It's my happy birthday!

More photos here...

Back to school

You know what mummy actually? The 2eme enfantine is much harder than 1ere enfantine. You know what we have to do? We have to write words, and then we have to take them to the teacher, and then we have to sound them out. It's really going to be much harder this year.

All said without any acknowledgement that he can already read pretty well, and has already, off his own bat, had a pretty good stab at writing.

And despite his avowal of just how hard his second year of school is going to be, he very happily bounded off this morning, barely even saying goodbye.

If only I could equally happily get myself back into the Regime. Sigh.

Relief

I can't remember exactly how many times Téo has been pulled spluttering and gasping from a pool or river, but it's been many. Too many.

Although actually, the last time was pretty funny. It was in the hotel pool in Paris, where thanks to my magnificent packing foresight, he was splashing around in underpants and no swim vest.

- Look at me mummy, I can swim!

- No you can't! You don't have your swim vest! Stay on the steps until Miss M can carry you!

- No I can swim, look!

He leapt off the steps with a huge grin stretching from ear to ear... which, in a very cartoon-esque manner, morphed into a look of wide-eyed panic as his head went under.

So. Swimming lesson time it was.

(Yes, I know, I have said this before. Like, 2 years ago. But! It's not entirely my slackness that has kept him at risk of drowning! I tried to get him in last year, honest, but over here they won't take kids under 5. And even at 5, they hesitate.)

He only got in 3 lessons, thanks to a wet and cold August. But from unfailingly sinking whenever he was unsupported in water, by the end of the third lesson he could do this:

And then yesterday we made him jump into deep water and swim back to the edge.

Which he did, with no sinking and only a little spluttering.

Phew.

Things I've learned as the owner of a veggie patch

Uneaten lettuces don't get bigger and leafier, they get taller.

Much taller.

Who knew, huh? (Quiet, all you inhabitants of my village. I'm a city girl, remember?)

(And sorry for the atrocious picture. The Hipstamatic let me down today.)

What happens to a cat in a house with kids

For Mandy

Not with the same gutso as when there's no camera, and a bit of an annoying backpack-carrier strap, but the best recording so far:

His father's son

In the same month he lost his first tooth, I spotted this:

His first grey hair.

!

Nux vomica

So you may have noticed that in my last post, when I gave thanks for not spewing on the ferry back from Corsica, I did not include thanks to any pharmaceutical company.

In fact, I had wanted drugs. Desperately. I am a big believer in better living through modern medicine. And better living, as I discovered on the trip over, most definitely includes not having to help my children to spew neatly for six hours while simultaneously trying to spew neatly myself.

So I went to the chemist, and asked for an anti-seasickness drug, and the lady reached to a shelf behind the counter - the place where you know they keep the strongest stuff - and handed me a packet.

Oh the relief! We wouldn't be sick on the trip back!

Only, there was a snag.

Because, you see, I never went to get the operation. Because, shorty after deciding I would, I saw a fertility chart, and based on my age alone I was one hair's width away from the big red line marked INFERTILE. Add to this the very few conceptions we have managed, and I just didn't see the point.

(And maybe I'm still a little hopeful.)

Now, I didn't really think I was pregnant, but there was some unusual spotting last week, and even that wouldn't have made me think I was pregnant, except that C said I was either pregnant or menopause was starting.

And him having said it out loud somehow made the possibility more likely - because damned if I'm going through menopause already - which, shit, meant I probably shouldn't take any medication.

SHIT.

Just to be sure, I asked the lady whether I could take the anti-seasickness drug if there was a possibility I was pregnant.

No problem! she said brightly. It's homeopathy! No side effects at all!

Well there's a revelation, there's no side effects from sugar pills!

But, WTF?? Since when do you go to a chemist, and ask for a drug, and get given sugar pills? From behind the counter? Where they keep the MEDICINE?

Now, some of you may be thinking I am being a little closed-minded about homeopathy, and yes it's true, I don't believe it. I would give a herbal remedy a go, but not something that a) requires water to have a memory, and b) requires this memory to be transfered to a pill. A BONE-DRY pill.

But there was another snag.

I am my father's daughter. My father who routinely walked into a shop knowing exactly what he wanted and then walked out with something else, something he didn't want and knew was wrong but had been convinced to buy anyway.

I wanted a clinical-trial-proven drug, I bought sugar pills.

Then I had a dilemma, because I really wanted to prove that the sugar pills were useless, only that would have meant us all spewing for six hours.

And since we didn't spew, I now have the frustration of not being able to categorically say this was because the ferry was bigger and the sea calmer, and not because of a 10^-8 dilution of petrol and strychnine, amongst other poisons.

In a not-quite-but-pretty-close non sequitor, as well as a clumsy end to this post and ad for my own photos, go see how I could forgive Corsica for the trip over...

Last week

So, last Saturday week, we discovered that we are a weak-bellied family. A family of land-lubbers. A family of seasick suffering spewers.

It was not pleasant.

Not pleasant at all.

But, once installed in our rental holiday house, with this view:

... and a beautiful river gorge to swim in, and the lovely warm Mediterranean not far away, we forgave Corsica the horrific ferry trip over.

And then this Saturday, on the trip back, very gratefully thanked the gods for a flatter sea and less stomach-turning ferry.

Not you too?

We have a cat! Living in our house! As of this morning!

And at lunch, a long-held dream came true: a little cat asleep on my lap as I worked.

Bliss!

For about 2 minutes, until she started farting.

As if a stinky lap-farting son wasn't enough.

Sigh.