Riding and running

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.