Sunshine on a Rainy Day

Here’s an abbreviated account of our holidays to Wicklow.
Get into car. Sun shines
Baby D – Waaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Stop car. Lashes rain
Baby D – Waaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Get out of car. Run to shops through puddles.
Baby D – Waaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Walk around shops. Sun shines.
Baby D – Waaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Go for walk in nice scenic area. Lashes rain.
Baby D – Waaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Get into car. Sun shines
Baby D – Waaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Repeat for 2 days.
(I should point out that Baby D was coming down with a cold, which explained his bad mood. Didn’t explain the weather though.)

Toy Story

I had a tough time in Smyth’s Toys recently. I went in to find some new toys for Baby D to stop him rooting around in our laundry basket. After wandering the aisles, blinded by blue and red plastic and amazed at the price tags, I eventually emerged clutching a seven euro Winnie the Pooh jigsaw. “Bargain” I thought, trying not to feel guilty as the other parents stumbled passed me struggling under the weight of Smart Trikes and life-sized Peppa Pigs.
Luckily I hadn’t just bought a jigsaw but a “valuable learning tool.”
“This will enhance your fine motor skills and hand to eye co-ordination,” I read off the side of the box to Baby D at home.
“Pooh!” said Baby D as he grabbed the box from me and tipped all the pieces onto the floor.
“And also can be used as an educational aid...”
He picked up a piece of jigsaw and chewed it thoughtfully.
“Aids problem solving...”
Baby D rambled off, jigsaw dangling from the side of his mouth.
“And helps develop reasoning and problem solving skills.” I finished as he re emerged, looking pleased with himself, the piece of jigsaw replaced by a sock.
“Toe–Toe!” he mumbled through the sock, trampling over the rest of the pieces.
“Seven euro well spent,” I thought.

And on a totally different note

And on a completely separate note, since when did people start dressing up to go to gigs? I was at the Tripod last night, in my 2007 Arcade Fire t-shirt and Dunne’s Stores jeans, and am still getting over the shock of the style on offer; designer shirts, skinny jeans, oversized bags; and that was just the men. Why would you want to get glammed up just to get hot and sticky and covered in beer? Is it because everyone watches the band through their mobile phone screens now, too busy tweeting about the gig to bother jumping up and down in an uncoordinated manner in the mosh pit? I blame it on the smoking ban myself. Clothes are no longer at risk of smelling like an ashtray after a night out, so faded second hand jeans salvaged from the mothballed recesses of a dusty shop in Temple Bar are being replaced by “vintage” denim with a three figure sales tag in BT2 and old band t-shirts are being consigned to Oxfam shops.
Or maybe it’s a leftover from the Celtic Tiger.
Or maybe I’m just getting old.

If I could walk to the animals, talk to the animals..

Baby D has taken some giant steps recently. He finally decided that the limits of mischief obtained by crawling had been reached and is now marching around the place like a veteran. (My dreams that he'd suddenly need 2 hour naps once he started to walk alas, remain unrealised, but I cherish a small hope that when he learns to run he might succumb to exhaustion.) He has also started to speak a form of Baby D Mandarin, where a slight change in the tone completely changes the meaning of the word. So ‘toe’ can mean Granddad Tom, or toast, but interestingly never an actual toe, which are called ‘toe-toes’. His favourite phrase is ‘Wassis?’ which sounds like he’s auditioning for a Budweiser commercial and is used for a variety of questions. He doesn’t mind yet what answer you give so you can make anything up. This morning though I was stumped by 7am, as Baby D woke up with a pressing question on his little mind; what does his stuffed Panda say? I wracked my brains through a chorus of “Wassis?” as I got him up. We clarified that cows say ‘Moo’, dogs say ‘Wuff-Wuff’ and for good measure tigers say ‘Roaaar!’ as I dressed him and changed his nappy, until eventually in the middle of our porridge (‘po-po’) we agreed that Panda would say the easily reproduced, “Ooooo Oooo”. I just hope I remember it tomorrow morning because if I don’t I’ll be hit with another barrage of “wassis?” until the correct Panda voice comes out of the teddy. Incidentally, what noises do Pandas make? Answers on a postcard please!