't get upset or scared – and then, when I put my arms out for a cuddle, he decided to cling on to mummy... it sounded like daddy... it was wearing daddy's clothes... but it looked like a tiger!

And in case you were wondering what my handiwork turned out like, here's my friend the bear...

Walk this way

2010-08-19T09:32:00.002+01:00

I may have told you (more than once probably) that George is walking – so here's a chance to see him in action...

Anyway, last weekend's trip to the nursery open day revealed that George is doing pretty well and we don't have to worry about him biting the other children. In fact, he's rather gentle, he's happy all day long and is a pleasure to look after (exactly what we wanted to hear) – but apparently he makes the most noise when it's mealtime, both through impatience while waiting for his lunch to arrive and then in appreciation while munching away.

Tea times are just as noisy at home – George can make a right racket while he's watching you blow on the food on the spoon. Sometimes he's so loud you can hear him outside – with all the doors and windows closed – and the man who walks his Labrador at around 5pm has cast some curious glances in the direction of our kitchen, as if we're pulling George's fingernails out.

The tea time routine is worst on Saturdays when after tea daddy makes the ultimate sacrifice of giving up You've Been Framed so that George can watch In The Night Garden.

A mind of his own

2010-08-12T09:25:00.004+01:00

George is getting a mind of his own. He's off like a shot with his walker and is nearly as quick walking without it, and he knows exactly where he wants to go. Usually he heads for the fridge, the TV or the bookshelf and picking him up and turning him to face the opposite direction no longer confounds him like it used to.

The first thing he points to in the morning is no longer his garage and toy cars, it's not even his usual second choice of the books on the bookshelf – it's the TV. Actually, to be precise it's not even the TV – it's the TV remote control.

He's also getting choosy with his kisses. Now, when it comes to bedtime and mummy says "give daddy a kiss", he flings himself away, proffering the back of his head. I walk round to face him and he flings himself the other way – and laughs. It's not just me who gets this treatment, it's mummy, nanna, nannie and the grandads too.

Yojojo (that's a big-faced, big-eyed cuddly toy based on a character from children's TV) always gets a kiss, as does Mickey Mouse, the Gruffalo and Iggle Piggle (another strange-looking cuddly toy). He has got a couple of books with mirrors in – well, reflective stuff that he can see his own face in – and when he gets to these pages, almost without fail, he'll bring the book up to his face and give himself a nice big kiss. Although sometimes he does it a bit boisterously and we wonder whether he's actually trying to headbutt himself – we put that down to a Scottish gene that's crept in from mummy's side of the family.

This weekend we're visiting the nursery open day when we'll have chance to talk to his key worker and the nursery room leader to discuss his development. It all sounds a bit serious but I'm sure it won't be about how he's lagging behind with his algebra – probably more about his personality and whether he is happy, settled, eating well, shy, introvert or trying to bite the other kids' ears off.

Scaling new heights

2010-08-04T15:38:00.003+01:00

Anticipating George's rapid emergence into mobility, we decided to fit two gates at the top and bottom of the stairs – only to find the stairs much too wide for the gates.

It wasn't a silly error in the shopping department as the stairgates were kindly donated to us by one of George's little friends who no longer needed them. So, we've been making do without the stairgates for now, keeping the door to the hall firmly closed whenever George is about.

But the time is now getting close – very close - for a trip to the stairgate shop for an extra-wide gate. Yesterday, George walked about four or five steps – they were tiny, tottery steps and he sort of moved forward only slightly further than he did backwards or sideways. They were the kind of steps Bruce Forsyth would have been proud of (daddy's not a fan, by the way).

The realisation that it definitely is time for stairgate shopping came the other night, though. I'd picked up George from nanna's house and we were enjoying a bit of playtime together before tea. Then the phone rang. George was happily engrossed in flinging books across the lounge, so I picked it up expecting it to be mummy saying she'd "just got on the train and I'll be home in time for George's bath". However, it was a late business call that required a notepad and pen and a lot of listening and writing.

Even George can tell a business call and he certainly knows how to take advantage of the distraction. He managed to bypass his daddy and make his way to the bottom of the stairs – it's surprising how quiet he can be when he's up to something. It was when he was on the third or fourth step that I noticed him from the corner of my eye. I made a mad dash to catch up with him to make sure he didn't fall – phone under chin, pen and paper in hand and still taking notes.

Without stairgates this could be the way I may have to conduct many business calls in the future. I very slowly continued to climb the stairs behind George with my phone, pad and pen. When he got to the top I blocked the way back down again and apologised to my client for the strange noises in the background. George went off into the bedroom and returned to the top of the stairs with a big grin and his cuddly Mickey Mouse which soon found itself wedged between daddy's mouth and the phone.

This was the moment when mummy walked in through the front door, looking up to the top of the stairs and wondering what on earth is going on... I don't know... where do you start?

George is a glass act

2010-07-27T20:41:00.008+01:00

I really wish I could read George's mind. He's at that age when he knows what he wants, or wants to say, but can't actually say it – and we're left guessing while he makes squeaky noises. It would help if he could do the "ur-urrr" noise from Family Fortunes – at least then we'd know we were wrong and could move on to the next item in the cupboard/on the shelf/in the dish.

Sometimes we know exactly what he's thinking – and he knows exactly what we're thinking too. Like the time this week when he made us laugh by pressing his nose up to the French windows and pulling funny faces. Of course, we laughed uproariously and the more we laughed the more he realised he was being funny and the more he pulled faces.

The unfunny side of this was the fact that mummy had cleaned the glass of sticky fingerprints just the day before – only for them to be replenished and enhanced with tongue, nose and mouth marks.

I actually quite like the sticky handprints on the glass. There's something translucently beautiful about them (probably just because they're George's and I'm a big soppy dad), but the more perfectly formed prints remind me of the etched glass frontage of Coventry Cathedral – only on a much smaller and slightly grubbier scale.

Anyway, changing the subject, here's why mummy isn't let loose with the video camera very often...

Jumping George

2010-07-21T10:03:00.003+01:00

There's not much that gets George rattled, but on a recent day out we sat down out at a picnic bench right next to a peacock.

Once the novelty of the peacock had worn off, George began to take more notice of mummy's ice cream. Getting a little impatient, he must have been wondering if he was never going to get a lick and promptly started his screechy screams (a new habit that manifests itself most strongly when he's strapped in his highchair and wants something). Anyway, the peacock immediately replied with double the volume causing George to nearly jump out of his skin. He was about to start crying but looked at his mummy and daddy to check their response. As soon as he saw us laughing a big smile spread across his face and he started to laugh too – and make more peacock noises.

That's not the only thing that has noticeably startled him. The other day he had his first encounter with a vacuum cleaner. He'd been happily crawling round and ignoring it while playing – until mummy fired it up.

It probably made him jump more than anything, but he burst into tears and crawled behind the nearest chair as fast as his little limbs could carry him – a bit like one of those lizards that runs across the hot desert sand without putting its feet down for longer than a nanosecond.

On deeper reflection, it could be a gene he inherited from his dad. This will be proven to be the case if dusters bring on a nervous disposition or the ironing board causes him to break out in a cold sweat – in which case he'll be joining daddy behind the nearest chair.

George's celebrity makeover

2010-07-14T10:46:00.008+01:00

George has had his first haircut this week. Mummy came home from work and her initial reaction was one of sadness. Not because it was a horrendous cut, like a mullet or something (no offense to wearers or admirers of mullets), but because he had lost his little baby look and now looks like a little boy.

I actually quite like it and think he looks just as cool and cute as he did before. And just to prove it, here are some before and after shots including comparisons of celebrities sporting similar styles (celebs on the left).

Before...

And after...

Now, if mummy really wants George to retain his baby looks then I suggest something a bit shorter... perhaps...

No ifs, no butts

2010-07-06T16:37:00.008+01:00

Gradually George's dinners are getting less mushy and more, well, dinnery. The items on his plate now have shapes – little cubes of carrot, small spherical peas, pointy parsnips – all of which get investigated thoroughly. A quick rub with the fingers, a squish of the palm, in the mouth, out the mouth and back in the mouth to finish off.

This makes for lots of fun at dinner times when George must feel more like his job is to entertain rather than to eat nicely and not get in a mess.

"Ref, ref... that was a foul. Look, I'm eating grass here, plain as day!"

It's a different story when it comes to things he shouldn't be putting in his mouth. For some reason these items seem to have access privileges and can forego the requirements of the finger test and the squish test... and that list is growing at an alarming rate:

– Nanna's earrings

– Carpet fluff (any suitable fluff for that matter)

– Clover flowers

– Grass

– A dead beetle

– A cigarette butt (I'll come to that in a minute)

– Car keys

– Daddy's mobile phone

– Sudocrem

– Sand

Luckily, we've managed to divert his little fingers away from his opening mouth before the two dock. Grass and my mobile phone are the tricky ones – grass is unavoidably there when he plays in the garden and my mobile is about the only thing that keeps him still when I have to change his nappy. There is something I've learned, though – even though I lock the keypad, it is still active to make a 999 call and since George got to two 9s the other day I've been keeping it out of reach.

"Dad, Dad... that was a jet. It was up there, plane as day."

Anyway, we decided to meet some friends at the airport to watch the planes come in and go away again – for the children's benefit of course. We didn't stop long, just long enough so that it came close to the boredom threshold but didn't cross it, and George seemed to quite enjoy sitting on the wide ledge and wiping his biscuity fingers across the large windows as the jets landed.

We thought it would be a fairly cheap morning out – it was £1 per adult and free for kids under five – but two hours car parking cost £6.50 and mummy had to rummage in her handbag and purse for some extra change. That's when we put George on the ground next to the pay machine – and that's when he found a cigarette butt.

Well, let's hope that's put him off for life.

The first cut is the deepest

2010-06-30T13:08:00.006+01:00

George is feeling a lot happier this week – his teething pains seem to have subsided for the time being and his big cheeky smile is on show a lot more often. He's even got his sense of humour back – when asked "where's daddy", he looked at me and shouted "dad-dad-dad-dad-dad", then when asked "where's mummy", he pointed to a picture of the Gruffalo (I'm sure he didn't mean it).

He's starting to get much more confident on his feet too – happily pushing his Little Tikes car around the garden until it ends up in one of the borders (it's one of those cars that dads try to climb into on 'You've Been Framed' and when we get really desperate I'm going to hand the video camera to mummy and have a go myself).

But even though he's progressing apace, he still manages to fall over sometimes, and that's exactly what he did the other day only minutes before mummy arrived home from work – only on this occasion he caught his forehead on the bolt on the bottom of the door and ended up with his first ever cut.

As daddy scooped up George in a panic and ran to the sink to wipe away the blood that was just about to trickle below eyebrow level, George continued to try to play with 'Doug the Dumptruck', more agitated about the break in continuity of play than the bump that was growing volcanically on his noggin.

I suppose it had to happen sooner or later – I was just so terribly disappointed with myself that it happened when I was lying right next to him, helping press 'Doug the Dumptruck's' buttons, and I couldn't do anything in time to prevent it. It certainly bothered me a lot more than it did him.

Anyway, last week I forgot to mention that while we were away in Wales it was Father's Day. I actually spoiled my Father's Day surprise present by putting it in the shopping trolley about a month before Father's Day and saying "hey, look what I've found, I've been meaning to get one of these for quite a while" (a filter coffee machine, in case you were wondering). The special thing about being away this Father's Day was seeing two cards on the mantelpiece from two sons to two dads – George's to me and mine to George's grandad.

Well, I had to mention it sooner or later... George put on his England kit to watch the game on Sunday only to see his team exit the World Cup in capitulating style. Actually he was more interested in putting bits of fluff in his mouth, and in hindsight I would have got more enjoyment out of doing that too. It made me wonder if I'll ever see England lift the World Cup in my lifetime, and if the next four decades are like the last then the answer is probably no.

Still, sitting on Sunday evening, consoling myself with a glass of wine, I realised I'd actually be very happy if England never won the World Cup – as long as I have the happiness of having George.

Five go mad in Wales

2010-06-23T09:41:00.008+01:00

This week George enjoyed a weekend in Wales with mummy, daddy, nannie and grandad and had his first taste of the beach – actually his first time on a beach was back in September last year and it was blustery and a bit chilly and the beach was pebbly. This time the beach was sandy and the sun was out and George literally had his first taste of the beach – a whole fistful stuffed into his mouth as we all lurched for his arm in a vain attempt to stop him.

He also had his first experience of the sea – he loved being pushed along the shore in his little car with the sea spraying all around him and then sitting in the (surprisingly) warm water as it lapped around his legs. He also relished smashing up the row of sandcastles that grandad had built.

Now he's a little bit older, he is really taking in all the things and happenings around him and he made us smile as he pointed at almost everything. Sometimes he used both hands in an attempt to point at two things at once – boats, motorbikes, horses, seagulls, lorries, kites, sheep after sheep after sheep and anyone who had something he liked the look of – such as the little girl sitting opposite on the Ffestiniog Railway who was happily munching on a chocolate muffin. He must have been gazing pretty longingly because her mum asked us if he'd like one, but after a quick calculation of the equation 'George add chocolate to the power of train' we declined the offer.

He got his treat in the end though, the tip of mummy's ice-cream cone filled with a mini scoop of her pistachio ice-cream.

We're all back home now and George has returned with the mementos of a toy Gruffalo, faint t-shirt lines from the sun (good job we regularly smothered him in suncream) and the addition of seagull to 'Old MacDonald Had a Farm', and even though George is happy to see his garage and his ball pool there aren't as many distractions to take his mind off his teething – apart from the vaccinations he had to have this morning, that is.

We're teething for England

2010-06-16T10:08:00.005+01:00

We're all going on a summer holiday – well, a weekend break. Yes, George, mummy and daddy and nannie and grandad are heading to North Wales to stay in George's great uncle's holiday bungalow.

Last night we were making a list – no, two lists – of things to take (apart from the obvious stuff such as clothes, toothbrushes and money). One list was for mummy and daddy and the other list for George. Currently, George's list has 35 items on it... our list has four – and we'll still probably forget something.

The only other thing we have to remember is to arrive in time for the England match and to keep an eye on the World Cup schedule. One of the other teams we'd like to see do well is South Africa, mainly because it's where we went on honeymoon a few moons ago before George came along (actually, George isn't quite so in to the football yet and mummy is more interested in the scores rather than watching the matches).

We're also hoping George will sleep well in the unfamiliar surroundings. He usually goes from 7pm until 6.20-6.40am without a blip but this week he has been suffering from a raging bout of teething and has been waking up during the night. At the moment he has one and a half teeth showing in the middle of his bottom gum and as he's a bit late with his teeth in general it seems that all the other gnashers are making a push for the finishing line at the same time.

George, who doesn't whinge much and hardly ever cries with real tears, spent the other evening bawling his eyes out and didn't go to sleep until nearly 10pm. He's been rubbing his ears, cheeks and head in painful frustration and we've been giving him everything we can to alleviate the discomfort – Calpol, Bonjela, homeopathic teething powders, but the thing that worked best was a little dish of ice-cream at tea time.

Hmm... perhaps a little wine will ease the pain!

There is one thing though. George could really help boost England's World Cup campaign – after all, it certainly looks like Fabio Capello could do with an expert dribbler in the squad.

It's a wonderful world

2010-06-09T20:18:00.003+01:00

As I mentioned last week, George has started pointing a lot – albeit with a clenched fist. We tend to follow the direction of his thumb and his eyes and occasionally we'll all be looking at the same thing.

It's great that he's started pointing – even though it won't be long before we're pushing his hand down and telling him it's "rude to point". It's great, because to him everything is new and wonderful and exciting, and in a strange way all these mundane things have become new and exciting to us too.

We visited Warwick Park the other day and the view I got, as I pushed the pushchair, was generally the top of George's head. Lately, though, there is the pointing fist and thumb that catches my eye and I tend to follow its line so I can let George know the word for what he's pointing at.

It's not just when he points – both mummy hand I have found ourselves looking out for all manner of things and calling out their names. "Look George – a kite", "look George, a boat" (actually, it was a canoe but we're not so advanced as to be learning boat types yet), "look George, a puppy".

In a strange way, we're looking at the world through George's eyes and it's all perfect and wonderful – the kite doesn't crash and break, the boat doesn't sink and the puppy doesn't chew your favourite toy or poo on your lawn. And in a strange way, we're loving seeing the world from our new 'vantage' point.

It's lovely that for this short time, as a family, we can enjoy a world of innocence, fun and wonderment without having to resort to some form of substance abuse. That said, the other day we gave George an 'E' and 'LSD' – but then I don't think alphabet pasta has any mind-altering properties.

There has been the odd occasion, when George is with mummy or his grandparents, that I've found myself in the Morrisons or B&Q car park pointing at the sky and calling out "oooh look, a big plane"... and the funny looks don't bother me any more, because I'm seeing everything through the eyes of my little boy and it is, indeed, a wonderful world.

Full steam ahead

2010-06-02T16:37:00.007+01:00

George has been feeling a bit glum this week. Since the formula ran out we've moved on to moo-cow milk and the change has left him a little blocked up. This has coincided with a renewed spell of teething, so some days he has been a touch irritable.

He's still eating pretty much everything we put in front of him without any problem at all, especially the pieces of birthday cake from a run of recent parties (which probably didn't help to move things along), but the other day things didn't go so well when he had a bit of an allergic reaction during breakfast.

It's definitely not your favourite when your little boy's face turns red and blotchy and looks like he's just landed head first in a heap of nettles. He was having scrambled eggs – he's had dippy eggs before so we couldn't understand what was going on.

Moments before, Daddy had given the highchair a good wipe with Cif – it was a bit mucky and if it's not clean George will eat the dried-up morsels from the previous night's meal – and we're pretty certain it was this (even though it has a picture of a highchair on the back). Anyway, we stuck him in the bath and changed all his clothes and after his morning nap his chubby chops had returned to their usual, less terrifying appearance.

The one thing that really cheered George up this week was a trip on a miniature steam train. After about five minutes of sitting and waiting he was getting a bit fidgety and fed up. Then, eventually, the guard blew the whistle, the driver tooted the toot and the train chuff-chuffed into motion, and George's face lit up with a big grin and giggles. He peered out of the window and watched the Worcestershire countryside rush past with the wind in his hair.

Things seem to be progressing at a whirlwind rate, yesterday he managed – with a lot of stretching and standing on tip-toes – to reach the living room door handle and almost pull it down far enough to open it. Literally moments ago, he crawled up three steps of the stairs while mummy and daddy were rummaging for car keys – and then laughed as he slid back down on his tummy.

He has also started to wave goodbye and point at almost everything – normally with an all-encompassing, grand sweeping gesture that leaves everyone guessing.

With all the noises he's making, we're now wondering what his first proper word will be – other than the 'mama, dadda' sounds he currently makes. When he comes into our bed in the morning he sits up yodelling with a tremolo that sounds just like Jimmy Savile is under the duvet too. There seems to be a growing certainty that the beginnings of his vocabulary could be "now then, now then".

George is our No 1

2010-05-26T15:23:00.002+01:00

It was George's first birthday at the weekend and we all had a great day. The weather was fab and George was happy and we celebrated with a bit of a party.

George received lots of great outfits, books, toys, money and even his first football kit – the red England kit with 'GEORGE' and a big '1' on the back.

To mark this special occasion, here is a video of some of George's special, funny and unforgettable moments we have enjoyed over the past year...

The new routine

2010-05-19T08:33:00.003+01:00

Now that mummy is back at work George is settling into a new routine. His highlight, or possibly low point, of the week is the day he spends with daddy.

I must admit it can be top fun but it can also be hard work. Last Friday he did three poos (big ones) in one morning and one of them was a split second after I'd changed his full-of-wee nappy – and he was less than pleased at having to sacrifice yet more valuable playtime in the name of comfort and a rash-free botty.

The hard work though, is finding things to fill the time. We went to feed the ducks – they ate from the footplate of his pushchair, deftly avoiding the swipes that would have given them serious headaches. Then we went to the farm shop for some fresh veg.

The week before, George and daddy went to a country park (for which mummy and daddy have an annual pass) where the goats, kids, sheep, lambs and donkeys all got treated fairly with a chummy bash on the nose – the guinea pig almost got one too, but I managed to swerve it away from George's flailing palm.

As it was a week day, it was nice and quiet and George got to play on the swings and in the sandpit without the crowds or the waiting. There were a few mums there with their babies and toddlers and even though I was expecting the occasional weird glance I didn't really get any.

These past couple of weeks George has learned to press the buttons that do the sound effects on his books – previously, parental control meant we didn't have to listen to the tractor noise at every turn of the page. Now, George pulls all the books off his shelf and crawls around pressing the buttons as if he's spinning plates – we go from the tractor's "brum, brum, brummmm" to "moo, moo, moo" to "woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof" to "the animals went in two by two, hurrah, hurrah" and round and round again.

George is one at the weekend – can't believe where the time has gone, surely mummy was pregnant much longer than that – and we're gearing up for a little afternoon party. It's like being a child again, we're really excited for George but he has no concept of time, years and birthdays yet. We can't wait to see what he makes of it all, but he'll probably just want to sit and press all the buttons on his books.

Time for some serious sucking up

2010-05-12T08:55:00.007+01:00

Vacuuming has become something of a mammoth task. Before George came along there was only the coffee table to negotiate – apart from the main items of furniture such as armchairs and bookcases – now there's a playmat, a garage, two big teddies, a toybox, a walker, a playgym thing that plays Puff the Magic Dragon and various sea-shanty type ditties, and a paddling pool brimming over with colourful balls.

After seeing this style of home design at friends who'd started a family before we did, it's a look we vowed we'd never have, but it seems that George goes for bold and brash primary colours rather than the relaxing neutrals mummy and daddy prefer – and the additional embellishments to the living room mean we tend to prevaricate over the vacuuming.

It's not just the obstacles that make the chore a nuisance, the vacuum cleaner itself doesn't help. It's getting on a bit. Not only does the head keep falling off the end of the pipe, the pipe falls out of the other bit of pipe and the head has only got one wheel. As for the suction – it sucks, or rather more accurately, it doesn't. Mummy has been on at daddy about getting a new vacuum cleaner, and now that daddy does more vacuuming it seems like her wish may be granted.

There's one sure sign that the vacuuming needs doing – when George finds a crumb of breadstick that might have escaped his tiny fingers during a previous snack, that could be anything up to a few days old and that's big enough to put in his mouth and have a toothless chew on.

Actually, it won't be long before George is no longer toothless. There's a sharp little protrusion on his left lower gum that you can't see but can certainly feel – especially if he bites down hard while you're trying to ascertain the progress of his dental development with your finger.

Considering he has no teeth, he does quite well with the chewing business, even if he does take an age to munch down an ever soggier piece of toast. The meals we make for him are getting more textured and occasionally he will find a pea or a tiny chunk of carrot that he'll take out of his mouth and examine before replacing for consumption. Of course, we always make sure his food isn't too hot before the spoon gets anywhere near his mouth, and I often check the temperature with my top lip, which can have its drawbacks. Here's a handy hint for anyone else who uses this method: Mashed carrot and swede stain – before you go out, check that your mouth doesn't look like you've been attempting the world carrot-stick eating record.

George holds the key to our votes

2010-05-05T20:04:00.006+01:00

It has been hard to avoid the General Election – bombarded with news and polls on all fronts. George has another 17 years before he is eligible to vote (that's about another four governments) but that's not to say he can't influence our decision.

On one hand, there's the sensible method. Checking each Party's policies on family issues and finance, education and health care – because we'd love George to be healthy as well as clever.

On the other hand, there's the fun way. We line up three of George's favourite toys – a red cup, a blue cup and a yellow cup and see which one he goes for first.

Now I'm not going to get all political, but the Reds' promises all ring a little hollow and desperate – after 13 years in power they've had plenty time to deliver them way before now, so there are no excuses... and as a consequence the red cup will be withdrawn from the line-up.

There has also been a lot of talk about a hung Parliament, and if this is the case then we could do worse than turn to George and his generation for inspiration. I have noticed how he stares a lot – especially at other babies – and I have noticed how the other babies stare back at him. I'm pretty sure that it's not because George thinks he's hard, but it does seem a bit like a 'first-one-to-blink-loses' competition which continues as George strains his neck around the sides of his pushchair to make sure he wins.

It's certainly something misters Brown, Cameron and Clegg should consider, and a 'first-one-to-blink-loses' competition, like boxers do, would be an effective way to settle vital decisions as well as make excellent TV compared with a lot of what's on. Only thing is, Mr Brown might be at a slight disadvantage with his dicky eye... oh well, can't be helped!

Parents give knowing glances too. A sort of secret world of communication that people without children can't see...

George was sitting in the supermarket trolley and after getting a little fidgety we gave him his milk. He holds it on his own now and only needs a helping hand when he gets close to finishing it and can't lift the bottle high enough. As it's milk he rarely let's go, but on this occasion he flung his bottle across the aisle, all the way from the breads to the toilet paper, and watched it skid and roll across the floor as daddy gave chase (could be the makings of a good game). Daddy picked it up just as another couple passed with their trolley and their similarly aged baby. The wry smiles were enough to reassure me that it doesn't just happen to me, it happens to all parents and that I needn't be embarrassed, it's all part of parenthood, that it might seem like hard work but we all love it really and even though our dignity can sometimes be compromised it gives us something to smile about. All that information in a split-second. I gave a little smile back that said 'kids, eh!'

Our bad day

2010-04-28T14:38:00.004+01:00

Thankfully, they don't come along very often, but some days can be the worst days imaginable. Crappy beyond belief. That said, I'm sure there are people who have had far worse days than I have ever experienced.

This recent bad day involved a car and money and left us both feeling miserable and sorry for ourselves – but in the context of things, bad news from a mechanic is not as bad as bad news from a policeman, doctor or a court of law.

The prospect of losing money, along with the necessary outlay of more money, was something that had us stumped at what we could possibly do to retrieve the situation. Unbeknown to us, a solution to half our problem was on its way in the form of an extremely kind offer from George's grandparents on daddy's side.

Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of relief lifted the gloom and blew nearly all the worry away. Then, when George was brought home by his other grandparents he gave a smile that would lift the corners of anyone's downturned mouth.

George isn't yet aware of bad days like we know them – he has occasional days when his gums hurt, his nose is snivelly, he can't sleep or he is fed some food he doesn't like the taste of – and generally enjoys a happy, care-free life. And we're just so happy he lives with us.

All the bad days added up come to nothing at all when you're stacking cups, singing rhymes, reading books and making your little boy laugh – any mum and dad will tell you.

The smile that makes everything all right

It's wearing thin

2010-04-22T14:18:00.006+01:00

George is growing so fast it seems that no sooner have we bought him something than he's grown out of it – or it's irretrievably stained by baby juice or baby vomit.

Now he has started this crawling lark, it's not only George who is getting through clothes as if they were disposable nappies. Daddy spends a lot of time on the floor these days and the knees on his jeans and trousers as well as the elbows on his jumpers are looking almost as thin as the hair on his head.

And then there's the washing powder we're getting through... after all it's been a long time since mummy or daddy had grass stains on their knees.

Crawl of the wild one

2010-04-14T16:23:00.003+01:00

He's a bit like a crawling version of the Scarlet Pimpernel – he's here, he's there, that crawling child is everywhere – his heaven is exploring, our hell is trying to keep him in one place, and when we're trying to change his nappy he's a darned elusive little fella.

Sleep routines have taken a turn for the worse – as soon as you turn around, George is up on his feet with an expression on his face that says 'hey, look what I can do – and I'm not even tired yet'.

We've been trying to work out why he has started to do battle with bedtime and came up with a number of theories...

Perhaps it's because the six o'clock episodes of Waybulloo have come to end.

Perhaps it's because the evenings are getting lighter.

Perhaps it's because we've turned the heating down.

Perhaps it's because he can smell our dinner cooking.

Perhaps he thinks his toys come to life after he goes to sleep – they've always tidied themselves up by morning time.

In the end we decided it's actually down to the fact that when we put him down he can sit up and stand up. Before, we'd lay him on his back and he had no choice about it (happy days).

This week George has had his first full day at nursery – which was a success (success being eating, sleeping, pooing... the same way that daddy measures a good day).

George also had his first encounter with a donkey, a goat, a sheep and a guinea pig. We were a little concerned that the donkey might nibble off one of George's fingers, so rather than do a before-and-after count we kept his fingers safe and just let him stroke the donkey's nose instead of feeding it. Moments later and George has grabbed a fistful of donkey fur – well at least donkey fur grows back. After the guinea pig nearly got whacked – almost in the Mafia sense – we decided it might be a good idea to do something different.

Nanna's dog is often on the receiving end, too. Daisy – a lolloping, hairy, docile Labradoodle – used to gently creep as close to George as she could – occasionally stealing a lick as George stuck out a hand. Now that George can crawl, Daisy takes cover in her basket under the kitchen table.

All work and all play

2010-04-07T18:29:00.006+01:00

Today was mummy's first day back at work – with daddy at home and in charge of the day.

The night before I had been tested on my knowledge of what goes into a change bag and quizzed on George's timetable of eating, sleeping and nappy changing – with instructions to get him to stay asleep for as long as possible, which when it came to it I'm pleased to say I did (a veritable afternoon sleepathon of 1hr 35mins – much better than the usual 35-40 mins).

The day began when I dropped him off at nursery for his taster morning session – he starts his full one day a week next week – and he didn't seem at all bothered when I left him behind. On picking him up I had strict instructions to quiz the nursery nurse on how much he ate (lots of breakfast), how much he pooed (none), and how long he slept (not quite long enough for mummy's liking) and to wire my report back to HQ via mobile phone.

Then I had him all to myself for the whole afternoon – and now he's crawling I spent the entire time on the floor. Trying to check a nappy for signs of poo, let alone change one, is a feat in itself when George is scrabbling across the carpet with his mind set on scaling the dizzy heights of the bookcase.

Mummy arrived home just after 5pm – I swear I've never seen her walk up the path so quickly – and said that even though her first day back at work had been a success, she had really missed George (and daddy – in verbal parentheses) and that the day had seemed very long. For daddy the day had simply flown by and judging by the huge smile on George's face he had certainly missed mummy too.

There's just one question for mummy for tomorrow's itinerary – I don't think I've got the bath routine quite right, could you run it by me one more time please?

PS: Do you think those tap handles make him look like a little devil?

A change is gonna come

2010-04-01T14:10:00.003+01:00

George was a bit poorly yesterday and feeling a bit sorry for himself he slept on the sofa with mummy for most of the afternoon.

As well as being the first time he has been proper poorly it was also the first day of proper crawling and as this mummy's last week of maternity leave she's getting proper anxious – and proper sad at the thought of not being with him.

Anyway, after his cuddle George awoke refreshed and just as mischievous as normal and immediately pressed on with perfecting his crawling.

So that mummy doesn't miss George too much, I've made a little video of clips set to 'mummy and George's song' that she can have a peek at when the boss isn't looking...

The carbon king

2010-03-24T15:33:00.007Z

Well, it's Budget day and one of the things Darling has been targeting is carbon emissions (that's Darling the chancellor and not darling the wife), with a £2bn investment in low-carbon industries.

Over the past year carbon emissions in our home have been steadily rising. George's size-to-gas-emission ratio is one of the highest on the planet. He has also single-bottomedly created enough waste to warrant his own landfill site. Having said that, we did try washable nappies and were prepared to put the effort in for the sake of the environment, etc (which some say is debatable when weighing up the pros and cons of energy used washing against the effects of disposal). Anyway, washable nappies didn't soak up any wee and George ended up sitting in his own pee if he wasn't changed absolutely immediately, and – as any parent will tell you – the welfare of their little one comes before the welfare of the environment. So comfy disposables it is.

As I may have mentioned before, George has a habit of opening the fridge and leaving the door open, albeit for a matter seconds at a time, but if you add them up it runs into minutes, then it will be hours – and if he's still doing it when he's eighteen – years!

Who... me?

As he doesn't walk or ride a bike yet, he gets ferried everywhere in the car, and as mummy is back to work in a couple of weeks we have had to go back to being a two-car family so that daddy can drop him and pick him up from nursery and grandparents' houses.

Recently, I saw a fellow-blogger's video version of the Daz doorstep challenge – but when George gets hold of a plum even the hottest wash barely touches the purple splatters, spillages and stains – in fact, George generates enough dirty stuff to keep Dot's laundry on EastEnders in business.

I don't know what the answer is, but whatever you do, don't tell Darling – he might introduce a special George tax.

Ages of George

2010-03-17T09:03:00.005Z

There has been a lot of talk about the 'age of reason' recently and I was wondering when the 'age of naughty' begins – not the capacity to know right from wrong, but the realisation that you're doing something you perhaps shouldn't.

At nearly 10-months-old, I'm often not sure if George knows he's being naughty when he scoots on up to the fridge and turns to give you a little sideways glance before he opens it for the umpteenth time; or when he grabs the cardboard tray on the supermarket shelf and tugs until all the bottles of Johnson's Baby Bath end up on the floor (thank goodness they were plastic); or when he grabs at grandad's glasses or yanks other grandad's beard. At the moment he's getting a bit of leeway until it becomes a little more obvious.

And when is the 'age of Mother's Day' – the age when it's down to George to sort out mummy's gift himself? This last Sunday was the first Mother's Day in our family – a bit of a wait considering I only had to wait about three weeks for my first Father's Day – and in the run-up mummy was certain that daddy, on George's behalf, hadn't done or bought anything. So much so, that on a trip to the supermarket she put her own gift into the trolley (an 'I Love Mummy' mug and an 'I Love My Mum' photo frame). I didn't say a word, so with a bit of a sulk she decided that that was proof enough that I had arranged nothing.

Well... when George was first born, mummy would stay at home while daddy did the shopping and on one particular shopping trip I picked up Melody Gardot's My One and Only Thrill CD as a treat for mummy and George. We used to play it almost every day and still listen to it very regularly. There is a song on it that mummy would sing to George to send him fast asleep. It's called ' If the Stars Were Mine' and the lyrics are beautifully apt for a mother to sing to her baby – it's George's and mummy's special song.

When mummy opened her Mother's Day card out dropped tickets to see Melody Gardot at the Symphony Hall – needless to say, she was a little surprised. And what's more – the concert falls on her birthday weekend – so how's that for killing two birds with one stone? Daddy (and George) were certainly in the good books.

It will be even more special when George reaches the 'age of Mother's Day' and buys or makes a gift himself – in the meantime we've been watching Supernanny – you know, the one where Jo Frost sorts out naughty kids and inept parents – hoping it will give us a clue as to when the 'age of naughty' kicks in, and so that our parenting skills don't slide.

It used to be a programme we avoided like the plague – mainly because we were worried it would put us off trying for a family. Now it's one of the programmes we try to catch every week – both sitting making mental notes; 'oh, we won't do that', and 'we'll have to remember that', etc. As I write, mummy is trying to dress George while he is opening and slamming the bottom drawer that he can just about reach; very soon he'll be in the kitchen dragging the chairs around – and there's only so much of that you can stand... "SUPERNANNY!!"

George gets the blame

2010-03-10T09:29:00.005Z

The other day one of our friends phoned to tell us that George had drawn on their wall. We were a little taken aback to start with and were about to get defensive about it. After all, we hadn't seen them for a couple of weeks and the last time we'd met had been at a toddler's party in a leisure centre.

It turned out that George got blamed by their three-year-old daughter, who'd said that George had visited on his own, made the mark on the wall and then left – without his mummy and daddy knowing anything – and considering we live 9.3 miles apart (I checked it on a route planner) this is no mean feat for a nine-month-old baby. Although, if by a chance in a million it is true, he might be taking after his daddy who once said that when he grew up would like to be a vandal.

Something that George actually did do was to steal a pair of shoes. Mummy went to Mothercare and had been looking at the baby footwear during her trip to pick up a few essentials. She finished her shopping, paid at the checkout, returned to the car and took George out of the pushchair to put him in his car seat – and dangling from his little fingers was a pair of 0-3 month shoes that he'd managed to reach out and nab. A little red-faced, she returned them to the shop where the staff nodded knowingly – must happen all the time. I wonder what she'd have done if they'd have been the right size.

Daddy's had more colds in the past six months than he's had in his whole working life – and this has to be down to George too. George, of course, thinks it's incredibly funny when daddy blows his nose – must be the elephant noises I make – but he hates having his own nose wiped (why can't you get one wipe out at a time? Do they make them so they come out in threes just so you have to buy more?). Anyway, there is an up side to being on the receiving end of all these colds – daddy can't smell when George has done a poo in his nappy.

On hallowed ground

2010-03-03T09:35:00.005Z

We've been going to church over the past few Sundays. It's a pretty little church, just a five-minute walk away in the next village. It's where mummy and daddy got married a few years back and it's where we'd like to introduce God to George and George to God, so to speak.

We're not getting him christened as such – or baptised as it is often called now – no, later this year we're going to have a blessing/thanksgiving (after all we did wait a long time for him) and besides, we'd rather do something that's genuine and feels right for us and George. The days of superstition and high infant mortality rates are long gone and I think many people opt for a christening out of tradition's sake.

Anyway, this last Sunday daddy put on his nice, warm, cashmere jumper – just to make a bit of an effort – and was just about to walk out of the door when George decides to have a wriggle as we attempt to get his coat and shoes on. As is frequently the case these days, George had a snotty nose and daddy's jumper instantly looked like it had been the venue for a slug and snail convention.

After a quick jumper change, we managed to arrive in plenty of time and took up seats where we hoped George wouldn't be noticed should he try to make himself noticed. Even though we try not to use a dummy too much, we had one to hand and just about plugged most of George's incessant garbling, and though we brought with us toys that didn't make any noise, mummy eventually had to go in the creche when he started throwing them into the aisles.

This coming Sunday there are two services – one is the 'service as usual' and the other is a family orientated affair with croissants and coffee – daddy will probably go to the 'service as usual' for a bit of peace and quiet and mummy can go to the family one where George can make as much noise as he likes.

One thing's for sure – daddy will be checking the World Cup fixtures before setting the date for George's special day. And it's not just because I like the football – I wouldn't hear the last of it if it clashed with the England v Germany final. Anyway, that's all a little way off yet – in the meantime I'm looking forward to the match tonight; feet up, George in bed (fingers crossed), perhaps a glass of wine and a dummy for mummy (well, I haven't actually come across one of those, but a magazine and some chocolate should do the trick!).

Hey... you never know... World Cup 2030...

The Price of nostalgia

2010-02-24T13:19:00.013Z

George has got a Fisher Price garage - it says ages one to four on the box, so he's starting with it a bit early (he's nine months old this week). Anyway, daddy had a Fisher Price garage and I'm telling you, they ain't what they used to be.

George's is much more colourful than daddy's was – and is probably a bit bigger, but the older version (below) worked so much better. The big disappointment in the latest version is the car lift at the side. Now, forgive me if I'm a little off the mark on finer details – I haven't played with my Fisher Price garage for quite a while and can't remember exactly where I left it – but as far as I remember, the lift worked by winding a handle and when the car got to the top it shot out on to the top floor of the multi-storey parking area and rolled all the way down the ramp to the petrol pump at the bottom.

This new lift has no winding handle – just a big plastic tab that you grab to move the lift up and down (how boring is that?) and besides, it's pretty hard to do. In fact, you have to put your hand on top of the garage in order to move the lift up (rubbish). Then, when the car gets to the top, the lift floor tilts but you have to give the car a shove and "drive" it over to the ramp so that it can whizz down to the bottom. And I haven't finished yet – the ding doesn't ding (pathetic).

George does have some good Fisher Price toys but this garage is plain, lazy toymaking. Luckily, George hasn't had the opportunity to compare – and at the moment he's happy enough using the ramp to roll brightly coloured cups and balls down.

I've got a feeling there will be more things to come that I remember with fond, rose-tinted nostalgia that have traversed childhoods and evolved into cheaper, tackier and disappointing shadows of their former selves.

I don't know if George will ever be interested in one of those Evel Knievel bikes that you wound up until the pent-up energy got too much, it rocketed off and – if you had enough room – didn't stop for miles (brilliant), but even though I'd quite like to buy him one some day (apparently they're still available somewhere), I'm not sure I could live with the disappointment should it fail to be as fantastic as I remember.

So, it all seems a bit Catch 22 – buy new stuff that's inferior or buy old stuff that isn't as great as you remember.

Hopefully we can rely on The Six Million Dollar Man.

And, in case you were wondering where George has got to... here he is.

All fright on the night

2010-02-17T17:02:00.003Z

It has been one of those weeks this week. Mummy and daddy spent their Valentine's Day morning in the children's A&E department after George's temperature rose to 38.7 and even though the Calpol kept it in check to some extent, we wanted to be sure it was nothing serious.

The nurse took down some notes about his weight, pulse and temperature, etc, before giving us a little cup and asking us to collect a urine sample. So – into a cubicle, off with the nappy and while mummy filled up George with the bottle at one end, daddy stood at the ready with the little cup at the other end.

Soon the paediatrician arrived and after checking his ears, throat and lungs – while we distracted him with the warm milk – said a urine sample wouldn't be necessary – phew. Anyway, it seems that on top of George's teething, he has a little virus that contributed to the rise in his temperature and his lungs, ears and throat are all fine and dandy.

Back home, we're feeling a lot more relieved, even if George isn't. He's not his usual happy self and it's sometimes a little difficult to distract him from the pain in his sore gums – even by showing him his first Valentine's card from his great aunty and uncle in Canada. Bedtime is perhaps the most noticeably awkward time. He has taken to waking more frequently and then it's harder to settle him – and there's only so much Bonjella a child can take (or is allowed).

He has also started to roll over in his sleep and move around the cot somewhat – which is a bit of a worry – so we've set up the movement sensor on the baby monitor. The other night it went off and mummy and daddy, hearts pounding, raced in to check on him (false alarm, as he'd shifted himself into the corner of the cot and away from the sensor pad). We didn't get to sleep for quite a while after that, but happily, George slept through the whole thing.

Because of his sore gums we've been extra careful when trying to get George off to sleep and, though he may be able to sleep through car alarms, fireworks and other unplanned noises, it's the moments just as he nods off that are the most precarious. Daddy managed to rock him to sleep in his nursery the other night only to realise that George was the "wrong way round". To lay him in his cot the right way meant either having to swap arms or rearrange the furniture – and it was very tempting to call for mummy via the monitor to get her to shift the cot and the chest of drawers.

And they call it cupboard love

2010-02-10T11:15:00.004Z

George has been developing his skills in the reach-out-and-grab-things department.

Early signs came to light at the supermarket where he has started to reach out for anything that catches his eye. Luckily he can't grab anything – apart from the net bags which restrain satsumas and clementines. Even more luckily, he can't put anything in the trolley.

Unluckily for mummy though, he can grab the rim of a cup of coffee – precisely what he did when she was out for a latte with a few of her other new-mummy friends. And, of course, he did it at the perfect moment – just as one of her work colleagues (whom she hasn't seen while being on maternity leave) walks past. Mummy and George returned home early that morning, both smelling like a cafetiere and both looking a little bit sorry for themselves.

This week George has discovered the handles on the kitchen cupboards and it's those that he has been making a beeline for – and with a little bit of reaching out he has found there are some interesting things to grab.

Time for some George-proofing!

Search for a nursery

2010-02-03T10:56:00.017Z

It's getting forever closer to the time when mummy has to go back to work (beginning of April) and the reminders are beginning to pop up now and then.

One of them is getting a nursery sorted as part of the weekly routine that we are also trying to organise. The current plan is that George will be with mummy one day, daddy one day, nanna one and a half days, nannie half a day and nursery one day.

Now we don't have to check out nanna's and nannie's houses as we know they're warm, comfy, safe and clean (even though they don't have council certificates on the wall), but when it comes to 'offloading' George somewhere new, you want to be sure they meet or beat the standards you expect. So, after making a few phone calls, we chose three nurseries in the vicinity that could be potentially 'good enough' to care for our little boy.

The first nursery we visited, although very clean, happy and safe was a little on the small side with not much outdoor area and a policy of putting babies outside to sleep in all weathers apart from snow. Minds made up very easily on that one.

It's surprising how much importance you can place on impressions over the phone, and the second nursery we visited was the one that we would have chosen based on a phone call. It's also the one we chose after our visit. This one gave you the choice of whether your baby slept inside or outside. Anyway, we were very impressed by the spaciousness, the outdoor areas, the staff, the activities, the monitoring – both on an educational level and for wellbeing – and decided pretty much on the spot. Just in case you'd like to see where George will be spending some of his time over the next year or three here is a link:

www.wrendaynursery.co.uk

We gave the third nursery a call and cancelled our appointment.

This week George's whizzing round the kitchen has decimated his supply of

babygrows – we have to make sure he wears shoes or slippers now – and one day he gave new meaning to the phrase drag racing when he swept the floor with the help of mummy's cardigan. He has also discovered the joy of swings, but even though he has all this fun at home, we're sure George will have

even more fun at his nursery – shaving foam, shredded paper, poster paints and a profusion of messy things.

Just as our nursery visit was ending, one little boy came up to the nursery manager and said: "I think it's a good idea to hang my coat up." The nursery manager replied: "Yes, that's a good idea, isn't it." The little boy must have thought he was on a roll, because he replied: "And I think it's a good idea to throw sand at the window."

Yep – that'll suit George down to the ground.

TV dinners

2010-01-27T08:32:00.015Z

George reached his eight-month milestone this past week and as he was born three weeks and four days early it means he has been outside his mummy about as long as he was inside his mummy. It's sort of hard to believe really, because those months when he was inside his mummy were inexorably slow – probably because we'd been waiting for him for so long – and the ones he's been outside his mummy have positively flown by.

The last two of those months have involved weaning. After catching the recent episode of Panorama about what children are eating (or rather are being fed) we're determined not to go down the route of packet food and ready meals.

Initially we bought four jars of organic baby food, but started by making our own meals so that we know exactly what's in them – there are still three jars of food sitting in the fridge, fast approaching their sell-by dates and if we don't have to use them we'll be quite happy.

Recently mummy was out with George and got in a bit of a quandary when the baby-friendly cafe said it couldn't blast George's home-made beef stew and pea and leek puree in its industrial-strength microwave. She managed to get hold of a couple of pouches of organic baby food (main course and dessert) that can be eaten hot or cold and that she'd seen other mums use. Well, George was having none of it and in the end mummy ordered a jacket potato with a little butter and cheese and they shared it quite happily.

Later that day mummy returned and brought home the almost-full pouch of dessert for daddy to try – mainly because she was surprised at how vile something with the word 'scrummy' on the front could actually taste... and she was right. Daddy squeezed a blob on his finger – it looked like 'No Nails' (that's the DIY super-strength glue), felt like 'No Nails' and tasted like, well, I haven't tasted 'No Nails', but I imagine it would be similar.

It's no wonder babies turn their noses up at healthy foods when they're made to taste so awful. We've been adapting the recipes we cook for ourselves and (I've made a list) in the past two and a bit months George has enjoyed quite a variety of ingredients:

aubergine, apple, apricot, banana, basil, beef, blueberries, broccoli, butternut squash, cabbage, carrot, cauliflower, celery, cheese, chicken, cod, courgette, egg, gammon, green beans, lamb, leek, lychees, mango, melon, mint, onion, oregano, parsley, parsnip, pasta, pear, peas, plum, porridge, potato, salmon, spinach, strawberries, swede, sweet potato, tomato.

The only things he hasn't been keen on are the broccoli (no surprises there) and the lychees – which was down to texture rather than flavour, as he'd quite happily swish them about on his tongue before smiling and letting it all dribble from the corners of his mouth.

We tend to cook batches of meals and freeze them in large 'ice-cube' trays, popping them out and mixing and matching. The thing is, even though George is getting a healthy and balanced diet, it's generally defrosted or heated up in the microwave and as soon as the light comes on and the hum kicks in he rolls up in his walker flapping his arms and grunting with anticipation. I suppose when his eating routine falls more in line with ours he'll soon realise that meals don't appear with a ping from the 'magic food telly' in the corner.

Rabbits, meals and pots

2010-01-20T09:51:00.006Z

Peter Rabbit – soft and cuddly though he may be – is having to get used to the fact that he's a rabbit. Rabbits come way down the pecking order in the food chain and George (whether it's in our DNA or not, I'm not sure) seems to know exactly how to put Peter in his place – and that's not in a hutch.

No, every time Peter pops up he gets a quick cuddle – a sort of "I'm sorry I have to do this" cuddle – before he is thrown to the ground and run over with the walker. The only difference between Peter and the pancake-shaped rabbits on the road is that Peter endures this fate over and over again.

There has been a bit of a debate going on as to who gets in more of a mess at dinner time – daddy or George. Obviously, it's George, who manages to get in this state at most meal times...

Daddy only lets himself down on the evenings spaghetti bolognese is on the menu.

Of all the toys George has been given for Christmas and over the past seven (almost eight) months, his eyes light up most when he sees his stacking pots – £1.99 from Morrisons. It doesn't seem to matter what he's up to, once he spots them he'll almost hyperventilate until he's banging them together or against the next nearest object (usually mummy or daddy). The trickiest part is trying to build them into a tower before he's noticed.

It was after lunch one day that daddy got the pots out and had just built his tower before George leaned across the fire engine and knocked it down. Moments later George did one of those burps – you know the ones, the ones when you just know the noise is a precursor to a little regurgitation – and daddy, quick as a flash, put a pot under George's chin and caught all the gubbins. Hooray!

The thing with these little pots is that they all have small holes in so you can play with them in the bath – and from the bottom of pot number five came five warm dribbles into the palm of daddy's clean hand. Nice.

A welcome addition

2010-01-13T10:08:00.017Z

George isn't the only new face in our household – there are 43 of them (I counted, and that's just one more than the greatest number of bibs in one room at one time – I counted those too), and all cuddly and cute in varying degrees. There are monkeys, bears, lions, rabbits – there's even a cuddly crocodile.

One of these additions arrived on Christmas Day – a rather large (huge in relation to George) tan-coloured Big Ape who has been surprisingly helpful to mummy and daddy.

George has pretty much learned to sit up on his own now, but occasionally he topples over. If it's forward it's usually in slow motion until he wacks his head on the xylophone. It doesn't seem to matter how near we are, or how slo-mo things go, there's no preventing impact.

Mostly he lands face-first on his comfy playmat and usually starts to whinge after a few seconds until we sit him up again – he hasn't learned to roll over and we're certainly in no hurry to progress things to crawling.

If he topples backwards there is a bank of cushions to soften the landing – or there has been until Big Ape arrived. Now the cushions stay on the armchairs and Big Ape has taken over the protection racket. And in the

evenings, when George has gone to bed, Big Ape guards George's spot in front of the fire and watches telly with us.

Last week it was the iPod, this week it's a shelf on the bookcase. There has been a bit of shuffling and jostling for position, with daddy's 'Who's Who in British History' vying for prime shelf space alongside George's 'Tractor Trouble' (which daddy knows off by heart by the way – be far more impressive if I knew the 'Who's Who in British History' off by heart, but I have my limits).

Other recent developments include George's garbling noises evolving into a repetitious "da-da-da-da-da-da" which has only made mummy even more determined to get him to say "mom-mom-mom"...

And at bathtimes we have been getting a bit of a drenching. George's legs, constantly getting stronger, are capable of delivering splashes that slosh across the bathroom and spray the door and splatter the floor. Needless to say, George isn't the only one who requires a warm change of clothing after his bath.

The bells, the bells

2010-01-06T09:36:00.005Z

New Year's Eve turned out to be very different from years past. The usual habit of partying until the small hours was broken on New Year's Eve 2008/09 when mummy's tummy was expanding at more of an alarming rate than daddy's.

This time round it was what was in that tummy that dictated how we saw in 2010 – and we decided it would be wise to spend it asleep. Which, didn't bother daddy who has always found a tinge of sadness behind the smiles of this passing-of-time celebration.

George, however, was having none of it and at about 15 minutes to midnight he woke up crying. So, for one night only, we switched on the bedside light, turned on the radio and brought George into our room to sit on the bed. The bells bonged and mummy and daddy sang Auld Lang Syne while all holding hands – and George smiled.

It may not have been the most exuberant or spirited way to see in the new year, but it was definitely more memorable than some of the blurry countdowns of the past – and there was certainly no sadness behind the smiles.

George has been getting used to being mobile this week. We bought him one of those baby walkers – the kind that you sit in with a wheel on each corner. At first his tip-toes only just reached the floor, even on the lowest setting, and much effort was expended with little movement.

Now, still restricted to use of his tip-toes, it's surprising how fast he can manoeuvre around the kitchen. One minute he's over by the lounge door and the next our ankles are taking a battering as we open the fridge.

The one thing he's having a little difficulty with though, is reversing out of a tight corner – must get that off his mummy.

No more resolutions

2009-12-31T11:13:00.004Z

I never thought it would happen – but my iPod now has Incy Wincy Spider on it, along with other children's favourites including I'm a Little Teapot and Dingle Dangle Scarecrow.

Resolutions made in the past – not to have any toys in the lounge; not to have Fisher Price ditties competing with daddy's Feeder or David Sylvian CDs; to avoid dirty nappies; not to be seen in public in charge of a pushchair – have all gone out of the window and the last bastion of baby-free living (daddy's iPod) has finally succumbed... Well, actually, there's still the computer which one day will inevitably have CBeebies in 'My Favourites'.

It's the time of year when people make resolutions in order to change their lives, more often than not it's something challenging that will hopefully make them feel better. Well, there are no resolutions for us this year – other than George. He's the one making all the changes – albeit indirectly – they're nearly always a challenge and when he smiles (in a nice megalomaniac type way) he makes us realise that life is better than we sometimes think.

Anyway, here's his first experience of Christmas morning.

Happy New Year!

It's the Christmas No 1

2009-12-23T11:20:00.004Z

It's George's first Christmas and he doesn't know that he's about to get stimulation overload for the next couple of days – but we're certainly looking forward to see how he copes.

Mummy and daddy have made last-minute trips to the shops and the supermarket to make sure nothing has been forgotten – presents, food and all sorts. Not that the world would come to an end if we ran out of anything before the shops open after two days – but we certainly have a 'Christmas charts' of items that could make the festive season miserable if they were in short supply. This years top five is as follows:

1. Nappies – a new entry replacing last year's regular No 1 spot holder, wine.

2. Milk formula – another new entry. Last year's No 2 was stuffing.

3. Dishwasher tablets – Making the top three all new entries and pushing cheese out of the top five altogether. We never realised how vital these little things were until our sink began to look like a job for Kim and Aggie.

4. Baby wipes – Nowhere to be seen last Christmas, this record fourth new entry knocks pigs-in-blankets down to 10th place.

5. Wine – it has slipped a few places but keeps its annual spot in the top five.

George is going to look great for all the Christmas photos and videos. He's got a 'Baby's first Christmas' romper suit and – as seen on his Christmas photo last week – a snuggly reindeer outfit. He's also got his first bruise – just under his eye on his left cheek. Even when you're right on top of them, they suddenly lurch in an unexpected direction and George lurched forward bashing himself on one of his favourite toys. Unfortunately, George is the wrong shade of pink to borrow mummy's foundation, I know it's Christmas but we don't want him looking like a pantomime dame.

Apart from that, we've all had a fun week this week (daytimes only). The highlight for daddy was when Nanny and Grandad came round for a coffee and watched as George pooed in mummy's hand just as she'd taken off his nappy.

The other highlight was the first birthday party of his friend William where George had a jolly old time joining in with the musical fun – they even sang his favourite Hokey Cokey song. Another five months and it will be George's turn and somehow – in those five months – it looks like there's a dietary transition from the mushed-up goodness of wholesome fruit and veg to cakes, crisps and pizza. Now, I'd never expect him to eat broccoli or sprouts like mummy does, but if daddy can't say no to sausage roll, what will George be like? Oh the worry... the worry... will it ever go away?